Chapter Text
Wednesday began like any other day. A morning run, breakfast at Buck's favorite café, black coffee and a ham and cheese sandwich, and then a short walk to the city center, where he planned to finally buy new shoes and a gift for Maddie, whose birthday was coming up soon.
As Buck walked past the park, something, or rather someone, caught his attention. He stopped and stared at the scene in front of him, and he definitely didn't like what he saw. At the far end of the park, partially hidden behind bushes, a group of teenagers sat on a bench. Four kids, probably around fifteen, in ripped jeans and oversized T-shirts. And among them was Christopher. With his crutches leaning against a bench, laughing at something one of the boys had just said.
"It can't be him," Buck muttered to himself, but he knew he was right. He would recognize that smile anywhere. He automatically glanced at the watch on his wrist. It was Wednesday morning. Eleven o'clock. Christopher should be sitting in school learning math or history.
Buck stopped and watched the scene in front of him. His first instinct was to run over, grab Christopher by the shoulder, and pull him away. But then he saw something that froze him in his tracks. One of the teenagers took a can of beer out of his backpack, opened it, and handed it to Christopher. The boy hesitated at first, but then, encouraged by the others, he took the can and took a sip. His face contorted in disgust, but he took another sip, this time with better results.
"No, no, no... fuck," Buck whispered.
As if that weren't enough, another of the boys pulled out cigarettes. They all took one, including Christopher, who was clearly not used to smoking. Buck held his breath as he watched Christopher choke on his first drag, his cheeks reddening and his eyes filling with tears. Buck would have laughed at the sight if the situation hadn't been so serious. Buck's stomach clenched. Christopher, little Christopher, his best friend's son, the child he loved like his own, was smoking cigarettes and drinking beer in the middle of the morning when he should have been in school.
What the hell was I supposed to do? Buck knew Eddie well enough to know how he would react. Eddie was a strict but fair parent. He had always tried to create a stable and safe environment for Christopher, especially after his mother's death. This would break him.
Buck considered his options. He could call Eddie right now. That would be the most direct route. Eddie would come over, furious, and probably punish Christopher by grounding him for a month. Or he could pretend he hadn't seen anything. Walk away and let Christopher do whatever he wanted. There had been plenty of similar escapades in Buck's past. He remembered smoking cigarettes behind the school at the same age, getting drunk at parties when he was sixteen. Who was he to judge anyone?
But this wasn't just anyone. This was Christopher. And Buck wasn't just a random passerby. Chris was important to him, he was part of his family.
"Damn it," Buck whispered as he made up his mind and headed toward the group. He took a deep breath. "This isn't a good idea," he muttered to himself, but he was already walking toward them.
As he approached, one of the boys spotted him and immediately warned the others. Beer cans disappeared into backpacks and cigarettes were quickly stubbed out under the soles of their shoes. One of the older boys shouted at him, "Hey, man, this is a private party."
"Hey, Christopher!" he called out when he was a few feet away from them.
Chris's head turned sharply. His eyes widened in shock and he immediately looked down at the ground. The other boys looked at Buck suspiciously.
"What do you want, buddy?" barked one of them, a tall boy with a baseball cap turned backwards.
Buck ignored him. "Chris, can I talk to you for a minute? Privately?"
Christopher looked as if he wanted to sink into the ground.
"You know him?" asked another of the boys.
"Yeah," Chris replied reluctantly. "He's... my dad's friend."
Buck felt the words sting. My dad's friend. Not "Buck" or "my friend Buck" or anything else. Just his father's friend. As if he were some random acquaintance.
Chris looked at his friends, then back at Buck. The first hint of defiance appeared on his face. "I'm fine, Buck. You can go."
"No, I can't." Buck sighed and took a step closer. "Listen, you can come with me voluntarily, or I can call your dad right now. What's it going to be?" Chris just shrugged, so Buck took Christopher aside where the others couldn't hear them. They stood in silence for a moment. Buck noticed Chris leaning nervously on his crutches, his eyes fixed on the tips of his shoes.
"We'll wait for you, Diaz," the first boy called out, looking meaningfully at Buck. "Hey, you're not waiting!" Buck raised his voice. "How old are you?"
The boys looked at each other and then at Buck. "That's none of your business," said the one with black hair.
"When I see minors drinking beer and smoking, it's my business," Buck replied. "I could call the police." That worked. The boys turned pale, and one of them, the youngest-looking, looked as if he was about to cry.
"We have to go now," muttered one of them, a tall boy with pale skin and black hair. "Yeah, we have... things to do," added another, getting ready to leave.
"Fine," Buck sighed. "Go home. And next time, think twice before you do something like that." He didn't have to tell them twice. Within seconds, they were all gone, leaving Buck and Christopher alone in the park.
"So... I guess I should ask what you're doing outside of school," Buck began cautiously. "But I think the more important question is, what the hell was that?"
Christopher shrugged. "Nothing."
"Nothing? Chris, I saw you smoking and drinking with a bunch of guys who look a few years older than you. That's not nothing," Buck added calmly. He wasn't calm at all, but he was trying to keep his emotions under control. Yelling wouldn't help.
Christopher lowered his head and stared intently at his shoes.
"So," Buck said, sitting down on the bench next to Christopher. "Do you want to explain to me what's going on here?"
