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Chapter Text

'Cause I'm still in love

With every single part of you

Even that part of you that ripped out my heart

In a way that no one else could do

But I'm glad it was you

I hate that it’s true- Dean Lewis

The Thanksgiving after Eddie packed up and left for Texas, Buck was on shift. He worked Christmas, too. And New Year’s Eve, of course. The firehouse was loud, alive with the chaos of ringing phones, alarms, and the occasional burst of laughter from his team. But when the calls slowed down and the station quieted, Buck stole away to the corner of the bunks, phone pressed tight against his ear, voice low and warm. Both holidays were spent that way—long phone calls stretched across state lines, his heart anchored firmly in El Paso with his favorite Díaz boys.

On Christmas night, as their conversation wound down, Chris’s voice broke through the line, bright and earnest:

“Next year, we have to celebrate together. Promise?”

Buck grinned so wide his cheeks hurt, nodding even though no one could see him. “Promise, buddy,” he whispered. But behind that sunshine smile, his throat tightened painfully, as though agreeing out loud made the distance between them suddenly more unbearable.

Birthdays came and went in much the same fashion. Chris’s, then Eddie’s—Buck calling, laughing, sending gifts he hoped made them feel a little closer.

When Buck’s birthday rolled around, his phone buzzed with a video. Chris and Eddie, side by side in their living room, beaming into the camera.

“Happy birthday, Buck!” Chris shouted, his grin stretching ear to ear, while Eddie added more softly, “Hope you’re having a good one, man.”

A separate text followed, simple but so heavy with the weight of absence it almost knocked the wind out of him:

Hey Buck, I hope you have a wonderful birthday. We miss you. Maybe we’ll see each other at Christmas.

Two weeks after Buck's birthday, Bobby almost died, and Buck's world was torn apart. Buck didn't know who called Eddie and told him about the lab and that Bobby was in the hospital , but he did know about the „get better“ card that came in the mail, followed by an empty seat next to Bucks in the hospital on Bobby’s Bed.

That night was the last time he called Eddie. He was too drunk to remember what he said, but he remembered how angry he was and how hurt and how desperate Eddies voice sounded through the fog of fear.

That Christmas, an envelope arrived in Buck’s mailbox. Inside, a family photo—Eddie, Chris, Abuela, Tía Pepa, the whole Díaz clan gathered together, radiating warmth. Underneath, scribbled in Eddie’s unmistakable, slightly messy handwriting:

I miss you, Buck. I am sorry. I hope one day you’ll forgive me.

One Christmas card turned into the next, and before Buck fully realized it, nearly four years had slipped by. Four years since Chris had left Los Angeles, with Eddie following him half a year later. Four years since Buck had watched them both drive away, carrying with them a piece of his heart he hadn’t been able to replace, no matter how hard he tried.

___

The bar was louder and more crowded than Buck would have liked. Music thumped from the speakers, lights blinked across the dance floor, and clusters of people laughed too loudly at jokes that weren’t that funny. He wasn’t exactly in the mood for this kind of chaos. But the others had insisted—it was Bobby’s birthday next week, and they’d decided they couldn’t wait that long to celebrate. Or maybe they just needed an excuse to drink together without the shadow of duty hanging over them. Either way, here they were.

What Buck still couldn’t quite get used to was the fact that Bobby hadn’t come with them. Everyone else had walked straight from the station to the bar like they always used to. Bobby, though—Bobby was different now.

The memory of Bobby’s long hospital stay still clung to Buck like a weight. Months of rehab, of seeing their Captain—their steady, unshakable leader—struggling just to walk across a room without pain. It had taken nearly two years before Bobby could move freely again, before he could live without grimacing every time he bent his knee or shifted his weight. By then, Chim had long since stepped up as interim Captain, and when Bobby finally decided to retire officially, the title had passed fully to Chim without ceremony.

But Bobby wasn’t gone. Not really. He still showed up—family dinners, birthdays, moments like this one where he could share a laugh or a story. Buck forced himself to remember that, to hold onto the fact that Bobby was still here. They’d lost enough already. Two people gone from their team in the span of a few years. But at least Bobby wasn’t thousands of miles away, living in another time zone, unreachable in the ways that still tore at Buck late at night.

He swallowed hard, pushing the lump in his throat down.

Nobody talked about Eddie anymore. At least not in front of Buck. It was like an unspoken rule—his name hovered in the silence but never crossed anyone’s lips. And that silence was sometimes louder than words.

A hand landed lightly on Buck’s shoulder, pulling him back into the present. He turned and found Ravi standing there, smiling at him with easy warmth.

“You good?” Ravi asked.

There was a time Buck might have bristled at the question, might have felt the need to defend himself. But Ravi had been there in his life long enough to know when Buck’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. After the lab accident, after Bobby’s hospitalization, Ravi had been one of the few people Buck leaned on. They’d even hooked up a few times back then, two men trying to find comfort in each other’s arms. It hadn’t lasted, though. They’d figured out quickly they worked better as friends than anything else.

Buck’s gaze dropped to Ravi’s hand, where a small ring caught the light and glittered faintly. A simple band, but beautiful in its simplicity. May had insisted on getting Ravi one of his own after he’d proposed to her three months ago. It fit him—solid, unpretentious, but meaningful.

Buck’s lips curved into a genuine smile. “Yeah. I’m good,” he said, trying to sound as sincere as possible.

Ravi arched a brow, unconvinced, and gave a small shake of his head. “Not tonight, man. No sulking allowed. Come on, next round’s on me.”

And just like that, Buck let himself be pulled along.

They passed by Chim, who was proudly showing Hen the newest pictures Devins first day of kindergarten that Maddie had just texted him. Hen’s face lit up, cooing at every new snapshot. The sight tugged at something tender in Buck’s chest.

Near the corner, Bobby sat with Harry, the two of them deep in conversation about the training program Harry had started. Bobby looked proud—relaxed in a way Buck hadn’t seen him in years—as he listened to Harry talk about firefighting drills and the latest repairs he was making on the family house.

By the time Buck and Ravi reached the bar, May was already there. She leaned across the counter to kiss Ravi in greeting, her eyes bright and her laugh easy. She raised her glass toward Buck with a grin.

“To surviving another week,” she toasted, and Buck tapped his glass against hers, the clink sharp over the hum of the crowd.

May had gone back to the dispatch center over a year and a half ago, finding her place again after everything. Everyone, it seemed, had found their place. Everyone’s lives kept moving forward—new jobs, new marriages, new babies, new beginnings.

Everyone’s except his.

Buck lifted his drink, took a long swallow, and let the burn settle in his chest. Around him, the people he loved most laughed, celebrated, lived. He smiled with them, nodded at their stories, cheered at their jokes.

But deep down, he knew the truth: his life was still on pause, stuck in the silence of a goodbye he’d never really said, haunted by the absence of the one person he couldn’t seem to stop missing.

__

The girl to his right was asleep, her breathing shallow and even, her head pressed against the pillow. Buck’s own head was pounding, and he wished desperately he could remember her name. Louise? Maybe Mary? He honestly had no idea. She was young—too young, really—at least a decade younger than him, maybe more.

And she looked like they always did. Brown hair, brown eyes. Bonus points if they were Latinos. He knew he had built himself a type. He also knew it was becoming a problem.

If Maddie ever found out? Yeah, she’d read him the riot act, no question. But Devin was in his “I-don’t-have-to-do-what-you-tell-me” phase, so Buck figured no one was really paying close attention anyway.

He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, nausea churning in his gut, his skin prickling like it was on fire. Once, nights like this had been a relief—a way to shake off the loneliness, to lose himself in someone else’s warmth. But at some point, the one-night stands had stopped being a comfort and had started to feel like punishment.

He knew exactly when that shift had happened: the day he fought so hard to save the only person who had ever been a dad to him. One of the most important people in his life, almost left him. And next to him, there had been no brown-haired Latino, no steady hand on his back, no voice murmuring that it would be okay.

He had stopped calling Eddie after that. After Bobby left the hospital months after the incident and Eddie hadn’t come a single time. Buck couldn’t sever the tie completely—he never could—but the silence had cut deeper than he’d ever admit. Eddie’s absence these months left a scar that still burned every time Buck touched it in his thoughts.

His phone rang, sharp and jarring in the too-early morning. Buck groaned, rolling his eyes, fumbling for it on the nightstand. “Who the hell calls at this hour?” he muttered under his breath, pressing accept anyway.

“This is Evan Buckley,” he said, his voice rough with sleep.

Beside him, Not-Louise-Not-Mary shifted against the sheets, stirring at the sound of his voice.

“Hello? Buck?” A woman’s voice on the other end—familiar, yet distant enough to make his brain stutter.

“Who is this?” Buck asked, sitting up now, heart already uneasy.

“This is Sophia Díaz. I’m calling about Eddie.”

Buck’s entire world froze. His chest squeezed so tight he could hardly breathe. His heart skipped, then thundered against his ribs.

“What happened? What’s going on with him?” The words tumbled out of him in a rush, desperate and terrified, his panic barely disguised.

Sophia’s voice wavered slightly, but she forced it steady. “He was in a car accident. Right now, he’s unresponsive.”

The room tilted. Buck pressed a hand to his temple, trying to stop the spinning. He could barely hear her through the ringing in his ears. September. It was late September. He hadn’t heard Eddie’s voice in years. The last thing he got from him was the Christmas card the December before. Why the hell were they calling him?

“…Anyway, we need you to come out here,” Sophia’s voice broke through again, dragging him back.

“What? Why me?” His voice cracked on the question, raw and ragged. He hated how broken he sounded, hated even more that it was Eddie—Eddie—pulling the pieces apart. He didn’t know if he could survive following him to Texas, not after all these years of distance and half-healed wounds.

Sophia didn’t let him breathe. She spoke in a rush, words tumbling over each other: “Eddie is in a coma. And when we tried to bring Chris home, we found out that legally, you’re the only one listed as his guardian. At least temporarily—until Eddie wakes up, or Chris turns eighteen, or a judge says otherwise.”

She must have been in her mid-twenties by now, Buck realized numbly. Way too young to be making this kind of phone call, carrying this kind of weight. Her voice cracked at the edges when she added softly, “So you need to come, Buck. Please. He needs you. They both do.”

The plea hit him hard. It sounded so much like Maddie when she’d begged him, once upon a time, to take care of himself.

“You owe him that much.”

The words landed like a blow. Did she mean Eddie? Or Chris? Both? Either way, anger sparked inside him. He wanted to shout, to tell her he didn’t owe them anything, not after the silence, not after the absence, not after being left alone again.

But he didn’t shout. He didn’t even argue.

“I’ll come,” he whispered instead, voice hoarse, before ending the call.

The room was suddenly too quiet. Too heavy. His chest ached with the weight of it.

“Everything okay?” murmured the girl beside him, her voice groggy, her accent soft.

Buck blinked down at her, realizing only then that tears were slipping down his face. He swiped at them with the heel of his hand, but they kept coming, steady and unstoppable.

“No,” he whispered, barely audible. “No, it’s not.”

___

Buck didn’t tell anyone. Not Maddie, not Ravi, not Bobby, not the other guys at the 118. He left Los Angeles that very night, under the cover of darkness, packing just enough for the road and leaving the rest behind. The only notice he gave was a brief email to Chimney: Using the rest of my vacation days. No explanation. No apologies. Just four words typed in the dead of night, then sent.

He glanced at his phone one last time before slipping it into his jacket pocket. Fourteen hours. If he stuck to the plan, he could be in Texas in just over half a day. Fourteen hours. Enough time for the world to feel distant, enough time for him to try and steel himself for what he might find.

The engine hummed to life, and Los Angeles faded in his rearview mirror. Streetlights blurred as he merged onto the highway, the smell of the night air and exhaust filling the cab. His hands gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary, knuckles white, eyes forward but thoughts wandering endlessly to Eddie, to Chris, to the silence that had stretched too long.

The first stop was a 24-hour gas station just north of the city. Buck climbed out, legs stiff, and made his way inside. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as he filled his tank.

“Evening, sir. Long drive?” the cashier asked, a young woman with a crooked smile and a coffee-stained apron.

“Yeah,” Buck said, giving a small nod. “Late night.”

“You heading far?” she asked, scanning his card.

“Texas,” he replied automatically. For a moment, he caught himself thinking about why. About who he was going to see. But he didn’t explain. Just smiled politely and took his receipt.

Back on the road, the highway stretched endlessly into darkness. He let the radio play low—classic rock, nothing too cheerful, nothing too sad. Sometimes, his mind drifted to the brief, stolen joys of the last years: laughter with Eddie, late-night talks with Chris, a Christmas card from four years ago that still sat on his fridge. And then the grief, raw and tight, pressed back in.

