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It’s possible that Chris may have fucked up. Chris may have fucked up so much.
It’s embarrassing, really, to be 15 and stranger danger literate, and still somehow accidentally get kidnapped without knowing it until after the fact.
Dad is going to be so mad. He’s probably gonna be grounded for the rest of his life. He’s never going to be allowed to leave the house ever again.
He’s supposed to be doing his homework, but he feels all wrong. He feels stupid, and embarrassed, and kind of scared, which is stupid. He’s pretty sure Dad is just overreacting, and Abigail wasn’t going to do anything bad.
But he looked really mad, and really scared, and Chris doesn’t like that. Dad doesn’t get mad like that ever.
So he doesn’t even pretend to do his homework; he just crawls into bed, sitting in the corner, eyes on the door. He pulls one of his pillows against his chest and waits.
He jumps at the sound of a knock on his door. He swallows.
“Chris?” Dad says.
Chris lets out a breath. He clears his throat. “Yeah?”
The door opens, and it’s just Dad now — he’s not surprised that Abigail left.
Dad still looks different — he’s hovering in the doorway like he’s nervous, and Chris hates it when Dad is nervous. Dad is never nervous.
“Am I in trouble?”
Dad smiles in a way that’s probably supposed to be comforting, but it’s not. “No,” he says with his non-comforting smile. “Can I come in?”
He nods. Dad steps into the room and doesn’t close the door behind him. Chris notices that. He thinks maybe he should close the door behind them, just in case. So they’re safe.
He drags his eyes away from the open door to look at Dad, who is now hovering in front of him.
“You were mad.”
“I was scared,” Dad says, sitting on the edge of his bed. “And a little mad, but not at you. Abigail shouldn’t have put you in that position.”
Chris doesn’t really believe him. He should’ve known better. He’s 15.
“She said you knew. That you asked her.”
Dad nods slowly. “I didn’t. I didn’t know where you were, bud.”
Chris pulls the pillow tighter against his chest. “Sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” Dad says. “But I need you to promise me you’ll never get into someone’s car without talking to me first, okay? I’ll always send a message or call you.”
He knew Dad would be mad at him. He should’ve known better.
“Sorry. It was stupid.”
Dad shakes his head. He reaches out and squeezes Chris’ ankle. “I’m just happy you’re safe, bud. Did you - - did you come right home?”
Chris nods. “Yeah.”
He’s - - he’s smart. He’s the one who stops his dad from falling for internet scams. If she’d tried to take him somewhere else, he would’ve realized sooner. He would’ve done something — he would’ve called Dad.
Dad lets out a relieved breath. “And what did you talk about?”
He shrugs. “School. Homework. She asked about you.”
“Like what?”
“Like what kind of dad you are? If you let me stay up late, that kind of thing.”
He didn’t really like it. She was treating him like a kid, like he needed a babysitter. He doesn’t know how old she is, but he’s pretty sure she’s not that much older than he is.
“Were you ever uncomfortable?” Dad asks carefully. “Or feel unsafe?”
Chris shakes his head. “No. It was normal. We mostly played video games.”
Dad nods and shuffles up the bed enough that he can pull Chris into a hug, the pillow caught between them. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he whispers into his hair.
It makes Chris feel like crying, suddenly. If he’d just said no to Abigail, like he should have, none of this would have happened.
The bang of the front door makes Chris flinch. He freezes in Dad’s arms.
“Eddie??” A panicked voice calls. “Chris??”
Chris lets out a breath at the familiar voice. It’s okay. It’s just Buck. They’re still safe. They’re more safe.
“In here,” Dad calls back, pressing a kiss to Chris’ hair.
Buck stumbles down the hallway so fast he almost misses the doorway.
“Oh, thank god,” Buck breathes, out of breath, as he takes in the two of them in front of him.
“Hey, Buck,” Chris says, his voice muffled in Dad’s chest.
“I’m so glad to see you, buddy.”
Chris shrugs, embarrassed again. He pushes out of Dad’s grasp. “I was here the whole time.”
Buck frowns. “But - - your phone?”
“They were playing video games,” Dad says. He sounds weird again. His voice is tight. “He and Abigail.”
Buck swallows, eyes wide. “Oh.”
“Yeah. She thought she’d do me a favor and pick Chris up from school.”
“Without telling you.”
“Without telling me.”
“Huh.”
“Yep.”
Anxiety spikes in Chris’ chest and shoots down both his arms. They’re doing the thing that adults do, where they have a conversation in code — where they pretend everything is fine for Chris’ sake, when, obviously, something is wrong.
He wishes they would just tell him.