"Nothing's going on." Chris turned away, his voice unusually harsh. "I'm just with my friends." "Chris, it's Wednesday morning. You should be in school." He tried to keep his voice calm. "So what? I took the day off." Chris shrugged as if it were no big deal.
"You took the day off." Buck rubbed his forehead. "And your dad knows about this?" Chris was silent and shook his head very slightly.
"Exactly," Buck continued. "And the drinking and smoking? Was that your first time?"
Chris finally looked up, and Buck saw a mixture of fear and defiance in his eyes. "Yeah. First time. So it's no big deal."
But Buck knew it was a lie as soon as he heard it. He could see it in the way Chris couldn't look him in the eye, in the tension in his shoulders. "Chris, don't lie to me. Please."
Christopher shrugged again. "It started two weeks ago. Arthur," he pointed in the direction the boys had gone, "brought some beer. I just wanted to try it."
Buck tried to suppress his frustration. "Beer? Do you know what that can do to your brain? You're thirteen, Christopher. Your brain is still developing."
"That sounds like something Dad would say," Christopher muttered.
"And he'd be right," Buck said. "Look, I know it might sound hypocritical, considering I wasn't exactly a model teenager. But that doesn't mean I want you to make the same mistakes I did."
Christopher stared into the distance. "I just wanted... I don't know. To be like everyone else."
Buck felt his heart tighten. Christopher had spent most of his life as the 'other' because of his cerebral palsy. He had always tried to fit in, to prove that he was just as capable as his peers. But this...
"You know your dad tries to give you everything you need," Buck said quietly. "He won't be happy about this, Christopher."
"Then don't tell him," Christopher urged again. "Please, Buck. I won't do it again. I promise."
Buck shook his head. "I can't promise you that, Christopher. Your dad has a right to know what's going on."
Christopher suddenly straightened up, crutches clenched tightly in his hands, a defiant look in his eyes. "Fine! Tell him! I don't care!"
Buck was surprised by the sudden outburst. "Christopher..."
"No!" the boy interrupted him. "If you tell him, you'll be just like everyone else. Like all the teachers who are always watching me. Like the kids at school who think I'm weird."
Buck stood up too. "That's not fair, Christopher. This has nothing to do with you being different. It has to do with you doing dangerous things."
"Yeah? What were you doing when you were thirteen?" Christopher challenged him. "Dad told me you were a rebel. That you did stupid things. So why can't I?"
"Chris..." Buck sighed and tried a different approach. He remembered himself at that age, all the bad decisions he had made. All the anger and confusion. "Listen, I... I know puberty sucks. I know you feel like you want to do your own thing and not listen to anyone. I've been there. But that path leads nowhere, trust me."
"You can't tell me what to do!" Chris turned as if to leave. "You're not my dad!"
"I know that. But your dad is my best friend, and you're family to me." Buck took a step toward him. "Look, I know you're angry. But we have to work this out. Either you tell your dad, or I'll have to do it."
Chris reacted like any other teenager under the influence of emotions, with defiance, and anger. "I thought you were my friend! I thought you were like my second dad! But you're not. You're just another adult telling me what to do. It's not fair," he shouted at Buck. "You're ruining my life," Christopher snapped. "My dad will kill me. He'll forbid me from seeing Arthur and the others. He'll watch me like a little kid."
Buck rubbed his face. "Look, I don't want to ruin your life. But this isn't the right way, Christopher. Drinking, smoking, skipping school... that will ruin your life more than anything your dad could do."
Christopher still looked defiant, but there was a hint of doubt in his eyes. "What do you suggest?"
Buck thought for a moment. "I'll give you a choice. Either you tell your dad yourself, or I'll be there with you, supporting you. Or I'll have to do it."
"That's not a choice," Christopher objected. "That's an ultimatum."
"Take it," Buck said firmly. "But keep in mind that if you tell him yourself, it will look better. It will show that you recognize your mistake. That you take responsibility for your actions."
Christopher was silent for a moment, weighing his options. "What if I promise never to do it again? That I'll go to school? That I'll stop seeing Arthur and the others?"
Buck shook his head. "This has gone too far, Christopher. Your dad needs to know what's going on."
"Fine," Christopher said finally, his voice full of bitterness. "Tell him. I don't care. But remember, I'll never talk to you again. Ever. And I'll hate you for the rest of my life." With that, he turned and headed away.
Buck watched Christopher from a safe distance. The boy moved surprisingly quickly, despite his crutches, as if propelled by pure rage. Every now and then, he glanced over his shoulder to make sure Buck was still following him, and every time he saw him, his face contorted in a new wave of anger.
After fifteen minutes, Buck could see that Christopher wasn't heading home. Instead, he made his way to a small park, where he sat down on a bench and took out his phone. Buck waited for the boy to call him over, but that didn't happen. Christopher just sat there, tapping furiously at his screen, ignoring Buck's presence.
Finally, Buck walked over to the bench. "Are you going home?" he asked.
Christopher didn't even look up. "No. I'm waiting for my dad."
Buck sat down next to him, but left enough space between them. "Did you call him?"
"I texted him," Christopher said curtly. "I told him I felt sick at school and asked if he could pick me up." Buck shook his head. "Another lie, Christopher? Really?"
The boy shrugged. "I don't care."
Buck sighed. "Come on, I'll drive you home."
"No," Christopher refused. "I'm not going anywhere with you." "Christopher..." Buck began patiently.