He stopped again mid-drive at a small diner somewhere in Arizona. The smell of frying bacon and brewing coffee hit him before he even entered. He ordered a black coffee and a simple breakfast, sitting alone in a corner booth, watching the waitress shuffle plates across the floor.

“Coffee okay?” she asked, sliding a cup toward him.

“Perfect,” he said, voice quieter than he intended. He didn’t explain the red-rimmed eyes, the way his fingers trembled slightly around the mug.

Conversation stayed casual, light—nothing personal. A nod here, a thank-you there. But even in these brief, ordinary interactions, Buck felt the world moving around him while he hurt quietly inside.

Hours passed. He watched the sun climb over desert mesas, painting everything gold and orange. The miles ticked by, each one bringing him closer, yet the weight in his chest only grew heavier. He thought about what he might walk into: Eddie in a hospital bed, Chris frightened, Sophia waiting impatiently on the other end of the phone. And the guilt, oh, the guilt of having left for so long, of missing birthdays, of missing Christmases.

Finally, as the sun began to dip low in the western sky, the city of El Paso appeared on the horizon. Buck’s hands tightened around the wheel again, eyes tracing the familiar, sprawling streets, the faint outlines of the mountains beyond. He drove in silence for a few minutes, taking it all in, feeling the tense knot in his chest loosen slightly, even as his heart raced faster than ever.

He parked the car near the hospital, engine still running, and took a deep breath. The air smelled different here—hotter, drier, tinged with dust and desert sage. And somewhere deep inside, beneath the fear and the grief, a spark of determination lit.

He was here now. And no matter how broken things had gotten, he was ready to face whatever waited on the other side of those doors.

Chapter Text

The hospital in El Paso looked like every other hospital Buck had ever set foot in—sterile white walls, the faint smell of disinfectant mixed with burnt coffee, the low hum of voices echoing down endless corridors. It didn’t matter that the building itself was different; they all carried the same weight, the same quiet dread.

It hadn’t been hard to find the reception desk. What was hard was answering when the nurse asked for his name and who he was here to see. The words lodged in his throat, heavy and immovable. His chest constricted. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“Buck?”

The voice pulled him around, sharp and startling. For one breathless second, his heart stopped—he thought it was Eddie. The same warm brown eyes, that familiar spark of mischief. But no. Not Eddie.

They were smaller. Softer. A little rounder.

It had been almost ten years since he’d last seen her. Not since Shannon’s funeral, back when she’d still been a teenager. But now here she was: Sophia Díaz. Her face older, more defined, but unmistakably carrying echoes of her brother’s.

“You really came.” Her voice broke halfway through, trembling with relief.

Before Buck could respond, she was in his arms, clinging to him with a desperation that left him frozen. For a moment, his brain couldn’t catch up—his body registered the embrace, but his heart recoiled from how much she looked like Eddie, how close and yet how painfully different she was. His stomach twisted.

Still, his arms came up, hesitant, wrapping gently around her small frame. He could feel the tremor in her shoulders, the way she shook as if holding back years of fear and exhaustion.

“I came,” Buck whispered, the words barely audible, his throat tight. It was all he could manage.

Sophia pulled back then, wiping hurriedly at her wet cheeks. She tried for a smile, but it wavered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” She stopped, took a shaky breath. “So… who do you want to see first?”

The logical answer was easy. Chris. Of course it should be Chris. But the moment hung between them, and Buck’s mouth betrayed him before his brain could intervene.

“Eddie.”

The name left him raw, a confession more than a choice.

Sophia studied him for a beat, then gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “Okay. Come on. We’ll go in the back way—through the staff corridor. That way we don’t have to pass the waiting room.”

The relief that flooded him at those words nearly undid him. The thought of walking through a waiting room full of watchful eyes, curious stares, whispered speculation—it was more than he could have borne.

He followed her, his legs heavy, his hands trembling at his sides. The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly ahead, every step echoing too loudly against the linoleum floor. His pulse thundered in his ears as the sterile white walls closed in around him.

With every door they passed, every corner they turned, Buck felt the knot in his chest draw tighter. He wasn’t sure if he could do this. But he also knew he didn’t have a choice.

Eddie was waiting.

The door to Eddie’s room was closed. Sophia hesitated for the briefest moment, her hand hovering over the handle, before she pressed it down. She glanced back at Buck, her face pale but steady.

“The others are all at dinner right now,” she whispered. “I’ll go tell them you’re here.”

And with that, she slipped quietly down the hallway, leaving him standing alone.

The door now stood slightly ajar, a thin slice of light spilling into the dim corridor. Buck’s pulse hammered in his chest so violently he swore it might burst through his ribs. He reached out, pushed the door open, and stepped inside. With a shaky hand, he pulled it shut behind him.

The room was heavy with silence, punctuated only by the steady, mechanical rhythm of the monitors.

And there he was.

Eddie.

Buck’s breath caught painfully in his throat. He looked almost exactly the same as he had three and a half years ago—the same dark hair, the same familiar features. Except now his face was marred by small cuts and bruises, purple shadows blooming across his skin. A tube protruded from his mouth, taped in place, forcing Buck to confront a reality he wasn’t ready for.

For a moment, Buck forgot how to breathe. The sight hit him like a blow to the chest, and his stomach twisted violently. He spun around, stumbling toward the trash can by the wall, and vomited until there was nothing left.

When he finally lifted his head again, he was shaking all over. His legs felt unsteady, his arms weak. But still, somehow, he forced himself to turn back toward the bed. One step, then another, until he sank slowly into the chair at Eddie’s side.

Eddie’s hands rested limp on top of the blanket, his skin pale against the white sheets. Buck stared at them, aching with the urge to reach out, to wrap his fingers around Eddie’s and hold on. But he didn’t dare. He couldn’t. Instead, he sat rigid in the chair, hands clenched in his lap, eyes fixed on the rise and fall of Eddie’s chest.

The steady beeping of the heart monitor filled the air, sharp and clinical. Buck’s throat tightened at the sound—it raised the hair on the back of his neck—but he reminded himself: steady beeping meant life. Steady beeping meant Eddie was still here.

His mouth opened, then closed again, lips trembling as though he’d forgotten how to form words. Finally, in a voice so small it barely seemed like his own, he forced it out:

“Hey.” A pause, thick and trembling. “It’s me. Buck.”

He could have sworn he saw Eddie’s eyelid twitch, just for a second. His heart lurched.

“I’m sorry,” Buck whispered, his voice cracking. “I’m sorry I’m here but—”

The rest of his words dissolved into a raw, guttural sob, torn from deep inside his chest. He doubled over, gripping the armrest as though the world itself were spinning out from under him.

He shot up from the chair, pacing backward, desperate for air. He couldn’t do this. He wasn’t strong enough. Why had he come? What had he been thinking? He couldn’t—he didn’t want to—

The door creaked open.

Buck froze.

And there, standing in the doorway, was Christopher.

For one heartbeat, Buck couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. And then—suddenly—it was as if his life had just pressed play again.

He had known Chris was older now. He’d seen it in the Christmas cards over the years—the way kids grow up so fast, stretching taller, their faces sharpening from soft childhood roundness into something more defined. But nothing, absolutely nothing, could have prepared him for this.

Chris still wasn’t quite as tall as Buck, but he nearly reached his nose now. He wasn’t a boy anymore. He was a young man, broad-shouldered, steady on his feet. In six months’ time, he’d be eighteen—an adult, officially. And Buck had missed it. He had missed everything. The milestones, the late-night talks, the movie marathons, the small victories, the hard days. Four years had slipped through his fingers, and he hadn’t been there for any of it.

And now, he was standing here because of paperwork. Because he was legally the only one authorized to step in, to take care of Chris in Eddie’s absence. Buck’s world tilted, spinning too fast for him to catch his breath.

“Buck!”

Chris’s voice rang out, too loud for the quiet room, full of excitement that almost sounded like his seven-year-old self again.

Buck couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Not until Chris crossed the space in an instant, flinging his arms around him.

“Superman,” he whispered against his head, the old, ridiculous nickname spilling out like no time had passed at all. Buck’s throat burned. He hadn’t called Chris that in years—not since before he left Los Angeles, not since he was thirteen. And now here it was again, wrapping around Buck’s heart like a vice.

Chris pulled back, his face lit with a trembling smile. “It’s so good you’re here.” His words tumbled out quickly, but Buck didn’t miss the tension in his eyes. There was hope there, but fear too—fear of something Buck couldn’t put a name on.

“I’ve missed you,” Chris added softly.

Buck’s chest clenched, his mind a storm of words he couldn’t form. He swallowed hard, and when he finally managed sound, it came out as a broken rasp.

“Yeah.”

He forced himself to look up then, and his stomach dropped. Standing just behind Chris were Helena and Ramón Díaz, their eyes sharp, assessing, skeptical. They didn’t say a word, but the way they looked at him spoke volumes—judgment, caution, doubt.

And then his gaze landed on a woman he didn’t recognize. She wasn’t Adriana. No, this woman was different. Red-blonde hair, almost the same shade as Buck’s own, and striking blue eyes that studied him with quiet curiosity rather than hostility. When she caught him looking, she smiled.

“I’m Ann,” she said smoothly, stepping forward with an air of calm confidence. “Eddie’s girlfriend.”

The words hit Buck like a physical blow. Girlfriend. Of course. Of course Eddie hadn’t frozen in place the way Buck had. Just because Buck’s life had been on pause all this time didn’t mean Eddie’s had been. Eddie had gone on, kept living, kept building.

The room swayed slightly around him. He felt Chris’s eyes on him, watching carefully, but when Buck met his gaze, the recognition faltered. He realized with a hollow ache that he no longer knew what Chris was thinking just by looking at him. That easy shorthand they’d once had—it was gone. And Buck felt like an animal behind glass, observed but untouchable, a stranger to the boy he’d once known better than himself.

“Let’s go home,” Sophia’s voice cut through the tension, steady and practical. “We all need some rest.”

Buck could have kissed her for rescuing him, for throwing him a lifeline just when he thought he might drown. She touched his arm gently, grounding him, then guided him toward the social worker waiting down the hall.

Papers needed to be signed, boxes checked, forms stamped. Chris’s temporary guardianship shifted into Buck’s hands with the sweep of a pen. The weight of it pressed heavy against his chest.

And then—finally—they were on their way out, heading toward whatever “home” meant now.

___

Buck had only been inside the Díaz house once before. That was years ago, right after the wildfires near Austin, when he and Eddie had stopped by briefly. Eddie had shown him his old childhood haunts—like the secret hiding spot behind his battered desk and the small hole in the fence that led straight to the lake nearby. Buck had remembered the way Eddie’s face softened when he spoke about it, like he was confessing something that still mattered. Eddie had even admitted, almost sheepishly, that when he was younger, he’d climb the tallest trees just to get as far away from his family as possible.

Buck had only nodded in understanding back then. He knew the feeling of wanting distance from your family too well.

Now, walking through the house again, it was almost disorienting. The place still carried echoes of Eddie everywhere. Family photos lined the hallway walls, smiling faces frozen in time. There were even pictures of Eddie himself—his teenage grin, his Army uniform, snapshots of him as a young father. Upstairs, sitting a little dusty but proud on a high shelf in the living room, were Eddie’s old ballroom dancing trophies. Buck stared at them for a moment, imagining Eddie, younger and lighter on his feet, spinning across some small-town dance floor. Right beside the trophies was a framed family portrait, Ramón and Helena in the center, their children around them, a frozen memory of unity that Buck couldn’t quite picture Eddie ever feeling part of.

Chris led him down the hall with the kind of casual confidence that came from familiarity. He opened the door to a room Buck had seen before— years ago, in passing. Eddie’s old bedroom.

“You’ll sleep here,” Chris said softly, almost apologetically, as if he wasn’t sure Buck would want to.

Helena and Ramón had made the decision for them—Buck and Chris would stay here at the Díaz home, not at Eddie’s house. It was practical, safer, and they framed it as generous hospitality. Buck didn’t argue. He didn’t have the energy. The truth was, everything happening around him was blurring together, wrapped in a kind of fog he couldn’t seem to push through. He felt like he was moving underwater, hearing voices from far away, watching the world happen without being fully in it.

It wasn’t until he finally sat down on the bed in Eddie’s old room that he pulled out his phone for the first time all day. The screen lit up with seventeen unread messages from Maddie, three from Chim, and one from Bobby.

His chest tightened. He opened Maddie’s first. Most of her texts were variations of the same refrain: Are you okay? Where are you? Please answer me. Then one about Devin—apparently the kid had come down with something, and she wanted Buck to know he didn’t need to pick him up tomorrow. Buck froze. Devin. His date with him. He had forgotten completely. Guilt clawed at his stomach, sharp and raw.