“Dad yelled at her,” Chris says, because he wants them to stop talking around him like he isn’t here.
Dad looks a little taken aback by the statement, but Buck doesn’t look particularly surprised.
“I didn’t - - I set a firm boundary,” Dad says. “What she did wasn’t okay, Chris. You understand why?”
Chris nods. Perfect. Now everyone is treating him like a stupid child who would get into a stranger’s van for candy. “Yeah. She lied.”
“Right. And we don’t really know her, do we? It would be different if Buck showed up at your school, because we know Buck and we trust him, right?”
Chris sighs. “Yeah. Obviously. I get it, Dad.”
Buck shuffles awkwardly in the doorway. “So everyone’s okay?”
“I’m fine,” Chris insists. “Dad’s the one who nearly had a heart attack.”
“We didn’t know where you were, bud,” Buck says softly. “That’s pretty scary.”
Chris sighs. He’s so stupid. “Sorry, Dad,” he whispers, ignoring the burning in his throat and behind his eyes. He leans back into Dad. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Dad pulls him closer, hugging him back, tight. “It’s not your fault, mijo. It’s my job to keep you safe.”
He has to say that, but Chris still doesn’t believe him.
“Sorry to scare you, Buck,” he adds, swallowing around the embarrassment.
Buck blinks, like he’s surprised to be mentioned. He lets out a breath. “Oh, you don’t have to be sorry, Chris. I’m just glad you’re okay. You can always call me if you’re not sure about something and you can’t reach your dad.”
Great. Buck thinks he’s an idiot, too.
Chris nods. “I know.”
Dad squeezes him tight one more time. Then he pulls back, holding him by the shoulders, and says, “Hey. You wanna hear something ridiculous?”
The mood feels instantly lighter. Dad is smiling now, his teasing smile, which is usually directed at Buck. Buck obviously knows what Dad is going to say, because he sighs dramatically.
Chris nods.
Dad nods his head toward Buck. “I just found out that Buck here can do a backflip.”
Despite the storm raging inside of him, Chris smiles at the teasing. This is normal. This feels normal. This feels safe.
“Used to!” Buck corrects. “I used to be able to do a backflip.”
“He calls it a buckflip,” Dad adds, grinning.
Chris snorts.
“I don’t call it that! Other people call it that!”
Dad points to where Buck is leaning against the doorframe. “Guess how much someone bid to go on a date with Mr. Buckflip here his probie year.”
“Okay, that sounds bad, Eddie,” Buck frowns. “It was for charity, Chris. It’s a fun, silly auction for charity.”
Dad grins. He squeezes Chris’ shoulder playfully. “Guess.”
“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “$50?”
Buck scoffs.
Dad cackles.
“How much?” Chris asks. He hates not being in on the joke; it makes him feel like a kid.
“Eight thousand dollars,” Dad reveals.
“Eight thousand and one dollars, thank you,” Buck corrects.
Chris frowns. “Why?”
Dad snorts. Chris wasn’t even making a joke. He’s completely confused why anyone would pay that much money to have dinner with Buck.
Buck rolls his eyes. “You two don’t even know how lucky you are to be hanging out with me for free. I’m a hot commodity in some circles.”
Dad scoffs.
“I am!” He insists. “Okay, fine,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “How much would you pay to go to dinner with me? What’s your highest bid?”
Dad catches Chris’ eye and rolls his eyes playfully, then turns to Buck. “I’ll shout you a beer, how ‘bout that?”
Buck frowns. He pouts. “Chris at least thought I was worth fifty bucks.”
“I didn’t say I would pay fifty bucks,” Chris clarifies. “If anything, I should be getting paid for hanging out with both of you.”
Dad snorts. “I love you, too, my son. My sweet, beloved child.”
“I did ask if I could bribe you to go to the zoo with me,” Buck notes. “But your dad said I wasn’t allowed to.”
“Buck,” Dad sighs.
“What?” Chris asks, suddenly very interested in this conversation. “How much?”
“No,” Dad says sternly.
Chris sighs. “I can’t believe you’d rob your own flesh and blood of free money.”
“You should go to the zoo with Buck because I raised you to be kind and grateful, not because you’d get paid.”
“Okay,” Buck frowns. “Now this is sounding like I have a Make-A-Wish to go to the zoo.”
“I never said I wouldn’t go to the zoo. No one asked me to go to the zoo.”
Dad looks at Buck incredulously. “You don’t even ask him?”
“I thought he’d say no!”
“You were just gonna bribe him off the bat?”
“Why would I say no?” Chris frowns. He loves the zoo. He hasn’t been in ages — not since he got back from El Paso.