"No!" the boy snapped. "I don't want you to drive me anywhere. I don't want to talk to you. I don't even want to see you."
Buck was silent for a moment, weighing his options. He could leave Christopher here, but that seemed irresponsible. He could insist on driving home, but that would probably only lead to another outburst.
Finally, he reached for his phone. "Fine. I'll call your dad myself and tell him to come here." Christopher's eyes widened in panic. "No! Don't tell him where I am."
"Where do you want me to say you are?" Buck asked.
Christopher stared at him, his eyes a mixture of anger and fear. "Fine," he said finally. "Take me home. But don't talk to me."
Buck nodded. "As you wish."
The walk to Buck's car was completely silent. Once they got in, Christopher turned to face the window, making it clear he didn't want to talk to Buck. Buck respected that and turned on the radio to fill the silence. Christopher stared out the window the entire way, his arms crossed over his chest, his jaw clenched. Buck watched him out of the corner of his eye and noticed the boy's eyes glisten several times, but he always blinked the tears away angrily. When they stopped in front of Eddie's house, Buck turned off the engine but didn't move to get out.
"Christopher," he said quietly. "I know you hate me right now. And that's okay. But you need to know that I'm doing what I think is right. Because I care about you. You still have a chance to tell him yourself," he added quietly. "It'll be better if he hears it from you."
Christopher didn't answer, just opened the door abruptly and started to squeeze out. Buck quickly got out and handed him his crutches. Christopher took them without thanks and began to slowly make his way to the front door. Buck followed him with a heavy heart.
Before they could ring the bell, the door opened and Eddie stood there with a surprised expression. "Buck? Chris? What's going on?" He looked from one to the other in confusion. "I thought you were at school, Chris. And you," he turned to Buck, "didn't you have plans today?"
Buck tried to keep a calm expression. "Hi, Eddie. Can we come in? We need to talk to you. It's... important."
Eddie immediately perked up. His eyes narrowed as he noticed the tension between his son and his best friend, and he stepped aside to let them in. Christopher walked past his father without a word and headed straight for the living room, where he sat down on the sofa, his crutches leaning beside him.
"What's going on?" Eddie asked Buck quietly while they were still in the hallway.
Buck shook his head. "I think it would be better if Chris told you. I gave him a chance." Eddie frowned but nodded and followed his son into the living room. Buck followed him but remained standing at the door.
"Chris..." Buck tried again, trying to make his voice sound encouraging. "Please. Do the right thing."
"Chris," Eddie urged gently. "What happened? Buck said you needed to tell me something."
Christopher looked up, but not at his father, then his gaze fixed on Buck. "Nothing happened. He's making it up."
Buck shook his head. "Chris..."
"Chris," Eddie said, his voice suddenly sharper. "What's going on? Why aren't you in school?"
Christopher looked down again. The minutes ticked by, and the silence in the room was so thick you could cut it with a knife.
Buck cleared his throat. "Christopher, I think you should tell your dad where you've been today." Christopher remained silent, his gaze fixed on the floor.
"Christopher," Eddie said, his voice now taking on an authoritative tone. "Answer the question. Where were you today?"
Christopher looked up, a challenge in his eyes. "At school." Buck shook his head. "No, you weren't."
Eddie turned sharply to Buck. "What do you mean, he wasn't?"
Buck sighed. "I found him in the park today. With a bunch of older boys. They were drinking beer and smoking."
Eddie stood stunned, his gaze shifting incredulously between Buck and his son. "What?"
Christopher suddenly turned to Buck, his eyes full of rage. "You promised you'd give me a chance to tell him myself!"
"I gave you a chance," Buck replied calmly. "Just now. And you lied."
"That's not true!" Christopher shouted, but his expression betrayed him.
"Christopher," Eddie said very quietly, which was always more dangerous than when he raised his voice. "Is it true?"
Christopher trembled. His defiance and anger were suddenly replaced by fear. He looked at Buck with a desperate plea, as if hoping Buck would say he had made it all up.
Buck stood silently, trying to ignore the pain he felt from Chris's gaze. "Chris," Eddie stood up, his voice now icy. "I'll ask you again. Is it true?"
Christopher swallowed and then, so quietly they could barely hear him, whispered, "Yes."
Eddie looked as if someone had punched him in the stomach. He closed his eyes and just breathed for a moment. Buck knew he was trying to calm down before he said or did anything.
"Was it the first time?" Eddie asked after a long pause. Christopher hesitated, then shook his head.
"How many times?"
"I don't know," Christopher whispered. "Several times."
Eddie rubbed his face with his hands and then sat down next to his son, this time at a greater distance. "And smoking? Drinking? That's not the first time either, I suppose." Christopher nodded slightly.
Eddie rubbed his face. "Jesus, Christopher. Why? Why would you do something like that?" Christopher remained silent, but Buck could see his lips trembling as he fought back tears. "Go to your room," Eddie said finally. "Now. We'll talk later."
Christopher turned to leave, but then stopped and looked at Buck. "I hope you're happy," he said, his voice full of venom. "I never want to see you again. Ever. You're not my friend. You're not my family. Get out of our house and don't come back." With that, he turned and walked to his room, the slam of the door echoing through the house like a gunshot.
Silence fell over the living room. Buck stood frozen, unable to move, unable to think. Eddie rubbed his face with his hands and then looked at his friend. "Buck... God, I'm so sorry."