Chim’s texts were less emotional but still cutting in their own way: Finally taking some vacation days—about time. But next time, give me a heads-up, okay? Where even are you?

Buck exhaled through his nose, shame and frustration tangled together.

And then there was Bobby. Just one message. Short. Steady. Chris called me. Call me if you need anything.

That stopped him cold. Chris had called Bobby. Not once in all the years he’d been gone had Buck imagined Chris reaching out to Bobby like that. The wording wasn’t alarmist; it wasn’t framed like something unusual. Which meant this wasn’t the first time.

Buck stared down at the screen, his heart aching in ways he couldn’t name. Bobby had been… what, then? A surrogate grandfather? A mentor?

He didn’t want to call. He didn’t want to hear the calm, grounding voice on the other end that would remind him of everything he’d lost and everything he’d left behind. But the knowledge was there now, unavoidable: Chris and Eddie hadn’t been without family these past years. They had just been without him.

There was a soft knock at his door. Buck looked up, startled out of his haze, and saw Chris standing there with a glass of water in hand. Buck managed a small, tired smile as Chris walked in and set it down on the nightstand. But instead of leaving, Chris lingered in the room, his weight shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other, his eyes darting around like he wasn’t sure what to do next.

“How are you holding up?” Buck asked gently, his voice careful, as if one wrong note might break the fragile air between them.

Chris only shrugged, but Buck caught it—the glimmer of tears in his eyes before he quickly tried to blink them away. Without thinking, Buck patted the empty space on the bed beside him. It was an invitation, and Chris accepted instantly, dropping down with a sigh that seemed to let out some of the weight pressing on his chest.

“I’m so scared for him,” Chris admitted, his voice shaky, almost breaking.

The words carved through Buck, pulling him backward in time to other nights, years ago, when Chris had leaned into him with the same trembling honesty. And just like then, Buck slipped an arm around him, pulling him in a little closer.

“It’s gonna be okay, Chris,” he whispered, the words rough but certain, even if he wasn’t sure he believed them himself.

Chris gave the smallest nod against his chest, his hair brushing Buck’s shirt, as if clinging to the comfort more than the promise.

The moment shattered when a head poked into the room. Ann. She froze in the doorway, her eyes widening for the briefest second at the sight of Chris curled into Buck’s side. Then she smoothed her face into something lighter, casual.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she said gently to Chris. “Your grandparents are about to head out to do some shopping. Do you want to come with us?”

Chris sat up quickly, swiping the last of his tears away with the back of his hand. “I’ll be there in a minute, Ann.”

“Okay.” She offered him a small smile and then disappeared back down the hall, leaving the door ajar.

The silence that followed pressed on Buck’s ears until Chris spoke again. “She’s not as bad as you probably think,” he said softly, almost like he wanted to defend her. “I really like her. She’s… she’s kind. Open. And sometimes…” He hesitated, glancing up at Buck. “Sometimes she reminds me a lot of you.”

The words landed like a sucker punch. She reminds me of you.

Buck’s ears roared, the blood rushing through his veins so loud he barely heard anything else. That couldn’t be true. It couldn’t.

Chris stood, a little unsteady as he reached for his crutch. He wobbled but caught himself before Buck could move to help.

“I should go,” he said, then hesitated, his gaze locking on Buck one last time. His voice dropped to something raw and almost childlike. “I’m really glad you’re here, Buck. I’ve missed you. So much.”

And then he was gone, leaving Buck alone in the room.

The air felt too thick to breathe. The sheets beneath him were unfamiliar, the walls strange. But the smell… Buck’s chest tightened. This room still smelled like Eddie. After all these years, after all that distance, that scent hadn’t faded from his memory. He could never forget it. And now it wrapped around him, pulling him under.

Chapter Text

A sharp slam of a door somewhere down the hall jolted him awake. For a few seconds, Buck didn’t know where he was. The room was filled with bright morning light leaking around the edges of the curtains, dust floating lazily in the sunbeams. His body felt heavy, stiff, the kind of weight that came from exhaustion, not rest. He realized he was still sprawled across the bed on top of the blanket, wearing the exact same clothes he’d had on yesterday.

The door to his room creaked open.

“Do you want to come with me to see Dad?” Chris’s voice was steady but carried something fragile beneath it. “We could stop by my school first—I could show you around.”

It wasn’t just an offer. Buck could hear what it really was—an olive branch. A reaching out. Chris trying to stitch back a connection, to let him in. And God, it tore Buck apart.

There was a time when he’d known every corner of Chris’s life. He could rattle off the names of all his teachers without thinking, knew which kids were good influences and which ones weren’t, kept up with all the playground gossip like it was gospel. He’d been there, part of the parent circle, one of the ones who showed up.

Now… he couldn’t even remember the name of Chris’s high school. The distance between what they’d had and where they were now was a canyon, and Buck didn’t know if he had the strength to cross it.

But he had to try.

“Yeah,” Buck said softly, pushing himself upright, his voice rough from sleep. “I’d like that.” He paused, running a hand through his tangled hair. “Let me just grab a quick shower first.”

Chris nodded once, his face brightening, before slipping back out into the hallway.

Buck sat there for a moment, breathing deep, taking in the room again. The worn furniture. The faint smell of wood polish mixed with the lingering trace of Eddie that clung to the walls, the bed, the air itself.

He dragged both hands over his face. “Alright,” he muttered to himself. “Here we go.”

And with that, he pushed himself to his feet, ready to face whatever waited for him on the other side of the door.

__

By the time he came down the stairs, freshly showered but still bone-tired, Chris was waiting for him by the door, backpack slung over one shoulder, crutch in place.

“Ready?” Chris asked, like it was nothing, like they’d done this a thousand mornings before.

Buck hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, just watching him. It struck him again how tall Chris had gotten, how the boyish roundness in his face had sharpened into something older, more defined. But the hope in his eyes—that was still familiar. That was the same boy who used to cling to his hand in the middle of a crowd.

“Yeah,” Buck said finally, forcing a smile. “Show me your city, kid.”

They stepped out into the morning. The air was warm already, the kind of dry heat that promised the day would only get hotter. The streets were quiet, just a few cars rumbling by, neighbors watering their yards, the faint sound of a radio playing Spanish pop from an open window.

Chris kept a steady pace, his crutch tapping rhythmically against the sidewalk. “That corner store?” he pointed to a squat building with peeling paint. “Me and my friends go there after school. They sell those giant sodas for like a dollar.”

Buck chuckled. “A dollar? In L.A., you couldn’t get a bottle of water for that.”

Chris grinned. “Yeah, well. Texas.”

They walked a few more blocks, Chris narrating as he went. “That’s where Grandma drags me on Sundays.” He pointed to a small church, its white paint fresh, a bell tower rising above the roofline. “And over there’s the basketball courts. I don’t play, but my friends do. I mostly just hang out.”

Buck listened, nodding, his chest tightening with every casual detail. Once, he would’ve known all this already. Once, Chris would’ve texted him about soda runs and Sunday services and basketball games, and Buck would’ve been the one driving him there, sitting on the sidelines.

“Here we are,” Chris said after a while, stopping in front of a squat brick building with tall fences around it. His school.

They slipped inside, Chris leading him down wide hallways filled with rows of lockers, posters about prom, reminders about homework help. Students passed them, calling out to Chris, giving him high-fives, a few teasing him with jokes Buck didn’t understand.

“This is the science lab,” Chris explained, opening a door to a room that smelled faintly of chemicals and old textbooks. “We do experiments in here. I’m pretty good at it—better than math, anyway.”

Buck smiled faintly. “You used to hate science.”

Chris smirked. “Yeah, well. Things change.”

They moved on. The library was next, rows of worn paperbacks and computers humming quietly. “I don’t actually study here,” Chris admitted with a grin. “But it’s cool. Feels… safe, I guess.”

And then a classroom where he lingered longer than usual. “This is Mrs. Ramirez’s room. She’s my favorite teacher. She lets me sit by the window, so I don’t get stuck in the middle of everything.”

Buck swallowed hard. “She sounds… great.” He didn’t add what he was thinking: I should’ve known her name. I should’ve met her. I should’ve been here.

They wandered back outside, sunlight spilling hot and bright across the pavement. Chris walked ahead a little, his crutch clicking, his shoulders loose now that he was in his own element. For a second, Buck glimpsed the boy he used to know—the one who teased him relentlessly about his cooking, the one who used to fall asleep against his side during movie nights.

“You’re quiet,” Chris said suddenly, glancing back.

Buck forced a smile. “Just… proud of you, that’s all.”

Chris blushed faintly, muttering, “Thanks,” before looking away.

It should have been enough, that small exchange. But it wasn’t. It only highlighted how far away Buck had been, how much he’d missed.

They reached the bleachers near the sports field, and a group of teenagers were gathered there, laughing, shouting across the court. The moment they spotted Chris, they called his name, waving him over.

“Go on,” Buck said quietly, nodding toward them.

Chris hesitated, biting his lip. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Go be a teenager. I’ll be fine.”

Chris shifted his weight, clearly torn. But then one of his friends shouted something else, and Chris’s grin broke wide. He turned back to Buck, eyes bright. “I’ll catch you later?”

“Of course,” Buck said, even though his heart clenched.

Chris jogged off, his crutch swinging confidently, blending into the noise and laughter of the group like he belonged there—because he did.

And Buck was left standing alone, the silence pressing in.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, turned down the street, and started walking. The city moved around him—cars honking, dogs barking, music spilling from shopfronts—but all he could hear was the emptiness inside his chest.

Every step toward the hospital felt heavier than the last, dread curling tighter in his stomach. Chris had slipped so easily back into his world, surrounded by friends and routine. But Buck? He was headed straight for the place that held Eddie’s broken body, the place that reminded him of everything he’d lost.

He told himself he was doing the right thing. That this was why he was here.

But the truth was, with every block closer to the hospital, Buck felt more like an outsider. A man walking through a city that wasn’t his, toward a man he wasn’t sure he still had the right to love.

___

The hospital was beginning to feel unnervingly familiar. Buck walked the same sterile hallways he had the day before, the same fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead, the same antiseptic smell clinging to the air and to his skin. His feet carried him forward on instinct, as if they remembered the path even when his mind wanted to turn back.

And then he was there—outside Eddie’s room again.

His heart pounded so hard he thought the sound might echo off the walls. Just like yesterday, the door wasn’t shut all the way. It stood slightly ajar, a thin sliver of space that offered him a glimpse inside. He hesitated, frozen, caught between the unbearable need to see Eddie and the fear of what he might find.

Finally, he leaned forward, peering through the gap.

What he saw stopped his breath.

Ann sat by Eddie’s bedside, her face streaked with tears, her hand clasped tightly around his. She wasn’t just holding him—she was clutching him like a lifeline, her thumb brushing across his knuckles as if the simple contact could tether him to this world.

Her lips moved, whispering words Buck couldn’t hear at first. He strained, every muscle in his body tightening, until the sound reached him in fragments.

And then—clear as glass—he saw it. Her mouth forming the words: I love you.

Buck’s stomach lurched. His body jerked back, stumbling into the hallway as though the words themselves had shoved him.

She loves him. Ann loves Eddie.

Of course she did. And why wouldn’t she? Eddie was… Eddie. Strong, steady, fiercely loyal, quietly kind. The kind of man people fell in love with without even realizing it.

And if Ann loved him, then what were the chances Eddie didn’t love her back?

Buck pressed a hand to the wall to steady himself, his chest heaving. The realization hit like a sledgehammer: he hadn’t come here to save anyone. He hadn’t come here to pick up where they’d left off. He’d come here to break his own heart.

What had he expected? That Eddie would open his eyes and smile just for him? That Chris would fall back into his arms like no time had passed? That the years of silence and distance would dissolve the second he stepped back into their lives?

He was just Buck.

Just the old partner. The old best friend. The man Eddie had left behind when he built a new life in Texas. The man who hadn’t been here when he was needed most.

The nausea rose hard and fast. His throat burned. He couldn’t breathe in that hallway, couldn’t stand under the weight of what he’d seen.

So he ran.

His legs carried him before his mind even caught up. Down the hall, past nurses who glanced at him curiously, past patients and visitors who blurred together into nothing. The only thing that mattered was getting out. Out of the suffocating building, out of the unbearable truth pressing in on him.

By the time he burst through the hospital doors, the sunlight was blinding, stabbing into his eyes. His lungs ached, his heart hammered, and still he kept moving, as though distance alone might dull the pain.

But it didn’t.

Every step away from that room only carved the truth deeper into him: Eddie might not need him anymore. Eddie might already belong to someone else.

And Buck had no idea how to live with that.

__

Buck had walked for what felt like hours.