“I don’t know! I thought it maybe wasn’t cool now!”
“Cool things aren’t cool, Buck,” Chris explains, rolling his eyes. “Everyone knows that.”
Buck nods. “Sure. Sure. So you’d maybe wanna go with me?”
“Yeah,” he shrugs.
“Cool,” Buck breathes. “That’s cool.”
Dad looks between them. “Alright. Now that that’s settled,” he says, turning to Buck. “Are you staying for dinner?”
“Pro bono?” Buck asks.
Dad rolls his eyes. “Keep that up, and you’ll be buying.”
Chris still feels a little weird the next day, and he’s pretty sure Dad has noticed, because he insists on a movie night.
Or maybe he does just feel bad about what happened, because he makes popcorn and everything. He even buys candy.
The movie is okay, even though he saw the twist on TikTok, but Dad seems happy that they’re watching it together.
Chris almost forgets that he was feeling weird about anything until the car alarm starts blaring — ice runs through his veins at the suddenness of it.
He waits, heart racing, as Dad goes outside to check on the truck. Chris feels it the second it ticks over into too long for everything to be okay.
“Dad?” He calls out, hesitating in the doorway. It’s dark out, and he’s taking too long. He’s been out there for too long. Chris can’t breathe.
“Stay inside, Chris,” Dad calls back, but Chris isn’t a kid anymore. He wants people to stop hiding things from him. He wants his dad to be okay.
Chris ignores him and continues out into the dark, toward the truck.
“What’s going on?” He demands.
Dad jumps, hiding something behind his back. “I need you to stay inside.”
But it’s too late — Chris has seen it. “Oh. Whoa,” he breathes.
Like something out of a horror movie, someone has spray-painted Dad’s truck with a message.
STAY AWAY FROM HER
“Chris,” Dad sighs. He must forget he was trying to hide what’s in his hand, because Chris spots the knife he’s holding, his eyes snapping to it.
Terror sinks its claws into his chest.
“Stay away from who?”
“Inside,” Dad repeats, ushering him back up the path by the shoulders. “I don’t want you out here.”
Because it’s not safe, Chris wants to scream. Whoever wrote that was just here. They might still be here. They might still be watching. He feels itchy, like he’s covered in bugs.
“Who wrote that?” He demands, as Dad continues maneuvering him inside, locking the door behind them.
Locking the door because they’re not safe. Because someone is trying to hurt him. Someone is trying to hurt his dad, again.
“I don’t know, buddy,” Dad sighs. He’s tense, again, like yesterday. He’s worried. “I don’t want you answering the door to anyone, okay? And we’re taking a break from the bus. I’ll figure something else out.”
Chris’ breath catches in his throat. He’s not stupid. That must mean - - “You think it was Abigail?”
Dad rubs a hand over his face. “I think it was probably Abigail, yeah.”
Chris frowns. That doesn’t make sense. “Who does she want you to stay away from?”
Dad runs a hand through his hair, then kneels in front of him like he used to when he was a kid. “Abigail has been through a lot, bud,” he says. “Her parents hurt her. She grew up somewhere that wasn’t very safe. That can make it really hard to know what’s okay and what’s not okay.”
It still doesn’t make sense. Or maybe Chris is just really, really stupid. Maybe Abigail was dangerous all along, and Chris was in real, actual danger. Because if Abigail did this, then Chris could’ve been really, actually kidnapped.
She was here. She was in their house.
“But she’s so nice,” he croaks.
“Yeah. Yeah, buddy. I know. She’s just a kid. I don’t want you to be scared, but I do want you to know that what she’s doing isn’t okay. It’s not appropriate. But it’s also complicated.”
“I know that,” Chris whispers.
“Sometimes we all get a little lost, right? It doesn’t mean she’s a bad person. She’s just making some bad decisions.”
Chris nods. He still doesn’t get it. He still thinks Dad is keeping things from him. “Is she going to get in trouble?”
Dad lets out a breath. “It’s important to tell someone when they’ve done something that makes you uncomfortable, right?”
Chris nods.
“Abigail has lots of people who want to help her. You and I can’t be those people for her, and we don’t need to be, okay? There are professionals who are there to help her. They’ll talk to her about it, and they’ll make sure she’s okay.”
It’s not lost on him that Dad doesn’t really answer the question. She’ll still be out there. She knows where they live.
“And it’s important that you call me right away if you see her, or if she tries to contact you,” Dad continues. “You go to the closest teacher and tell them, too.”
A bad feeling bubbles up from his chest, like it’s choking him. She’s going to come back. She’s going to come back for them.
“Okay,” he chokes.