Buck shook his head. "No, Eddie, it's... it's okay. He's going through puberty. He's angry. I understand."
"He shouldn't have said those things," Eddie insisted, moving closer to Buck. "He had no right to say that. None of it is true."
Buck tried to smile, but felt he wasn't succeeding. "I don't mind. Really. I'm sorry I had to tell you like this, but... I didn't see any other way."
Eddie shook his head. "No, you did the right thing. Thank you. Really." He put his hand on Buck's shoulder. "You're part of our family, Buck. No matter what Chris just said. He knows that too, he's just... confused and angry right now."
Buck just nodded silently, turned, and walked home.
⑨-①-①
Eddie stood outside Christopher's door for several long minutes before knocking. He needed time to calm down, to collect his thoughts. He took a deep breath and then finally raised his hand. "Christopher," he said when he knocked. "Can I come in?"
No answer.
"Christopher," Eddie repeated, this time with more emphasis. "Please open up."
After a few seconds of silence, a muffled voice said, "It's unlocked."
Eddie opened the door and found his son lying on the bed, his back to him, his face turned toward the wall. He sat down on the edge of the bed and waited for Christopher to turn around. He didn't.
"We need to talk about what happened today," Eddie began. Christopher snorted but didn't turn around. "Look at me, please," Eddie asked.
Christopher slowly turned around, his face haggard and his red eyes revealing that he had been crying. Yet there was defiance in his gaze. "Go ahead," he said defiantly. "Tell me how I've disappointed you. How I'm a bad son."
Eddie shook his head. "You're not a bad son, Christopher. But you did a bad thing. Several bad things, to be precise."
"Buck didn't have to tell on me," Christopher muttered.
"Buck didn't do anything wrong," Eddie said firmly. "He did exactly what an adult should do when he finds a 13-year-old boy drinking alcohol and smoking. What would you expect him to do?"
"He could have let it go," Christopher insisted. "He could have pretended he didn't see anything."
Eddie had to control himself not to raise his voice. "And you think that would be right? To let you ruin your health? To let you break the law? To let you get into trouble that could affect your whole life?"
Christopher was silent.
"Tell me why you did it," Eddie asked, trying to keep his voice calm. "Why did you skip school? Why did you drink? Why did you smoke?"
Christopher shrugged. "I don't know."
"That's not an answer," Eddie said. "And you know it."
"Chris," Eddie sighed. "You can't avoid this. We need to talk. I need to know what's going on." "Nothing's wrong," Christopher muttered.
"I don't believe you," Eddie replied calmly. "Because the son I know would never skip school, never drink or smoke, and certainly wouldn't talk to Buck the way you did."
Christopher flinched at the mention of Buck's name.
"What happened, Chris?" Eddie asked again, more gently this time. "What's going on? Why did you do it?"
Christopher was silent for a long time, and Eddie let him be. He knew he couldn't push him, not on this.
Finally, Chris looked up, his eyes filled with something Eddie couldn't name."I wanted to belong somewhere," he said so quietly that Eddie could barely hear him.
"What?"
"I wanted to belong somewhere," Christopher repeated a little louder. "I wanted... to be like everyone else."
Eddie felt his heart tighten. "Chris..."
"No," Christopher interrupted him, suddenly a little sharper. "You don't understand. You'll never understand. At school, I'm 'the boy with the crutches'. The one who can't play football. The one who can't do a lot of things. And then these guys came along and... they didn't care." Christopher lowered his gaze. "They didn't care. They treated me like one of them. And then..." Chris's voice trembled. "And then Buck came along and ruined everything."
"Buck didn't ruin anything," Eddie replied calmly. "He cared about you. He protected you. Even though he knew you might hate him for it. That takes tremendous courage and love, Christopher."
Christopher shook his head. "He could have let it go."
"Buck loves you," Eddie said softly. "He loves you like his own. That's why he did what he did. Not to get you in trouble, but to protect you. He's part of this family, and he cares about you as much as I do."
"No," Christopher shook his head. "He's not my family. He's just your friend."
Eddie had to control himself not to raise his voice. "That's not true, Chris, and you know it. Buck loves you."
"It doesn't matter," Christopher interrupted him. "He betrayed me. And I never want to see him again."
Eddie exhaled slowly. He realized that now was not the right time to talk about this. Chris was too upset, too angry to listen. "Fine," he said finally. "Now," Eddie continued, his voice becoming stern, "we need to talk about what happens next. About your punishment."
Christopher sighed. "What will it be?"
"No TV, no video games, no internet except for schoolwork. I'll drive you to school and pick you up. And you'll give me your phone."
"What?!" Christopher exclaimed. "You can't do that!"
"I can and I will. You deserve this punishment, Christopher. And honestly? I think I'm being pretty lenient." Answered Eddie.
"That's so unfair!" Christopher punched the mattress. "It's all so unfair! I hate it here! I hate this life! And I hate you!"
Eddie tried not to let the words hurt him, but he couldn't. "I'm sorry, Chris," he said quietly. "But that doesn't change the fact that I love you and want what's best for you."
Christopher turned to face the wall. "Go away."
"Chris..."
"Get out!" Christopher shouted without turning around.
Eddie got up from the bed. "Dinner will be ready in an hour. I expect you to be there. And I expect you to give me your phone."