The streets of El Paso blurred together—bright murals on cracked stucco walls, little taco stands with the smell of grilled carne asada spilling into the warm night air, families chatting in Spanish outside corner stores. He let his legs carry him aimlessly, each step dragging him further into the city and deeper into the storm inside his chest.

When he finally found himself back at the Díaz house, the sun had dipped low, painting everything in gold and shadows.

Inside, the atmosphere was deceptively normal. Chris sat at the dining table, a notebook open in front of him, pencil scratching. Ann was talking animatedly with Helena and Ramón, her laugh light and easy, as if she’d been part of the family forever. Sophia sat at the far end, her face lit by the glow of her phone screen, but her eyes flicked up almost instantly when Buck entered.

She was the only one who seemed to really notice him.

Buck didn’t care. He had made up his mind during his walk through the city streets: he didn’t belong here. Not really. He would stay quiet, keep his distance, do what he needed to for Chris until Eddie woke up. And then—he would go. Slip out of their lives again, no matter how much it killed him.

He sat down next to Sophia, staring at the table, letting his thoughts drown out the voices around him. He didn’t even notice when Chris left the room, didn’t feel the shift in the air until he looked up and realized Helena, Ramón, and Ann were all staring at him.

Ramón cleared his throat, his voice heavy, deliberate.

“Mr. Buckley.”

Buck straightened slightly, forcing himself to meet the man’s eyes.

“Please—just call me Buck,” he said quickly, almost desperately.

Ramón gave a short nod.

“Buck.” His tone softened only a fraction. “We’ve been discussing this… situation. And we’ve decided it would be best for Chris if you left tomorrow. We’ve managed fine without you these past years. We can manage in the future. Especially since Eddie is scheduled to wake up tomorrow, there is no reason to confuse things further with your presence here.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. For a second Buck thought maybe he had misheard.

They’re kicking me out.

Isn’t that what you wanted?

His ears roared. His mouth went dry.

“What?” His voice cracked, barely more than a whisper.

The scraping of a chair echoed sharply as Sophia shot to her feet.

“What? You can’t be serious!” Her voice shook with fury, her phone forgotten on the table.

“Sophia, please—” Buck began softly, but she was already going.

“No! Don’t you dare tell me to calm down.” Her voice rose, filling the room with fire. “Eddie chose Buck for Chris. Not you, not me, not anyone else. Eddie had four years to change his mind, and he didn’t. He left things the way they were for a reason. And Buck being here isn’t hurting anyone—it’s the only thing keeping Chris steady right now! You think Eddie would want Buck pushed out? You think that’s what he’d want for his son?”

Her words cracked like a whip, sharp enough to sting.

Helena’s mouth tightened, Ramón’s jaw clenched, Ann looked down at her hands. But Buck barely heard any of it.

Everything inside him was spinning, unraveling. The voices around him faded into a low hum, as if he were underwater. His thoughts raced too fast, tangled together until they didn’t make sense.

The people in front of him—this family, Eddie’s family—they felt like strangers. His chest ached, too tight to draw in air.

So Buck did the only thing he could: he shut down.

He pressed all of it—the humiliation, the fear, the longing, the sharp slice of rejection—down, down, down, forcing it into some deep place where he didn’t have to feel it. Until there was nothing left but a thick, gray numbness, like fog rolling over a city at night.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, staring at the wood grain of the table, his hands clenched in his lap. Minutes. Hours. It didn’t matter.

Eventually, almost without realizing it, Buck stood. His legs moved stiffly, carrying him down the hall, back to the one place he both longed for and dreaded.

Back to Eddie’s room.

Chapter Text

It was late. The kind of late where the house had settled into silence, where every creak of the floorboards sounded like thunder.

Buck moved carefully, his duffel slung over his shoulder, his footsteps deliberate as he crept down the hallway. He’d waited hours, staring at the ceiling of Eddie’s old room until he was certain everyone was asleep. He couldn’t stay here—not another night. Not after the way Ramón had looked at him. Not after Ann’s whisper to Eddie. Not after everything.

He descended the staircase slowly, his hand tight on the railing even though he knew—knew in his bones—that no one would stop him. No one cared enough to.

Except—

“So you’re really gonna let them win?”

The voice cut through the darkness, sharp and quiet all at once.

Buck froze mid-step.

Sophia was sitting on the couch, a blanket tossed over her lap, her phone abandoned beside her. She rose slowly, her eyes fixed on him like she’d been expecting this. Like she’d been waiting.

He cursed her silently.

“I know Eddie hasn’t exactly been… great, these last years,” Sophia said, her voice trembling with something between anger and desperation, “but please—please, Buck—you can’t leave him now.”

Buck let out a sharp, tired breath. This girl—no, this woman—looked so much like Eddie in that moment, stubborn set to her jaw, fire in her eyes. It almost hurt to look at her.

“Chris doesn’t need me here, Sophia,” he said, his voice low but tight. He shifted his bag higher on his shoulder. “Hell, he barely even remembers me. I don’t know who he is and he doesn’t know who I am anymore.”

He turned, taking another step toward the front door.

“But Eddie does.”

Her words stopped him cold.

Buck spun back around, anger flashing hot in his chest.

“No, he doesn’t!” His voice cracked under the weight of it. “He’s got you, he’s got your parents, he’s got—” his throat tightened—“Ann. He’s got fucking Ann to play fucking house with, so why the hell would he need me?”

Sophia let out a bitter laugh, but there was no humor in it.

“So that’s what this is about? Ann?”

It wasn’t just Ann. God, it was never just Ann. But Buck didn’t have the strength to peel back the layers of it, so he just shrugged, his silence an answer of its own.

Sophia stepped closer, her voice sharpening.

“Eddie’s had—what? A hundred girlfriends in the last three years? None of them lasted more than a few months. All blond. All blue-eyed. All with that cookie-cutter random funfacts sunshine personality. Hell, one of them even had a fucking birthmark on her forehead. Sound familiar, Buck?”

Her anger was real, searing. Buck didn’t know why it mattered so much to her, but the way she said it made his stomach twist.

And then she said it. The words he didn’t expect.

“This is your fault. My brother’s miserable, and it’s your fault.”

The fire flared in him instantly.

“My fault?” He closed the space between them, his voice rising. “He left, Sophia! He’s the one who left! He came here to this stinky place on earth all on his own. I didn’t push him away.”

Her eyes flashed.

“But you didn’t fight for him either, did you? You didn’t try to bring him back.”

Buck’s hands curled into fists.

“What the hell was I supposed to do? Huh?” His voice was raw now, breaking.

Her answer was a whisper at first, then louder, sharper, cutting right through him.

“Love him anyway.”

The room went still.

For a moment, the only sound was Buck’s ragged breathing. His duffel slipped from his shoulder, hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

In a burst of movement, he strode toward her, his face twisted with pain and fury.

“Don’t—don’t you dare,” he hissed, his voice shaking. “Don’t you dare stand there and tell me I didn’t love him. I loved him more than anyone. More than I should have. And he still left. He left me, Sophia. I can’t make someone love me if they don’t want to.”

Her eyes filled, but she didn’t look away. She squared her shoulders, her voice low and trembling.

“God, Buck, are you really that blind? Eddie loved you from the start. He was just too damn scared of his feelings. And you know Eddie, he likes to run.”

Buck stopped dead in his tracks, staring down at her. Her eyes—pleading, wet with emotion—looked so achingly like Maddie’s when she begged him not to shut down all those years ago.

“Please,” Sophia whispered, her voice breaking now. “I’m begging you. Don’t leave him. Not now.”

Buck’s throat burned. He shook his head, his words almost too soft to hear.

“He’s not gonna want me here. Not when he wakes up. Not after everything.”

Sophia swallowed hard, then dropped the blow that shattered whatever defenses Buck had left.

“He was drunk, Buck.”

Buck blinked, confusion slicing through his haze.

“What?”

“Eddie’s accident. He was drunk when it happened. He’s been drinking constantly since that day you called him—since you screamed at him for not showing up at the hospital for Bobby.” Her voice cracked. “He never stopped.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Heavy. Buck’s heartbeat pounded in his ears.

Finally, Sophia’s voice came again, small and desperate.

“Please… just stay. Stay for him. Stay for Chris. Stay because you’re the only one he’s ever really wanted.”

Bucks breath was shaking.

„I just wished he knew that too.“

__

Buck paced the length of Eddie’s childhood bedroom, his steps uneven, frantic, like a caged animal trying to claw its way out. His breath came too fast, shallow and uneven, and his heart hammered against his ribs in a rhythm that didn’t feel natural. It wasn’t just panic anymore—it was nausea, bile burning in the back of his throat, his skin crawling as if it had shrunk two sizes too small for his body.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t pull himself out of it. Couldn’t breathe his way through it.

Sophia’s voice still rang in his head, every word sharp and cutting, too vivid to escape. She had finally given in after his repeated demands and told him everything—everything about Eddie’s accident.

Broad daylight. An empty road. Eddie, too drunk to walk a straight line, let alone drive, barreling headlong into the only damn tree standing within ten miles.

The official report? A tragic accident. A cruel twist of fate. The community’s golden boy, El Paso’s beloved firefighter, cut down in his prime. No one had dared to whisper the truth, not when Eddie Díaz was a symbol of pride, of service, of sacrifice. They’d erased the bottle, scrubbed away the shame, leaving behind only the myth of a hero struck by bad luck.

But Buck knew better now.

The words Sophia had thrown at him looped endlessly in his mind, tightening around his throat.

Love him anyway.

He loved you from the start.

A hundred girlfriends in the last three years.

Why was he here? Why had he come? To punish himself? To watch his own heart get shattered all over again?

He wanted to scream, to drive his fist into the wall until the drywall caved and his knuckles bled. But he stopped himself. This wasn’t his wall. This wasn’t his house. Nothing here belonged to him. Every inch of the room, every photo, every relic of childhood—it all belonged to Eddie.

Everything but Buck.

He dropped into the desk chair with a ragged exhale, staring blankly at the surface until memory tugged at him. The desk. He remembered this desk. Years ago, Eddie had shown him the secret compartment, grinning like a kid with a treasure chest, sliding out a panel hidden in the back.

Buck’s hands moved before his brain could stop them. He crouched forward, fingers trembling, searching for the hidden notch. The wood gave a reluctant groan before sliding open, and there it was—a single notebook, the cover frayed, the corners bent.

This hadn’t been there before.

With careful, shaking hands, Buck pulled it out and flipped it open. The handwriting on the first page was young, uneven, full of hesitations. Eddie’s handwriting—but smaller, less certain.

March 23, 2007

H flirted with me again today. Thank God L showed up in time to save me from answering. We ended up studying math all afternoon. I’m really bad at it, but L never laughed at me. Not once. Just kept explaining things until I got it.

Buck’s breath caught. He did the math in his head—2007. Eddie would have been fourteen then, maybe just a few months shy of turning fifteen.

It felt wrong, like trespassing into a place too private, but he couldn’t stop. His fingers turned the page.

April 17, 2007

L told me my hair looked nice today. I thought it was just teasing, but it wasn’t. I couldn’t stop thinking about it all through practice. Do friends say stuff like that? I don’t think so.

September 9, 2007

Sometimes I think I’m broken. That something’s wrong with me. If my parents knew what I thought about, what I wanted, I don’t think they’d want me anymore. But then L comes up to my locker and grins at me like I’m the best part of the day, and suddenly I don’t feel so wrong. Maybe I’m not broken. Maybe I’m just… me.

Buck swallowed hard, his throat tight. His chest ached as though he could feel teenage Eddie’s loneliness, his fear bleeding through the ink.

And then—

June 5, 2008

L kissed me today. And I liked it. I think I kissed him back...

Him.

The rest was blank. Page after page empty, the pen abandoned. Buck stared down at the words until they blurred, until the weight of them pressed down so heavily he thought he might suffocate.

Him. Eddie had written small love massages to a boy over years.

The diary slipped from Buck’s trembling hands, landing softly on the desk. He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling too fast. He didn’t know how long he sat like that, drowning in words that weren’t his but cut him all the same.

The sudden crash of the door flying open made him jolt.

“Buck!” Chris’s voice cracked, breathless and urgent. His face was flushed with excitement, his eyes wide. “He’s awake! Dad—Dad’s awake!”

And before Buck could respond, Chris was already gone, his footsteps pounding down the hall toward the bathroom, leaving Buck frozen in his chair, the notebook lying open beside him.

Eddie’s awake.

The words echoed like thunder in his skull.

___

Buck trailed behind the Díaz family as they made their way through the sterile hallways of the hospital, the low hum of fluorescent lights buzzing above them. His steps felt heavy, dragged down by the storm inside his chest. The diary was back in its secret compartment, hidden away behind the panel of Eddie’s childhood desk, as though Buck had never touched it, never read the confessions of a fourteen-year-old Eddie Díaz.

He would pretend he hadn’t seen it. Pretend those words weren’t burned into his memory. Whoever “L” had been, whatever Eddie had done with him, it wasn’t Buck’s place to know. Eddie’s secrets belonged to Eddie, not him.

And yet, the thought gnawed at him. So maybe Eddie liked boys. Maybe he always had. But he hadn’t liked Buck, not like that. Wasn’t that worse? That Eddie had been capable of it—of wanting someone, of kissing someone—and still, Buck hadn’t been the one?

His chest tightened as they turned the last corner.

Outside Eddie’s room, a cluster of doctors stood speaking quietly with Ramon and Helena. Their voices were too soft to catch, professional and measured, but their eyes said more when they flicked to Buck. Pity. Comfort. That quiet nod people gave when they didn’t know what else to offer.

Buck felt nothing. No, that wasn’t true—he felt too much. So much that it numbed him, hollowed him out until he was deaf to their voices, blind to their gestures.

He slipped past them before anyone could stop him, before he could lose his nerve, and pressed himself through the door into Eddie’s room.

And there he was.

Eddie.

Awake.

Propped up against the hospital bed’s pillows, a nasal cannula still feeding him oxygen, an IV snaking into his arm. His skin was pale, marked with fading bruises, his lips cracked and dry. But his eyes—his eyes were open. Alive.

When Buck entered, Eddie had been speaking softly to Chris, one hand wrapped protectively around his son’s smaller one, the other caught in Ann’s desperate grip. Her face was streaked with tears, her shoulders shaking as though she was barely holding herself together.

The moment Buck crossed the threshold, Eddie stopped. His voice cut off mid-word. His gaze snapped to Buck and froze there, locking on like he’d seen a ghost. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again, as though the right words had fled him.

Before either of them could speak, Helena’s voice cut through the charged silence, sharp and practical:

“We had to bring him here because you must have forgotten to update the guardianship paperwork for Christopher.”

Ann’s voice followed immediately, eager, almost trembling with relief.

“But you’re awake now, Eddie. We can send him away. There’s no reason for him to stay anymore.” Her tone was hopeful, far too hopeful, and Buck heard it—like she’d been waiting for the chance to erase him, to make him disappear.

Of course, yesterday Ramon had said, we talked, we must have included Ann as well.

Still, Eddie didn’t look at her. His eyes never left Buck.

“Buck,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, the sound breaking something inside Buck he didn’t know could still break.

Buck swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet Eddie’s gaze. He tried to strip the nerves, the years, the heartbreak out of his voice. He wanted to sound steady, normal. Like just seeing Eddie awake wasn’t undoing him.

“Hey.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them, taut as wire. And then Eddie—Eddie Díaz, bruised and broken but alive—actually let out the smallest, raspiest laugh. A sound so achingly familiar it made Buck’s throat close.

“Hey,” Eddie echoed back, softer, as though that single word was enough.

Chapter Text

Buck and Eddie didn’t really get a chance to talk until five days later, when Eddie was finally discharged from the hospital. The days leading up to that felt like being stuck in some strange holding pattern, where everything moved forward around Buck but nothing moved inside him.

It seemed, however, that Eddie must have spoken to his parents behind closed doors. Because the tense discussions about Buck leaving, about putting him back on a plane to Los Angeles, quietly disappeared. Ramon and Helena didn’t bring it up again. They didn’t warm to him either—Buck could feel their eyes on him, assessing, still uncertain—but at least the threat of exile was gone.

Ann, though… Ann’s eyes lingered. Sometimes sharp, sometimes guarded, sometimes like she was trying to solve a puzzle she didn’t want to know the answer to. She never said anything aloud, but Buck felt the weight of her stares like stones pressed into his skin.

And Chris—God, Chris. The boy Buck had once known as well as his own heartbeat seemed suddenly out of reach. Every time Buck tried to sit with him, to ask him how he was doing, Chris had an excuse ready: homework he couldn’t ignore, plans with friends, Art classes, even helping his grandparents with chores. Always something. Always somewhere else to be.

The distance hurt more than Buck wanted to admit. But he couldn’t force it. He wouldn’t.

The only one who stayed, who drifted toward him instead of away, was Sophia.

Sophia, with her sharp eyes that reminded him so much of Eddie’s, and her laugh—light and unexpected, like the first warm day after a brutal winter. She seemed to sense when Buck was floundering and would cut in, filling the silence with stories about Eddie’s childhood. She painted pictures of a boy who had once been mischievous, stubborn, who had climbed too high in trees just to get a moment’s peace.

One evening, they sat together in the Díaz living room. Ramon was in the kitchen, Helena folding laundry nearby, and Chris was—predictably—out with friends. Ann had vanished to make phone calls. It left Buck and Sophia with the rare gift of quiet.

Sophia leaned back in the armchair, her phone abandoned on the table beside her. “Did Eddie ever tell you about Adriana? Our sister?”

Buck shifted, surprised. “Only in passing.”

“Yeah,” Sophia said softly, tugging a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. “We don’t talk much anymore. Not since she joined the Amish. She writes letters sometimes, but… it’s not the same. Eddie used to be closest to her, though. Real close. They were like twins. She was always the one who understood him best.”

Buck listened carefully, his heart tightening. “That must’ve been hard.”

Sophia shrugged, but the sadness in her eyes betrayed her. “It was. But we’ve all had to get used to Eddie pulling away after that, one way or another.” She looked at Buck then, her gaze lingering, steady in a way that made him uncomfortable.

He hesitated before asking the question that had been gnawing at him since he’d opened that old notebook. He kept his voice casual, though the words were anything but. “Sophia… did Eddie have any close friends in high school? Someone whose name started with an L?”

Her face shifted instantly, the warmth draining from her features. Her back went rigid, eyes sharpening in a way that reminded him so much of Eddie when he was on edge.

“Why?” she asked, her tone flat.

Buck swallowed. “Just… curious.”

Sophia leaned forward, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “Listen to me, Buck.” Her voice trembled—not with fear, but with urgency. “I don’t know what you’ve seen, or what you think you know, but you need to drop it. Please. I’m begging you. Don’t dig into that. Don’t bring it up with him. Some things…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Some things are better left alone.”

Buck stared at her, thrown off by the desperation in her plea. “Sophia—”

“No,” she cut him off quickly, her eyes glistening. “I mean it. If you care about him, me, us, at all, you’ll let it go.”

Her words silenced him. He nodded slowly, though his mind buzzed with a new question he wasn’t sure he wanted answered.

What did she have to do with it?

They didn’t speak of it again. Not that night, not the next. Buck filed it away, buried it with everything else he couldn’t bear to touch, and focused only on the countdown until Eddie finally came home.

___

It happened sooner than Buck would have ever expected—Eddie and him, alone together in one room. No distractions, no interruptions.

Ann was at work. Ramon and Helena were out running errands. Chris was still at school, probably laughing with friends, probably not even thinking about him. Sophia had vanished somewhere into the house again.

Buck didn’t know if she was in her room, out in the garden, or hiding away in one of those quiet corners that old houses seemed to collect. What he did know was that every time she and Eddie were in the same room, something in the air changed—tightened, like a wire pulled too taut.

It wasn’t loud, not the kind of tension you could point at and say, there it is. No, it was quieter than that. Subtle. The way Eddie’s jaw clenched just slightly when Sophia spoke too directly. The way Sophia’s eyes lingered on him a fraction longer than necessary, as if daring him to snap back. The way they sometimes slipped into silence mid-conversation, as if both suddenly remembered they were standing on unstable ground.

Buck felt it, every single time, like static crawling under his skin. And what made it worse was that he couldn’t make sense of it.

Because whenever Eddie spoke about his youngest sister, it was always with admiration, pride, even a little softness. Sophia’s so smart. She grew up fast. She’s got a good heart. Those were the kinds of things Eddie said about her, always in glowing terms. There was no hint of resentment, no suggestion that anything was amiss.

And yet—the tension was there, the same sharp current Buck remembered noticing almost a decade ago when he’d first met Sophia as a teenager. Back then, he’d written it off as typical sibling friction, the kind that only exists between teenagers and adults. But now? After so much time? It didn’t fit.

It gnawed at him, the not-knowing. Because Buck had always been the kind of man who needed to understand the why behind things, and this—this strange, silent divide between Eddie and Sophia—was a puzzle he couldn’t solve.

Now it was just Buck and Eddie.

Buck sat on the Díazs’ couch, feeling stiff and out of place, his palms pressed against his knees as though bracing himself. Eddie was near him, not on the couch, but in the chair—that chair. The wheelchair he was still confined to for a few more weeks while his body healed. It seemed to loom between them, an unspoken reminder of everything that had happened.

Eddie was the one who broke the silence first. His voice was low, rough at the edges.

“You didn’t have to take time off.”

The words struck Buck harder than they should have. His jaw clenched, irritation bubbling in his chest before he could stop it. “Don’t worry. I’ve got plenty of vacation days left. And honestly?” He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “I don’t think anyone back in L.A. even notices I’m gone.”

Eddie blinked, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “I thought you and Ravi were… you know, close. That you got along.”

There was something in his tone—something bitter, almost sharp—that Buck couldn’t quite name. He pushed himself to his feet, needing to stand, needing to meet Eddie’s eyes head-on.

“Ravi’s busy,” Buck said shortly. “Too busy planning his wedding.”

That made Eddie pause. His brows furrowed. “Wedding?”

“Yeah.”

“…To who?” Eddie asked, and Buck could hear the disbelief in his voice.

“May,” Buck replied, his throat tight.

Eddie’s lips parted like he’d been sucker-punched. “May’s getting married?”

Buck gave a humorless nod. “She and Ravi are getting married, yeah.”

Eddie’s voice softened, confused. “But—I thought you and Ravi…”

“What?” Buck’s tone was sharper than he intended. “What exactly did you think?”

“Nothing,” Eddie muttered quickly, then hesitated. “It’s just… May mentioned once she thought you and Ravi might’ve been… you know.” He gestured vaguely with his hand, searching for the right word but unwilling to say it.

Buck’s chest tightened. “And when exactly did you talk to May?”

“Does that matter?” Eddie asked, his voice just a little too defensive.

“Yes, Eddie,” Buck snapped, stepping closer. “It does matter. And for the record—not that it’s any of your damn business—we hooked up a few times. That’s all. We realized we’re better as friends, and that’s where it ended.”

He hadn’t planned to reveal it, but the words came out sharp, like a blade thrown across the room. And for one fleeting second, Buck saw it—saw a flash of something on Eddie’s face. A crack. A glimmer of hurt.

And Buck hated himself for the satisfaction it brought.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie said quietly, his voice rough. His eyes dropped to his lap, to the wheels of the chair he hated.

Buck’s fists curled. He wanted to fight, wanted to scream, wanted to throw everything Eddie had put him through back in his face. But he couldn’t. Not like this. Not when Eddie was in that damn chair, still weak, still healing. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—fight him now.

So instead, Buck sank back down onto the couch, elbows on his knees, head heavy in his hands. The silence stretched, suffocating.

And then, softly—so softly Buck almost missed it—Eddie spoke.

“I missed you.”

The words cracked something open in Buck’s chest, and with them came a flood of memories: the girlfriends with blonde hair and blue eyes, the ones with open, sunny smiles—mirror images of himself. He thought of Sophia’s words, her fury, her plea: He loved you from the start.

Maybe it was true. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Buck was only imagining it, twisting it into something he wanted but could never have.

He looked up, meeting Eddie’s eyes. His throat ached.

“I missed you too, Eddie.”

And the truth of it nearly undid him.

___

That evening, Buck stood in the warm kitchen, sleeves rolled up, trying his best to look like he belonged there. Helena hovered beside him, inspecting the pot he was stirring with the same sharp eye she seemed to cast on everything. For a second, her lips pursed, but then her expression softened.

“Thank you for helping out, Buck,” she said gently.

Buck felt some of the tension in his chest ease. He had been desperate for even the smallest crack in the armor Helena wore around him. The night before, they’d sat together at the dining room table working through the New York Times crossword, and he’d even managed to coax a laugh or two out of her. Tonight, maybe, just maybe, he was making progress.

“No problem, Mrs. Díaz,” he replied with a tentative smile, hoping it looked real and not like the exhausted mask it so often felt like.

She reached out and pressed his shoulder with surprising warmth. “Call me Helena, son.”

The word son hit Buck in the ribs, left him winded in the best way. He swallowed, nodded, and watched as she moved down the hall toward Eddie in the living room.

Alone, Buck drifted to the kitchen window. Outside, the porch light had just flickered on, bathing the yard in soft gold. Chris had just come up the path, a girl trailing a few steps behind him. She couldn’t have been more than seventeen, dark hair pulled into a ponytail, laughter spilling from her like a bell. Chris laughed at something she said, and Buck’s heart tugged at the sound—so familiar, so much older now.