Christopher didn't answer. Eddie stood in the doorway for a moment, looking at his son's back, at those narrow shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs. He had an urge to go to him, to hug him, to tell him that everything would be all right, but he knew that wasn't possible right now. That his son would reject him. So he quietly closed the door and left.
Later that evening, Christopher sat on his bed, clutching the phone his father wanted to confiscate, staring at the screen. The contact "Buck" was open on the display, with an empty text field below it. He started typing several times, then deleted it and started again. Finally, he wrote:
"I hate you. I wish you would never come to our house again. You are not my family. You never have been and never will be."
His finger hovered over the send button. Part of him knew it was cruel. That Buck didn't mean any harm. That he was just trying to help. But the other part, the angry, hurt part, wanted to hurt Buck. He wanted him to feel the same pain he felt. Without another thought, he pressed send. The message disappeared from the screen, and Christopher knew he couldn't take it back. He put down his phone and lay down, feeling a mixture of satisfaction and guilt.
At that very moment, Buck was sitting alone in his apartment, drinking beer and watching television without really paying attention to what was happening on the screen. His thoughts were still with Christopher and Eddie. His phone beeped, announcing a new message. Buck's heart leapt when he saw that it was from Christopher. Maybe he understood. Maybe he forgave him.
But when he opened the message and read it, his hopes died. "I hate you. I wish you would never come to our house again. You are not my family. You never have been and never will be."
Buck felt his throat tighten. He knew Christopher was angry. He knew he was a teenager reacting emotionally. But the words still hurt. He put down the phone and leaned back, closing his eyes. He would give anything to turn back time. To change what had happened. To find some way to protect Christopher without destroying their relationship. But he knew that wasn't possible. What was done was done.
⑨-①-①
The days dragged on like an eternity. Christopher withdrew into himself, speaking only when he had to, and whenever Eddie tried to strike up a conversation, he responded with one-word answers or just a shrug. His anger and defiance did not subside, on the contrary, it seemed to grow stronger with every hour he spent without his phone, without the internet, without games, without hos friends. Eddie tried to be patient. He remembered his own adolescence, how he had rebelled against his father, how he had thought that no one in the world understood what he was going through. But sometimes... sometimes it was hard. And none of that prepared Eddie for what happened on Thursday night.
It was two in the morning when Eddie woke up feeling like he had to go to pee. He got up sleepily and headed to the bathroom. As he was walking back to his room, he heard noises outside. The quiet, careful sound of a key in the lock, then the slow opening of the door. Eddie turned on the light. "Where have you been?" he asked, his voice quiet but full of suppressed anger. Even from a distance, Eddie could smell the faint scent of cigarette smoke clinging to Chris's clothes.
Christopher knew there was no point in lying. "Out. With Arthur."
Eddie closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself. "So you broke curfew. You ran away in the middle of the night. After everything that's happened." Christopher remained silent. "Go to bed," Eddie said finally. "Right now. We'll talk about this in the morning. And believe me, your punishment just got a whole lot worse."
Christopher turned and headed for his room, feeling a mixture of anger and fear. He knew he had done something stupid. He knew his father would be furious. But at that moment, he didn't care. Because for a moment, out there with Arthur and the others, he felt normal. Not like a boy with cerebral palsy. Not like a problem child. Just like a normal teenager. And that was worth all the punishments in the world.
Eddie stayed sitting in the living room long after Christopher had gone to his room. He felt helpless. Exhausted. And scared. What if something had happened to Christopher? What if someone had kidnapped him? What if he was hurt? He took out his phone and considered calling Buck for a moment. Buck might have some advice, some words of comfort. But then he remembered Christopher's hatred for Buck. How he had told him he never wanted to see him again. He couldn't do that to Buck. He couldn't drag him into another confrontation.
He put his phone down and leaned back, closing his eyes. Parenting was hard. Perhaps the hardest thing he had ever done. Even harder than being a firefighter, than risking his own life in dangerous situations. Because when it came to Christopher, he was vulnerable in a way he had never been when it came to himself. He sighed and got up. Tomorrow was a new day. Tomorrow he would figure out what to do next.
Christopher's punishment began immediately and in full force. Eddie was adamant: no phone except for necessary calls, no computer, no TV, no video games, no friends. And after his nighttime escape, Eddie added another month of house arrest and decided that when he was on shift and couldn't find a babysitter, Christopher would go with him to the station.
"You can't be serious," Christopher protested when Eddie announced the last part of his punishment.
"You'll be supervised at the station. You'll do your homework and you won't cause any trouble," Eddie replied.
"What if Buck is there?" Christopher asked, his voice cold.
Eddie looked at him for a long time. "Then you'll be polite to him. Or at least you won't ignore him."
Christopher snorted. "Fine. I'll ignore him."
Eddie sighed but said nothing.
⑨-①-①
A week later, Christopher was walking home from school. He was angry, frustrated, his relationship with his father was at a low point, he was annoyed at school, and on top of that, he didn't have his PlayStation, he couldn't watch TV, he didn't have a phone, he couldn't play games, he couldn't do anything. He felt alone, he felt isolated, and in his opinion, it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that his father had increased his grounding. It wasn't fair that he wasn't allowed to spend time with his friends. It wasn't fair that he had to spend time at the station when his father didn't have a babysitter. None of it was fair.