Then the girl leaned up on tiptoe and kissed him, quick and shy, right on the lips. Chris froze, then grinned like a fool, cheeks burning as she waved goodbye and disappeared down the street.

Chris turned toward the door and caught Buck’s silhouette in the kitchen window. His face went crimson in an instant. Buck smothered a laugh, stepping away before the boy could bolt.

⸻

Dinner passed in a blur of chatter and clinking silverware. But afterward, when the house began to quiet, Eddie decreed—like some benevolent tyrant—that Chris was on dish duty, and that Buck was going to help him.

So there they stood, shoulder to shoulder at the sink. Chris washed, Buck dried, their movements awkward at first, like two strangers rehearsing an old dance they’d long since forgotten.

Finally, Buck broke the silence. “She seems nice.”

Chris nearly dropped the plate in his hands. “You saw that?”

“Out the window,” Buck admitted, smirking as he leaned against the counter. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

Chris groaned. “God, you’re worse than Dad. He’d tease me until the end of time.”

“I might anyway,” Buck teased, bumping him lightly with his elbow. “So… who is she?”

Chris hesitated, then shrugged, though the pink in his cheeks betrayed him. “Her name’s Via. She’s in my math class. We’ve been… hanging out for a while.”

“Hanging out, huh?” Buck grinned, stretching the words. “Looked a little more than hanging out to me.”

Chris rolled his eyes, but there was a smile tugging at his mouth. “She’s great. Funny. She doesn’t treat me like I’m… fragile, you know?”

Buck stilled, his towel frozen on a glass. He turned slowly, meeting Chris’s eyes. “You were never fragile, kid. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

For a moment, the years melted away. Chris wasn’t the nearly-grown teenager standing at the sink, but the boy who had once perched on Buck’s shoulders during baseball games, who had run into his arms after school, who had whispered his secrets into Buck’s ear because he trusted him more than anyone else.

Chris’s voice softened. “I missed you, Buck.”

Buck blinked hard, throat tightening. “I missed you too, buddy. More than I can say.”

Chris set the plate aside and turned, leaning against the counter. “You should’ve called. You just… disappeared.”

“I know,” Buck admitted, guilt heavy in his voice. “I thought… maybe you didn’t want me anymore. You were growing up, making friends, building your life. And me—” He broke off, shaking his head. “I didn’t want to mess that up.”

Chris’s eyes were bright, sharp in that way that reminded Buck so much of Eddie it hurt. “You never messed anything up. I wanted you here. I always did.”

For a long moment, neither spoke. The only sound was the soft drip of water from the faucet.

Finally, Chris straightened, determination settling into his features. “Promise me something?”

“Anything,” Buck said instantly.

“When you go back to L.A.—’cause I know you will—promise me you’ll keep in touch. Don’t just vanish again. Text me. Call me. Even if it’s just dumb stuff.”

Buck’s chest ached. He wanted to swear he’d never leave, never let go again—but he knew life wasn’t that simple. So he nodded, his voice rough. “I promise, Chris. I won’t disappear on you again.”

Chris smiled then, small but real, and for the first time in years, Buck felt like maybe he hadn’t lost everything after all.

__

Eddie sat outside on the terrace, shoulders slouched, staring up into the wide, endless Texas sky. The night was heavy with cicadas and the faint hum of distant traffic, the kind of silence that pressed down and made you feel both infinite and unbearably small.

The screen door creaked softly, and Buck stepped out, a steaming mug of tea in his hand. He hesitated, watching Eddie’s profile in the pale moonlight, before quietly setting the mug on the armrest of Eddie’s chair.

“I have to head back the day after tomorrow,” Buck murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, like if he said it too loud it would become too real.

Eddie’s gaze shifted from the stars to Buck. He gave a small nod, his expression unreadable, and turned back to the night sky. He didn’t say a word.

Buck lowered himself onto the wooden porch floor beside him, back pressed to the railing. He didn’t push, didn’t prod—not tonight. Tomorrow, he promised himself. Tomorrow he would talk. Tonight, he just wanted to sit here and be Buck and Eddie.

For a long while, they sat in companionable silence, the kind they used to share on long shifts, side by side in the engine bay, saying nothing and yet saying everything.

It was Eddie who finally broke it. His voice was low, thoughtful. “Tell me something.”

Buck tilted his head, lips quirking. “What do you want to hear?”

Eddie shrugged, eyes still locked on the night sky. “Anything.”

Buck followed Eddie’s gaze upward, searching. Then he pointed. “See that cluster up there?”

Eddie nodded.

“That’s Gemini. The twins—Castor and Pollux. They were half-brothers, actually. One the son of Zeus, the other of a mortal king. They were also brothers to Helen of Sparta—you know, the one who started the whole Trojan War mess.”

A faint smile tugged at Eddie’s lips. “Go on.”

“When they died, Zeus placed them in the sky together, bound for eternity. Immortalized as the Dioscuri, forever side by side.”

Eddie’s voice was soft, almost reverent. “And you just… know that?”

Buck let out a small laugh, embarrassed. “I read The Song of Achilles once. Afterward, I went down a rabbit hole—Wikipedia entries, old myths, everything I could get my hands on.”

“What’s the book about?” Eddie asked.

“You know,” Buck replied, throat tight, “Achilles and Patroclus.”

“Their friendship, right? Best friends?”

For a moment, Buck said nothing, his chest constricting. Finally, he whispered, “Yeah. Exactly. Best friends.”

The words hung between them, heavy with everything unspoken. Eddie didn’t push, didn’t ask. He just let it linger in the night air.

And then, as if the universe itself wanted to break the tension, the screen door banged open again. Chris padded out, cradling a blanket around his shoulders. His crutches clicked softly against the wood as he crossed to them.

“What are you two doing out here?” he asked, settling himself onto the porch steps just in front of them.

“Looking at the stars,” Eddie said simply.

Chris tilted his head back, eyes tracing the constellations. “Do you know that one?” He pointed toward the horizon.

Buck leaned forward. “Which one?”

“Orion. The hunter,” Chris explained, his voice brimming with that same excitement Buck remembered from when Chris was a little boy explaining dinosaurs or fire trucks. “See? Those three stars in a line—that’s his belt. And there’s his bow, right there. Sophia showed me once.”

Eddie smiled, pride softening his face. “That sounds about right.”

“And up there,” Chris continued eagerly, “that’s Canis Major. His hunting dog. The brightest star there is—Sirius.”

Buck grinned, warmth flooding his chest. “You’ve gotten really good at this, kid.”

Chris shrugged, trying to play it off, but he was glowing under the praise. “I just… like it. Makes me feel small, but in a good way, you know? Like all the stuff we worry about doesn’t really matter up there.”

For a moment, the three of them sat there together—Eddie in his chair, Buck on the floor, Chris on the steps—trading stories about the stars. And it was almost as if no time had passed at all. As if the years of silence and distance had melted away, leaving only the simple comfort of a family that, against all odds, still fit together.

Buck looked at Eddie, then at Chris, and for the first time in a long time, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, they could find their way back.

Chapter Text

Buck woke to the sharp sound of voices cutting through the thin walls of Eddie’s childhood home. For a moment he thought he was dreaming—the kind where noise bleeds into sleep—but then his eyes fluttered open and the morning light streaming through the blinds made everything painfully real.

He lay still on the small bed, listening.

“…always lying to yourself!” Sophia’s voice rang clear, edged with fury.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about—” Eddie’s voice, strained, clipped, rising in defense.

“I do! I’ve known you my whole life, Eddie—”

The words tangled together, rising and falling, breaking apart into bursts of anger. Buck could only catch fragments: selfish… mistake… responsibility… can’t keep running. His chest tightened as if he were intruding on something private, something he had no right to overhear—but he couldn’t tune it out, not when it was this loud.

Then came silence. Heavy, suffocating. Followed by the sharp sound of footsteps.

Buck swung his legs off the bed, running a hand through his hair before making his way into the hall. By the time he reached the living room, Sophia was already pulling on her jacket, her face tight with unshed tears and her lips pressed thin. She barely spared him a glance as she brushed past, mumbling something under her breath that he couldn’t catch.

“Morning,” Buck said awkwardly, though it felt like the wrong word.

Eddie was on the couch, hunched forward, hands clasped together as if he’d been holding himself in place by sheer force. His jaw flexed, but he didn’t look up.

“Everything okay?” Buck asked quietly, though he knew the answer.

Eddie finally raised his head. His eyes were dark, stormy, but his voice came out flat. “Don’t worry about it.”

Buck wanted to push—wanted to demand an explanation—but he caught himself. Eddie’s expression was a wall, solid and impenetrable, and Buck knew better than to try breaking through it. Not now.

Before the silence could stretch too far, Chris appeared at the bottom of the stairs, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. His hair was still damp from the shower, and there was a flicker of excitement in his eyes that immediately softened the tension in the room.

“Hey, Buck,” Chris said, his tone warm, almost casual, as if the shouting match hadn’t rattled the house minutes earlier. “You wanna come to my game later?”

Buck blinked. “Your game?”

“Football,” Chris clarified, grinning.

„I thought you hated football.“ Buck laughed.

He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “Via’s cheer squad is performing at halftime. She’s… you know… really good.”

“Via,” Buck repeated, the name ringing a faint bell from the night before. “Your girlfriend?”

Chris blushed, a little proud smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. She’d kill me if I didn’t bring you. Plus,” he added quickly, “it’d be nice to have you there. Kinda like old times.”

Something in Buck’s chest loosened. He forced a smile, nodding. “Yeah, kid. I’d like that.”

Eddie said nothing, just leaned back on the couch and stared out the window, but Buck caught the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. He didn’t know if it was pride, bitterness, or regret. Maybe all three.

___

The afternoon sun in El Paso was already dipping low by the time Buck and Chris left the house, the dry warmth of the desert settling into something softer, almost golden. Buck walked beside him, carrying a water bottle in one hand, while Chris moved at his steady pace with the help of his crutch. There was no rush, no weight of expectation—just the two of them filling the silence with half-serious complaints about the heat.

“Why do Texans even play football when it’s hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk?” Buck asked dramatically, pulling at the collar of his t-shirt as though he might actually melt.

Chris chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s a religion here, Buck. Heat doesn’t matter. Cold doesn’t matter. Rain, thunder, hurricanes… they’d still play.”

Buck made a face. “Yeah, well, I think I’d do better as a fan if they served margaritas in the bleachers.”

Chris laughed harder, his shoulders shaking, and for a moment Buck caught a flash of the boy he remembered—the kid who used to find everything Buck said just a little funnier than it probably was.

By the time they reached the high school, the parking lot was already crowded, families streaming in with blankets tucked under their arms, kids painted in school colors, and the faint smell of popcorn drifting in the air. Buck paid for their tickets before Chris could argue, and together they found a spot in the stands where the view of the field was clear.

The game started quickly, whistles blowing, players crashing into each other with a force that made Buck wince. Chris barely looked at the field, though—his eyes were searching for someone else entirely.

“There,” he said suddenly, nudging Buck with his elbow. “That’s her. That’s Via.”

Buck followed his gaze to the group of cheerleaders warming up near the sidelines. One girl stood out, her dark ponytail bouncing as she laughed with her teammates. When she glanced toward the stands, her eyes caught Chris’s, and she lifted her hand in a little wave before turning back to her squad.

Buck smiled. “She’s cute.”

Chris rolled his eyes, though his cheeks flushed. “She’s more than cute. She’s… Via. You’ll see.”

And Buck did see—when halftime came and the cheerleaders ran out, their routine was sharp, full of energy and grace. Via was right at the center, her movements confident, her smile bright. Buck clapped loudly, maybe louder than necessary, just to tease Chris.

“You’re grinning like an idiot,” Buck said under his breath.

“Shut up,” Chris shot back, though he was smiling too. “You should’ve seen her last week. They built this pyramid thing, and she was at the top. I thought my heart was gonna stop.”

Buck laughed so hard his stomach hurt. “Oh no, you’re already one of those boyfriends. Next thing I know you’ll be carrying her pom-poms for her.”

Chris smirked. “I already did last week.”

That set them both off again, the kind of easy laughter that Buck had missed for years—the kind that left them leaning into each other, catching their breath.

The second half of the game dragged on, but neither of them cared. They shared a bag of nachos, made up ridiculous commentary for the players (“Number 42 looks like he regrets all his life choices right now”), and mostly talked—about school, about Buck’s time in LA, about movies Chris had seen that Buck had to catch up on.

Later, when the game finally ended and the crowd began to scatter, Via ran up to them, her face still flushed from cheering.

“Chris!” she beamed, throwing her arms briefly around his shoulders before straightening. Then her gaze shifted curiously to Buck. “And this must be Buck. The famous Buck I’ve heard way too much about.”

Buck blinked, caught off guard. “Famous, huh?”

Chris groaned. “Don’t listen to her.”

Via ignored him, grinning at Buck. “I’m glad you’re here. He talks about you like—well, like you hung the moon or something.”

Buck’s throat tightened, but he forced a smile. “Guess I’ll have to live up to the hype.”

They all laughed then, though Buck caught the pink blooming in Chris’s cheeks, and something in his chest ached with both pride and regret.

By the time they finally made it home, the night air had cooled, stars scattered faintly above the neighborhood. Chris was still buzzing with energy, recounting every detail of Via’s routine as if Buck hadn’t just watched it with his own eyes. Buck listened anyway, nodding, smiling, adding the occasional joke just to keep the boy’s laughter going.

___

He had promised himself he would talk to Eddie. He owed himself that much.

Just, talking had never been one of Eddies gifts.

Eddie sat slouched in his wheelchair on the back patio, the night air heavy and still. The same place where, just the evening before, Buck had let himself believe—stupidly—that maybe, just maybe, some part of them still existed, buried beneath all the years. A bottle of wine rested loosely in Eddie’s hand, and just as he raised it to his lips, Buck’s voice cut through the quiet.

“I hope to god you’re not about to drink that.”

The words were sharp enough to make Eddie flinch. He lowered the bottle slowly, irritation flickering across his face. “What, a man’s not allowed a little wine now and then? Relax, Mom.” His voice was too casual, too light to be real.

Buck’s jaw tightened. “Not if that ‘little wine’ turns into getting drunk in broad daylight and wrapping your car around the only tree in a hundred miles.”

Eddie froze, his hand stilled halfway to setting the bottle down. His eyes flicked up to Buck’s, startled and wounded all at once. “Who told you?”

“So it’s true then?” Buck’s voice cracked as he pushed forward. “You tried to kill yourself?”

Eddie snapped his gaze away, staring into the shadows of the yard as though they might swallow him. “No. No, Buck, I didn’t try to kill myself. And I really don’t want to have this conversation right now.”

“Too damn bad,” Buck shot back, stepping closer. “You’re not exactly in a position to drive off and avoid me, so guess what? We’re having this conversation.” His chest heaved, his voice shaking with anger he could barely contain. “Explain it to me, Eddie. Explain how you manage to crash into the only tree out here. Because I can’t make sense of it.”

“Of course you can’t,” Eddie muttered bitterly, rubbing his hand down his face like he could scrub the whole thing away.

Buck’s voice rose, raw and unsteady. “Where is this coming from, Eddie? This whole dark, self-destructive spiral— when you were the one who caused all of this?”

That made Eddie whip his head around, his eyes sharp. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Buck snapped, louder than he meant to, “you don’t get to act like you’re the one who’s broken. Not when you’re the one who walked away. Not when you left me.”

Eddie’s knuckles whitened against the armrest of his chair. “Oh, shut the hell up.”

“No!” Buck’s voice cracked, but he didn’t care. “You swore to me, Eddie. Day one. You said you had my back, that you’d never let me fall. And then you left. You left me behind like none of it mattered. Like I didn’t matter. So tell me, why? Why are you acting depressed? Why the hell did you go when I never once left you?”

Eddie’s voice rose to meet his, ragged, shaking. “Oh, is that what you tell yourself? That you always had my back? Then what about the lawsuit, huh?”

Buck stiffened, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t you dare—”

“Oh, I’ll dare.” Eddie cut him off, his words like a blade. “You thought you were doing the right thing, Buck. Just like I thought I was doing the right thing when I came here. You and me—we’re just two idiots making the wrong choices, thinking we’re saving everyone.”

Buck’s vision blurred. He barely noticed the hot sting of tears streaking down his face. “Then why didn’t you come back? Huh? If it was such a mistake, why didn’t you come back to me? Why didn’t you go to Bobby when he needed you? Why did you leave me standing there, alone?” His voice broke into a shout.

“Because of you!” Eddie roared back, just as broken, just as raw. “Because of you, Buck. Because I can’t stand it. Being near you—God, it makes me want things I don’t get to want. Don’t you get it? I’m not normal!”

Buck reeled, like Eddie had slapped him. “Not normal?” he rasped. His fists curled at his sides. “You think I’m not normal, Eddie? You think Hen and Karen are not normal? Josh, Michael—hell, half the family we built together—you think they’re not normal?”

“No!” Eddie’s voice cracked on the word, desperation seeping into his tone. “No, that’s different—”

“Then tell me why.” Buck’s voice rose into a near-scream. “Why the hell is it different?”

Eddie’s chest heaved, his face flushed, his eyes wild. He looked like a man cornered, torn wide open. “Because they’re not me, Buck!” he bellowed. “Because I’m not them—I’m not you! And I don’t know how to be!”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating, broken only by Eddie’s uneven breathing. Buck could hear him struggling against the tears he didn’t want to shed, could feel the weight of every unspoken word pressing down on them. Finally, Eddie’s voice cracked through the quiet, low and raw.

“You’re not me, Buck. You’re not in my body, with my mind, trapped in my skin. You don’t understand what that feels like.”

Buck swallowed hard, his pulse hammering in his ears. His hands clenched at his sides. And then, without warning, he dropped the bomb he’d been carrying in his chest for days.

“What about L?”

The reaction was immediate—like a storm ripping across Eddie’s face. A hundred emotions flashed through his eyes—shock, anger, grief, guilt—all tumbling one after the other, too fast to pin down.

Eddie’s voice was sharp, almost panicked. “What do you know about L?”

“I found your diary, Eddie.” Buck’s words landed like a blow. He didn’t back down, though every part of him wanted to.

Eddie froze. Then slowly, he nodded, the fight bleeding out of him. His gaze drifted upward, away from Buck, back toward the constellations above—the Gemini twins still hanging in the night sky like guardians of secrets. His voice was quieter now, fragile.

“Liam was my best friend. He lived right across the street from us. He was a little older than me. Two weeks after the entry you read, his parents sent him off to the Army. He was only seventeen.” Eddie’s throat worked as he forced the words out. “He didn’t last a year. Then the letter came.”

Buck’s chest ached. He had no words, nothing that could possibly ease that kind of wound. When Sophia had told him to let it go, he hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected the shadow of a ghost to be what haunted Eddie all these years.

Eddie finally turned back to him, his eyes glistening, voice breaking as he whispered, “He wasn’t normal either, Buck. And they killed him.”

Buck’s breath hitched. A single thought burned its way through him, sharp and merciless. “Is that why you enlisted? To follow him? To chase the same fate he did?”

Eddie gave a helpless shrug, his shoulders sagging under the weight of years. “I couldn’t die. I had a kid. But… when I put on the uniform, when I stepped onto that battlefield… I could feel closer to him. Like if I just pushed myself hard enough, maybe I could fix the parts of me that were broken.”

It was almost everything.

Almost the full picture. But Buck knew there was still one piece missing—the darkest one.

“And Sophia?” Buck pressed softly. “Why is she so desperate to keep this buried? Why does it matter so much to her?”

Eddie’s expression hardened, shadows carving across his face. His voice was low, bitter. “Because she saw us. She saw me and Liam kiss. She told my parents. And they told his. My folks buried it, pretended it never happened. But his? They punished him. They shipped him off to die. Sophia didn’t just tell. She sent him to his grave.”

The silence that followed was crushing.

“She wasn’t even six years old, Eddie,” Buck whispered, his voice breaking with sorrow. “She didn’t kill Liam. You know that.”

Eddie said nothing. His jaw locked tight, his eyes fixed on the distance as if he could stare himself into oblivion. The conversation was over, and Buck knew it.

He turned away, shoulders heavy, heading for the sliding glass door. But when he reached it, he froze. Sophia was standing there, small and fragile in the frame, her eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears.

For a heartbeat, none of them moved. Then Buck gave her a soft, broken smile—a silent apology, a promise that he understood. Without another word, he slipped past her and disappeared into the guest room, leaving the weight of two lifetimes behind him.

Sophia followed him down the hallway, her footsteps quick and uneven. “Buck—please. I’m so sorry.”

He spun around so suddenly that she flinched. Whatever she saw on his face—anger, exhaustion, years of unspoken grief—it was enough to make her take a step back. His voice was low, sharp, every word slicing through the air like broken glass.

“Listen to me, Sophia. Pack your things and get out of here. Eddie is not your responsibility. Whatever he does, whatever he says, however he chooses to destroy himself—that’s on him. Not you. Not anymore.”

Sophia’s eyes shimmered, her lips parting as if she wanted to argue. But Buck pressed on, his voice rising, his chest heaving with the weight of everything he’d buried for too long.

“You think Eddie just made a mistake? You think this is some tragic accident we can patch over? I was fine before I came down here, Sophia. Do you get that? I was finally fine. And now? Now I’m worse than I’ve ever been, because you know what? Eddie doesn’t care about me. He cared about himself and I am sick of it. If Eddie had wrapped his car around that tree and died, I wouldn’t have cared.” His voice broke, but he didn’t stop. “I wouldn’t care if tomorrow he got hit by a frying pan and dropped dead. Because I’ve already given enough of my life to him—years, Sophia—and he couldn’t even acknowledge it.”

Her breath caught in her throat, but Buck didn’t let the silence settle.

“I’m done. I am done being the one all of you Díazs blame for Eddie’s choices. From today forward, I don’t want to hear about him again. Not if he gets hurt, not if he collapses, not if he finally drinks himself into the grave. I am finished with him, with you, with your whole family.” His tone softened, just barely. “The only exception is Chris. That boy is the only reason I stayed as long as I did. But as for you—stay out of it. Stay out of us.”

Sophia’s eyes widened, tears spilling freely now. And beneath the grief, there was something else—something like reluctant pride, as if she saw strength in him even when it was aimed squarely against her. She stepped back, her voice quiet but steady.

“I’ll always believe in Eddie, Buck, and I know you do too.“ she whispered. Then she turned and disappeared from the room, leaving him standing in the suffocating silence of a house that had never belonged to him.

She was wrong. Maybe time really makes a difference, but if Buck listened carefully in his inside there was nothing but hate, hate and anger and something else he wouldn’t name, because he never believed those who did hate and love were as close as moon and stars.

That night, Buck packed his bag and left without saying goodbye. The road blurred beneath him, mile after mile, until Los Angeles rose up in front of him once more.

And as he pulled into the familiar driveway—his house, though it had never really stopped being Eddie’s—his phone buzzed. A new message lit up the screen.

Chris: Do you know where Dad is?

Well, fuck you, Eddie Diaz.

Chapter Text

Buck sat in his Jeep for what felt like hours, the engine off, the silence pressing in around him like a second skin. His hands were still on the wheel, fingers stiff, knuckles white. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d really slept—not the shallow half-sleep he’d been falling into these past nights, but slept, the kind of rest where his chest didn’t feel heavy and his throat didn’t ache with everything he hadn’t said.

Too much had happened since the last time he’d closed his eyes. Too much he couldn’t take back. He told himself he wouldn’t, even if he could. Every choice he’d made—the yelling, the confessions, the ugly truth spilling out—had been his. He had stood his ground. He had finally drawn the line between himself and the Díaz family, between himself and Eddie. And yet—there was still that lump in his throat, hot and solid, making it hard to breathe.

Why did it hurt so damn much to walk away from someone you’d already lost years ago?

He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, angry at the wetness gathering there. No more. You’re done crying over him, Evan. But the tears still came, hot and relentless, slipping past his guard like they always did. He hated it. Hated how Eddie had this hold on him, how even in silence, in absence, Eddie’s name was carved into the walls of his chest.

Finally, with a rough exhale, he shoved the door open and stepped out into the evening air. The world smelled of dust and asphalt, of a city that had never quite stopped buzzing, no matter how late it got. He closed the Jeep behind him and forced his feet toward the house.

The keys were heavy in his hand, heavier still when he slid one into the lock. This was his house now—legally, technically—but it never stopped feeling like Eddie’s. The door gave way, hinges groaning softly as it swung open. Buck stepped inside, his boots sinking into the familiar rug, and the air shifted.

The ghosts were everywhere.

On the walls: photographs of Eddie, of Chris, of Eddie and Chris, and—worse—of Eddie, Chris, and him. Buck. Smiling like he belonged here. Like he’d always belong here. The sight of it punched the breath out of him. He hadn’t realized how much of himself lingered in this place, how many shadows of the life he thought he could have were still woven into the fabric of these rooms.

He wanted to rip them all down. Smash every frame, burn every memory. He wanted to scrub his presence from this place until it was just Eddie’s again, until maybe it stopped hurting.