Chris was walking past the bank on Main Street when he saw a familiar car parked at the curb. A blue Jeep Wrangler. Buck's car. Christopher stopped and stared at the car. Buck must have been in the bank or one of the nearby stores. Christopher looked around, but he didn't see him anywhere. Something inside him snapped. All the pent-up anger, frustration, and feelings of betrayal found their target. It was Buck's car. The symbol of the person who ruined his life when he snitched on him to his father back then.
Without thinking, Christopher looked around. The street was relatively empty, people were at work or school. A few pedestrians walked by, but no one paid him any attention. Christopher slowly approached the car, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew what he was about to do was wrong. He knew it was a crime. But at that moment, he didn't care.
He looked around once more and then knelt down by the front wheel, pretending to tie his shoelaces. But instead, he picked up a sharp piece of glass from the ground and, with a speed that surprised even himself, stabbed the tire with it. There was a hissing sound as the air began to escape. Encouraged by his success, he quickly moved on to the next wheel. And then to the next one. And finally to the last one. All four tires were now punctured, slowly deflating. Christopher was about to leave when he heard a voice behind him.
"Hey, young man! What are you doing there?" came a sharp, authoritative voice.
Christopher froze. He slowly turned around and saw a police officer quickly approaching him. "I..." he began, but he had no way to finish the sentence. He had been caught in the act, with a piece of glass in his hand and four punctured tires behind him.
The police officer looked at him sternly. "Show me what you have in your hand."
Christopher opened his palm, which held a bloodied piece of glass. He had cut himself while puncturing the tires without even noticing.
"This jeep probably doesn't belong to you, does it?" asked the police officer, even though he knew the answer.
Christopher shook his head.
"So you just intentionally damaged someone else's property," the cop stated. Christopher didn't answer again. What could he say? He was guilty. Caught in the act. "What's your name?" asked the police officer.
"Christopher Diaz," he replied quietly. "How old are you?"
"Thirteen."
The policeman sighed. "All right, Christopher. You'll have to come with me to the station. We'll call your parents."
Christopher nodded, suddenly fully aware of what he had done. What it meant. His father would be furious. And Buck... Buck would find out that it was him who had wrecked his car. He followed the policeman to his patrol car, his crutches clattering on the sidewalk. People turned to look at them, some stopping and pointing. Christopher had never felt such shame in his life . He got into the police car and the officer closed the door behind him. Christopher looked out the window as they drove past Buck's car. All four tires were now almost flat. What was I thinking? Why did I do that? He asked himself. He knew why. Because he was angry. Because he was hurt. Because he wanted Buck to feel the same pain he felt. But now, sitting in the back seat of the police car with his crutches leaning against him, he realized how stupid it was. How childish. How pointless. Because it didn't solve anything. It just created another problem. More consequences. More punishment.
Eddie was in the middle of his shift, helping a car accident victim, when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He ignored it until he finished his work, and only when the patient was safely loaded into the ambulance did he take out his phone and look at the display. Unknown number.
"Diaz," he introduced himself.
"Mr. Diaz? This is Officer Phillips from the Los Angeles Police Department, Westside Station." He heard an official voice on the phone.
"Yes? What is it?" Eddie felt his heart sink. The police were calling. That couldn't mean anything good.
"I have your son, Christopher, here. He's been arrested for vandalism," Officer Phillips replied calmly, as if he shared such information every day.
Eddie had to close his eyes and take a breath to stay calm. "Vandalism?"
"Yes, sir. He was caught in the act of damaging a parked vehicle. He punctured all four tires," Phillips replied.
Eddie was in shock. Christopher, his Christopher, slashing tires? It didn't make sense. "There must be some mistake," he said. "Christopher wouldn't do anything like that."
"No mistake, Mr. Diaz. He was caught red-handed, with the evidence in his hand. We need you to come to the station as soon as possible."
Eddie swallowed. "I'm at work right now. I'm a firefighter, I'm in the middle of my shift."
"I understand, sir, but your son is a minor. We cannot question him without a parent or legal guardian present," the officer added matter-of-factly.
"All right," Eddie finally said. "I'll be there as soon as possible. In... thirty minutes." "Thank you, Mr. Diaz. We'll be waiting for you." The connection ended.
Eddie hung up and stood there for a moment, phone in hand, trying to absorb what he had just learned. "Everything okay?" Bobby asked.
Eddie shook his head. "Christopher was arrested. For vandalism."
Bobby looked as shocked as Eddie felt. "Christopher? Isn't that..." He wanted to say possible, but he could see from Eddie's expression that it was.
Eddie nodded. "I have to go to the police station. Right now."
"Of course," Bobby said immediately. "Go. We'll take care of everything here."
Eddie nodded gratefully and hurried to his car. On the way to the police station, his shock gradually turned to anger. Vandalism? Why? What was going on with Christopher? First smoking and drinking, then running away from home, problems at school, and now this? When he arrived at the station, he was shown into a small room where Christopher was sitting, his crutches leaning against the wall beside him. He looked small and frightened, and when he saw his father, his expression changed from relief to fear.
"Dad..."
"Not a word," Eddie interrupted sharply. "Not a word until I talk to the police."
Christopher nodded silently. His hands, folded in his lap, were shaking as he tried to make himself smaller than he was.
Officer Phillips, who had called Eddie, entered the room with another officer. "Mr. Diaz, I'm glad you could come," he said, shaking his hand.
Eddie shook it and then sat down next to Christopher. "What exactly happened?"
Phillips sat down across from them. "Your son was caught damaging a vehicle parked in front of First National Bank on Main Street. He punctured all four tires with a piece of glass."
Eddie looked at Christopher, who was still studying his shoes. "Is that true?" he asked sternly. Christopher nodded without looking up.
"Why?" Eddie asked, trying to keep his voice under control. "Why would you do something like that?" Christopher shrugged, which only made Eddie angrier. "That's not an answer, Christopher. Look at me and tell me why you destroyed someone's car."
Christopher looked up, his eyes filled with both defiance and fear. "It was Buck's car," he said quietly. For a moment, Eddie thought he had misheard him. "What did you say?"
"It was Buck's car," Christopher repeated, louder this time. "I recognized it. His Jeep."
Eddie closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "You deliberately wrecked Buck's car. The car of a man who loves you like his own son. A man who would lay down his life for you."
Christopher looked away, but Eddie could see his lips trembling as if he were fighting back tears. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
Eddie turned to the police officers. "What now? What's he facing?"
Phillips cleared his throat. "Given that your son is only thirteen years old, he will not be charged as an adult. However, vandalism is a crime. In this case, it will be up to the owner of the vehicle, Mr. Buckley, to decide whether he wants to file a formal complaint."
"And if he does?" Eddie asked. He didn't think for a moment that Buck would do that. He knew Buck too well.
"Then your son would face consequences, community service, in the worst case, a center for troubled youth, and, of course, he would have to pay for the damage," Officer Phillips replied.
Eddie nodded. "I understand."
"If Mr. Buckley does not file a complaint, he will be released into your custody, but he will still have to pay for the damage," Phillips continued. "Given his age and clean record, he would probably only get community service."
Eddie nodded again. "Have you contacted Buck... I mean, Mr. Buckley?"
"Yes, we called him. We told him his car had been damaged, but we haven't mentioned who did it yet." Phillips stood up. "I'll leave you alone. Let me know if you need anything."
When the police left, Eddie turned to Christopher. "What's wrong with you, Christopher? Destroying other people's property? Destroying Buck's car?"
Christopher began to sob. "I know. I'm sorry. I don't know why I did it."
Eddie watched him for a moment, trying to suppress his own anger. "Was it an impulse? Or did you plan it?"
Christopher shook his head. "I didn't plan it. I just... I saw his car and suddenly I was so angry..."
"Angry?" Eddie repeated. "So angry that you had to destroy his car? Tires cost hundreds of dollars, Christopher. And what's worse, you could have ended up in jail. Do you understand that? In jail. At thirteen."
Christopher began to sob again, this time more loudly. "I know. I'm sorry. Please don't be mad at me."
Eddie sighed and pulled his son close. "I'm angry, Christopher. I'm angry and disappointed. But I still love you. That will never change."
Christopher buried his face in his father's shoulder and cried. Eddie held him until he calmed down, then pulled away and looked him in the eyes. "Now we have to figure out how to fix this. How you're going to explain it to Buck."
Christopher looked terrified. "Buck is coming here?"
"Of course he's coming. It's his car you wrecked," Eddie replied. "I can't face him," said Christopher. "I can't."
Eddie shook his head. "You'll have to. And you'll have to apologize to him. And pay for the damage you caused."
They sat there in silence until the door opened and Officer Phillips walked in. "Mr. Buckley is here," he announced.
Eddie nodded. "Send him in, please."
Phillips left, and a moment later Buck appeared in the doorway. He looked confused and worried. When he saw Eddie and Christopher, his face lit up with relief. "Eddie? Christopher? What's going on? The police called me to say my car had been damaged, but they didn't say anything about..."
He stopped when he noticed Christopher's expression and Eddie's tense posture. "What's going on?" he asked again, more cautiously this time.
Eddie looked at Christopher. "Tell him."
Christopher looked up, his eyes red from crying. "I... I slashed your tires," he said quietly. Buck stared at him, speechless. "You... what?"
"I punctured your tires," Christopher repeated. "All four of them. I'm sorry."
Buck just stood there, clearly in shock. Then he slowly sat down on a chair opposite them. "Why?" he asked simply.
Christopher shrugged defiantly.
"That's not an answer," Eddie said sharply. "Answer him properly."
Christopher swallowed. "I was angry. At you. Because of what happened. I saw your car and... I just did it."
Buck leaned back, looking tired. "I see," he said simply.
Eddie leaned toward him. "Buck, I'm so sorry. I don't know what got into him. Of course we'll pay for the damage."
Buck waved his hand. "It's okay. They're just tires. They can be replaced."
"No, it's not okay," Eddie insisted. "Christopher did it, Christopher will pay for it. From his allowance. And if that's not enough, he'll have to sell some of his things."
"Eddie, seriously, that's not necessary..." Buck began.
"It is necessary," Eddie interrupted him sharply. "He has to learn that his actions have consequences." Buck was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. As you wish."
Eddie turned to Christopher. "And that's not all. Your punishment is extended by another two months. No phone, no computer, no TV, no video games. And no friends. You're grounded until I say otherwise."
Christopher began to sob, but this time it seemed more out of anger than regret. "That's not fair!" he cried.
"It's not fair to slash people's tires," Eddie replied coldly. "Eddie," Buck said gently. "Maybe you could..."
"No, Buck," Eddie interrupted him again. "Not this time. This time I'm not backing down. Christopher crossed the line and he has to face the consequences."