But he didn’t move. He just stood there, in the doorway of a life he could never step fully into, trying to will himself into letting go.

And then—

“You really didn’t change a thing.”

The voice froze him in place. Buck’s head whipped toward the sound, his heart slamming against his ribs. Eddie was there, leaning casually in the doorframe, his shoulder against the wall like it cost him nothing to stand there, to exist in this space Buck had tried to reclaim.

Eddie’s eyes tracked the room, then landed on Buck with something unreadable in their depths. His mouth quirked, just barely, and his voice was quiet but steady when he added, “And here I was thinking you’d have smashed that wall down by now.”

““What… what are you doing here? How did you even get in?” Buck hated the way his voice cracked—not sharp with anger like he wanted, but raw, too fragile, betraying him.

Eddie didn’t flinch. He just leaned there, steady as if he belonged in the doorway of Buck’s life. “You didn’t change the locks,” he said simply, like that explained everything. Like that was permission.

It set Buck’s blood on fire. “Who the hell do you think you are? What do you think you’re doing here?”

“Buck—”

“No.” Buck’s voice cut sharper this time, slicing through the air. “Shut up, Eddie. Don’t you dare. I told you everything I needed you to know. I laid myself bare. And then I stepped away. I finally—finally—walked away. You don’t get to show up here and act like you still have some right to me. You don’t get to waltz back into my life when it suits you.” His chest was heaving now, his hands trembling, but he forced the words out anyway. “I told you—I’m done with you.”

Eddie’s face twisted at that. Pain flickered there, sharp and ugly, and for a second Buck almost believed he’d landed a blow. Eddie’s jaw clenched, his throat bobbing.

“I know you hate me, Buck,” Eddie whispered.

Buck barked out a laugh, harsh and wet, shaking his head furiously. “No, Eddie. No, I don’t hate you. Don’t you get it? I could never hate you. That’s the damn problem.” His voice cracked on the last word, and he pushed past it, louder, angrier. “Which is why I’m leaving you behind. Just like you left me behind. Because if I don’t—if I keep holding on—I’ll burn myself alive for you. And you’ll let me. You always let me.”

His voice broke, but Eddie didn’t move, didn’t argue. Instead, he reached into his bag, pulling out a thick stack of papers, bound together with an old elastic band. His hands shook slightly as he stepped forward and dropped them onto the floor at Buck’s feet. The sound echoed in the quiet room.

Buck stared down at them, confusion hardening into fury. “What the hell is that supposed to be?”

“Letters,” Eddie said, his voice low, hoarse. “Letters I wrote to you. Every month. Every time I—” He cut himself off, swallowing hard, his throat working. “In the span you were gone. Every time I wanted to call you. Every time I wanted to explain.”

Buck’s eyes snapped up to his, blazing. His hand shot out toward the pile on the ground, trembling with rage. “You think that—” His words faltered, his voice trembling as much as his hand. “You think this—” he gestured wildly, desperately at the stack of paper—“you think this makes it all okay? All of a sudden?” His voice broke halfway through, raw and bitter.

Eddie’s eyes were shining, his chest rising and falling too quickly. “No,” he said quietly. “No, Buck. I don’t think it fixes anything. I don’t think it erases the hurt. I just—” he hesitated, his voice barely audible now. “I just needed you to know I never stopped trying.”

“You never stopped trying?” Buck’s laugh was jagged, bitter. “That’s a lie, Eddie, and you know it. You didstop trying. You stopped the second it got hard, the second you had to fight for anything that wasn’t just about you. You gave up on me, and you gave up on Bobby, too. You left us all here to clean up the mess while you disappeared into your own damn misery, that you were the only reason for.”

Eddie’s face tightened, his voice sharp as a whip. “Don’t you dare bring Bobby into this—”

“Why not?” Buck snapped. “Because it’s true? Because you can’t stand to hear it? You walked away from him, from everyone, and you want to stand here acting like I’m the one who abandoned you?” His chest was heaving, his throat raw. “You’re an asshole, Eddie. A selfish, arrogant asshole.”

“Tell me, does Ann know that you are here right now?”

Eddie’s jaw clenched so hard Buck thought he might break a tooth. “This has nothing to do with Ann, Buck.”

“Well Fuck you Eddie. You know how she feels about you and you just let her live with it without telling her that you don’t care about her.” Buck screamed.

“I do care about her!”

“No you don’t. Like you didn’t care about me. You care about yourself, like always. Making you look good.”

Buck’s pulse was still racing when he heard the sharp sound of his name, slicing through the air like glass.

“Evan Buckley.”

His whole body went rigid. He turned, already knowing that voice before he saw her. Maddie stood framed in the doorway, her coat half-off, hair mussed, as if she’d gotten out of her car and stormed inside without even stopping to think. Her eyes landed on him first, wide, angry, and worried all at once.

“You didn’t call me.” Her voice cracked, and that hurt worse than if she’d screamed. “Two weeks, Evan. Two weeks of vacation without staying in touch with anyone. Do you have any idea what that’s done to me?”

Buck opened his mouth, then closed it. His throat was too tight, words jamming up before they even had a chance to form.

Maddie took a step closer, searching his face, lowering her voice. “I thought you left, I—I thought... And now I find your Jeep parked out front at—”

Her words cut off mid-sentence. Because she’d finally seen him.

Eddie.

He was standing across the room, still and stone-faced, like a soldier waiting for impact. His dark eyes locked on Maddie with something between fury and disdain. Buck felt the shift in the air, sharp as a knife. If there was anyone that hated Eddie Diaz more than Evan Buckley  it was Maddie Buckley and they all knew it.

“You son of a bitch!” she shouted. “How dare you show up here, after everything you put him through?” She jabbed a finger at Eddie’s chest, every word like fire. “You don’t get to wreck my brother’s life twice. Do you hear me? You don’t get to walk in here and drag him down with you all over again!”

Eddie didn’t move, didn’t flinch. His face went hard, stone cold, but Buck saw the muscle in his jaw twitch. Maddie pressed on, her voice sharp and breaking with emotion.

“You left him, Eddie! You broke him! And now what? You think you can toss some damn letters at his feet and all’s forgiven?” Her voice cracked. “You’ve been nothing but poison to him, and if you think I’m going to stand by and let you hurt him again—you’re out of your damn mind.”

“Maddie—” Buck’s voice cut in, trying to calm the storm. He stepped between them, holding out a hand, his own chest still tight with rage and grief. “Stop. Please. This isn’t—this isn’t helping.”

“Not helping?” Maddie snapped, eyes wide and wet. “What isn’t helping is him standing here, trying to crawl back into your life like he didn’t already tear you apart.”

Buck swallowed hard, lowering his voice. “Maddie, please. Just… not here. Not now.” He touched her arm gently, steering her toward the door. She resisted for a second, glaring past him at Eddie with a hatred that burned.

“I mean it, Evan,” she hissed. “I won’t watch him destroy you again.”

Buck nodded, his throat thick. “I’ll call you later, I promise. We’ll talk, okay? Just—let me handle this.”

Finally, reluctantly, Maddie let him guide her out the door, though she kept her eyes locked on Eddie until the last possible second.

The door closed behind Maddie with a soft click that felt too final, like a judge’s gavel. For a long moment, Buck stayed in the quiet hallway, forehead resting against the cool wood, eyes shut tight. His lungs ached from holding in air he hadn’t realized he’d trapped.

Maddie’s words still echoed inside him, the fear in her voice, the anger, the love. She’d left, but her absence was as loud as her presence, filling the silence with questions Buck wasn’t ready to answer.

Slowly, heavily, he turned back toward the living room. Eddie was still there, exactly where he’d been when Maddie burst in, as though he hadn’t moved an inch. He was standing in the half-shadow of the lamp, his jaw tight, his eyes unreadable. The stack of letters still sat abandoned between them on the hardwood floor, the ribbon loose now, pages threatening to scatter if anyone so much as breathed too hard.

Buck bent down, picked them up, and placed them on the coffee table without looking at Eddie. His hands shook.

Then he finally spoke, his voice low, almost hoarse.

“Go home, Eddie.”

Eddie’s head jerked up like Buck had slapped him. His lips parted, disbelief flickering across his face. “What?”

“You heard me.” Buck’s chest heaved with the effort it took to keep his tone steady. “I want you to leave. Right now.”

“Buck—”

“No.” Buck raised his hand, cutting him off before he could begin again. “Don’t. Don’t call me that like it still means something.” His throat burned as the words clawed their way out. “You don’t get to walk back into my life and act like it’s still yours to take.”

Eddie’s fists curled at his sides. He shook his head, voice rough. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.”

“Funny,” Buck shot back, bitter, “because that’s all we ever seem to do anymore.” He gestured toward the door, his arm trembling. “So do us both a favor and just go.”

For a long time Eddie didn’t move. He just stood there, staring at Buck like he could burn his way through all of Buck’s walls if he stared hard enough. His mouth worked like he had a thousand things to say but couldn’t find the right one.

And then, finally, quietly, Eddie whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Buck froze.

Two words. So simple. And yet they landed heavier than anything else Eddie had said all night.

Eddie stepped closer, not much, just one slow, careful step, as if he was approaching a wounded animal. His voice broke as he tried again.

“I’m sorry, Buck. For everything. For leaving. For not calling. For letting you think you weren’t… enough.”

“Don’t.” Buck turned away, blinking hard, trying to stop the tears that pricked at the edges of his eyes. “Don’t you dare stand there and act like an apology can fix this.”

“I know it can’t.” Eddie’s voice cracked, raw and desperate. “God, I know it can’t. I’ve rehearsed this a thousand times in my head, what I’d say if I ever got the chance. And it never sounds right. Nothing I could ever say will undo what I did to you. But I had to try.”

Buck laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “Try? That’s the thing, Eddie. You stopped trying. You gave up on me. On us. You left me drowning, and now you’re here, what, expecting me to just forget?”

Eddie flinched but didn’t back down. His eyes were shining now, glassy with unshed tears. “I never forgot. Not for a second. Every day, Buck. You were with me every single day, even when I was too much of a coward to admit it.”

The word “coward” hit the air like a gunshot, and Buck’s heart clenched so hard he thought it might stop. He turned, finally meeting Eddie’s gaze. And for the first time in what felt like years, Eddie wasn’t hiding.

“I love you,” Eddie said, voice trembling but steadying with each word. “I love you, Evan Buckley. I have loved you since the first day you walked into my life with that stupid smile and your stupid heart too big for your chest. And I was terrified. Terrified of what that meant, of what it said about me, of what it might cost me. So I ran. I told myself I was protecting you, protecting Chris, protecting myself. But the truth is—I was just scared. And I hurt you because of it.”

Buck’s breath caught, his vision blurring. He wanted to scream. To hit something. To cry. He wanted to believe him so badly it made his whole body ache. But belief had cost him before.

“You don’t get to say that now,” Buck whispered, his voice sharp with pain. “Not after everything. Not after Ann, and every other girlfriend. Not after Chris. Not after leaving me with nothing but silence.”

Eddie’s face crumpled, his tears finally falling. “I know. I know I don’t deserve another chance. But I can’t stand here and not tell you the truth anymore. I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this. I can’t live with the weight of it pressing me down every day.”

“Then don’t,” Buck snapped, stepping back like the words were fire. “Don’t put it on me. Don’t make your guilt my burden. You want to tell me you love me? Fine. But it doesn’t erase the years you weren’t here. It doesn’t change the fact that when I needed you most, you were gone.”

They stood in silence, their ragged breaths the only sound between them. The space felt too small, too heavy, every word pulling them closer and yet pushing them further apart.

Finally, Buck’s shoulders sagged. His voice was softer, weary. “Go home, Eddie. Please. Before we say something we can’t take back.”

Eddie swallowed hard. His lips parted like he wanted to argue, to push, to fight. But instead, he nodded, slow and broken. He wiped at his face, failing miserably to hide the tears that wouldn’t stop.

“I’ll go,” he whispered. “But you need to know—none of this was ever nothing to me. You’re… you’ve always been everything.”

Buck closed his eyes. He couldn’t watch. He couldn’t bear it.

The sound of Eddie’s footsteps moving toward the door was the loneliest sound Buck had ever heard.

When the door finally shut behind him, the silence that followed wasn’t sharp or shattering. It was softer. Like the echo of something unfinished, something unresolved. Not peace. Not closure. But not final either.

Buck stood alone in his living room, the weight of Eddie’s words lingering in the air, and for the first time in years, he didn’t know if he was breaking apart or holding on.

Somewhere in that fragile silence, hope still flickered. Fragile, dangerous, but alive.

He wasn’t Eddies anymore. He was his. But as his, couldn’t he be Eddies?