Buck leaned back again, looking resigned.
Christopher suddenly jumped up from his chair, his face red with anger and tears. "This is all your fault!" he yelled at Buck. "Everything! If you hadn't ratted me out, none of this would have happened!"
"Christopher!" Eddie shouted warningly.
But Christopher continued, ignoring his father. "I hate you! I never want to see you again! I'm not giving you any money! I'm not going to pay for you being a traitor and a hypocrite! You caused trouble yourself and now you're playing the saint! You're not my friend at all! I hate you! I wish you were dead!"
The last words hung in the air like a gunshot. Buck looked as if someone had physically struck him. Eddie stared at his son with his mouth open, unable to believe what he had just heard. Christopher stood, holding onto the table with his hands, breathing heavily as if he had just run a marathon. Then, as if suddenly realizing what he had said, his expression changed from anger to horror. "I..." he began, but couldn't continue.
Buck slowly got up. "I think I should go," he said quietly.
"Buck, wait," Eddie said, also getting up. "Don't leave like this. Chris is upset, he didn't mean it..."
Buck smiled, but it was a sad smile. "It's okay, Eddie. You two need to talk. Call me later." With that, he left, closing the door behind him and leaving Eddie and Christopher alone in the room.
Eddie slowly turned to his son. Christopher was still standing in the same spot, but now he looked small and frightened. "I..." he began again, but Eddie raised his hand to stop him.
"Not a word," he said, his voice quiet but full of suppressed anger. "Not a word, Christopher. What you just said was the worst thing I've ever heard you say. Wishing death on someone? Someone who loves you? Who would lay down his life for you? That's..." Eddie paused, clearly struggling with his own emotions. "I don't recognize you," he said finally. "I don't recognize my son."
Christopher began to cry again, this time quietly, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Dad, I..."
"No," Eddie interrupted him. "I'm talking now. Listen to me carefully, Christopher. When we leave here, we're going home. You're going straight to your room. No games, no TV, nothing. Tomorrow you're coming to work with me, and then you're going to apologize to Buck for what you said and did. And you're going to start working to pay him back for those tires."
Christopher nodded, too devastated to protest.
⑨-①-①
Buck left the police station as if in a dream. Christopher's words still echoed in his head. "I hate you! I wish you were dead!" He knew he shouldn't take it personally. Christopher was thirteen, going through puberty, angry. People say things they don't mean when they're upset. Buck knew that. But it still hurt. It hurt more than he would admit to anyone, even himself.
He stood on the sidewalk in front of the station and took out his phone to call an Uber. As he waited for the Uber to arrive, he wondered if he should have done something differently. That day, when he found Christopher in the park, smoking and drinking with those older boys. Could he have ignored it? Left him alone? Let him make bad decisions, risk his health, his future?
No. He couldn't. No matter how much Christopher hated Buck now, Buck knew he had done the right thing. Because he loved that boy. He loved him like his own child.
His phone beeped, announcing the arrival of his Uber. Buck got in, and when the driver greeted him, Buck just replied quietly and then turned to the window.
"Tough day?" asked the driver, an older man with graying hair.
Buck tried to smile. "You could say that."
"Where to?"
Buck gave him his address, and the driver nodded, shifted into gear, and pulled out into traffic. Buck leaned back and closed his eyes. He was exhausted, not just physically but emotionally as well. The last few weeks had been tough. Christopher had ignored him, then wrecked his car, and finally told him he wished he was dead. And all the while, Eddie had stood between them, trying to be a good father and a good friend, which must have been incredibly difficult.
Buck thought about how Christopher had looked at the police station, small, scared, angry. So far from the optimistic, kind boy Buck knew and loved. What had happened? Where had it all gone wrong?
"The crossroads is jammed," remarked the driver, interrupting Buck's thoughts. "I'll try to drive around it."
Buck nodded without really listening. His thoughts were still with Christopher. Maybe he should call to him. Not now, Christopher was still too angry, and Buck was still too hurt. But later. Tomorrow, maybe. Just to tell him that he still loved him, no matter what had happened. No matter what Christopher had said or done. Because it was true. Buck still loved him. And he always would.
The Uber driver turned left onto a less busy street. "It'll be faster this way," he said. Buck nodded again, still lost in thought. "I hate you! I wish you were dead!"
Buck sighed and closed his eyes. He couldn't get those words out of his head. He couldn't...
Suddenly, there was a deafening crash, and Buck was thrown forward, then back as the seatbelt caught his body. He opened his eyes just in time to see the red SUV that had hit them from the side. And then the world turned upside down. Literally.
Their car skidded across the crossroads, rolled over several times, and finally came to rest on its side. Buck felt sharp pain in his head, his side, everywhere. He felt something warm, blood, running down his face. Around him was the sound of shattering glass, bending metal, and then... silence.
He blinked, trying to focus. The world was spinning, colors blurring together. He saw the Uber driver hanging in his seatbelt, apparently unconscious. Buck tried to move, but found he couldn't. He was trapped, pinned by the twisted metal of the seat. He heard shouting outside, people calling for help. Someone called an ambulance. Someone tried to open the car door. But the door was twisted and wouldn't open.
Buck felt darkness overwhelming him. He fought it, trying to stay conscious. He had to stay conscious. He had to... he had to tell Christopher...
"Chris," he whispered into the void. "I'm sorry. I love you."
And then darkness engulfed him.