Dad frowns. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” he manages. “You should call Buck.”
Dad blinks. “What for?”
What a stupid question.
“He said we could call him,” he says, his voice cracking against his will. “If we need him.”
“Right,” Dad blinks, nodding. He grabs Chris’ shoulder, then presses a kiss to his hair. “Yeah. We can call him.”
The front door swings open with just as much urgency as yesterday, and Chris feels himself take a proper breath for the first time in an hour.
“Eddie?” Buck calls, all momentum, his eyes scanning the room.
It doesn’t take him long to find them. They’re back on the couch, some nature documentary filling the silence.
“We’re fine,” Dad insists, standing at Buck’s presence.
“I saw it,” Buck breathes, pointing toward the truck out the window. “That’s - - did you call Athena?”
“Not yet. Uh. Thanks for coming.”
“Of course. I’m glad you called. Are you guys okay?”
Dad looks at him, which makes Buck look at him, so now they’re both looking at him. “I’m fine,” Chris says. This isn’t about him. He turns to Buck. It has to be Buck. He’s the only one who can do it. “You have to look after Dad.”
Buck frowns, eyes snapping to Dad like he’s mortally wounded and hiding it from him.
Dad laughs uncomfortably. “Chris. I thought you wanted to call Buck?”
“I did. For you.”
“Buddy - -” Dad starts, sitting back down beside him, but he doesn’t want to hear it.
“It’s your job to keep me safe, and it’s Buck’s job to keep you safe,” Chris insists, cutting him off. He turns to Buck. He looks him right in the eye. “That’s what you said.”
That’s what Buck said. That’s what Buck has said, every time he’s saved Dad. Every time he’s kept him safe, because Chris couldn’t do it. Chris doesn’t know how to do it.
Buck stammers, eyes shifting quickly toward Dad and back again. “You remember that?”
Chris nods. Of course he does. It’s the only reason he’s not an orphan at the ripe old age of 15.
Buck sucks in a breath. He turns to Dad. “I - - we were talking about work,” he explains. “Years ago. After - - when he was worried about you not coming home.”
“You’re partners,” Chris quotes from all those years ago. “So you have to look after each other. It’s Buck’s job.”
For a moment, the nature documentary is the only sound filling the room. Dad and Buck both blink at him, then at each other, bewildered.
Chris doesn’t understand why anything he’s saying would be bewildering. This is what they do. When they need help, Buck helps them. Buck keeps Dad safe.
“I - - I’m okay, buddy,” Dad says, after a moment. “You don’t have to worry about me. I can look after the both of us.”
Chris frowns. How are they not getting this? “You can’t,” he insists. “What if someone shoots you again? Buck saved you last time. I don’t know how to save you.” He can’t save him. He doesn’t know how. And he - - he can’t breathe. He tries to gasp in a breath. “Buck has to - - you have to - -“
“Whoa, hey,” Dad says, suddenly kneeling in front of him. “Hey, Chris. It’s okay. I’m okay.”
But Chris doesn’t want Dad right now. All he wants is for Buck to promise him.
He finds Buck’s wide eyes and begs. “You have to.”
Buck nods, a little shaky. “I will,” he promises. “Always. I promise.”
Finally, Chris can breathe again.
Everything’s fine if Buck is here. No one can hurt Dad when Buck is here.
So everything is fine for the rest of the night, sandwiched between Dad and Buck on the couch. Everyone is safe, and Chris can breathe, right up until Dad says, “Alright, time for bed, buddy. We’ve gotta let Buck get home.”
Chris frowns, whipping around to look at Buck. “You’re not staying?”
Buck looks between Dad and him. “I - - I can sleep on the couch?” He suggests.
“Not with your bad back, you can’t,” Dad disagrees. “You won’t be able to move tomorrow.”
Oh. Chris didn’t know Buck had a bad back.
“I can - -” Buck frowns. “Do you want me to stay?” He asks Chris.
Chris really wants Buck to stay, but what use is he going to be at keeping Dad safe if he can’t even move?
“It’s fine,” Chris shrugs. “You can go.”
Dad and Buck share a look that they seem to think Chris can’t decipher.
Buck leaves. Dad locks the door. Fear curls around his chest and doesn’t leave until he watches the sun rise through his window.
It’s easier to breathe in the daytime, but lots of bad things happen in the daytime, too.
And, Buck promised. Nothing bad can happen to Dad, because Buck promised.
So Chris goes to Grayson’s for D&D, as usual, and tries to stay awake. He checks his dad’s location throughout the day, sucking in another breath as he watches the little dot move. He’s okay. He’s still okay.
Until Chris goes to the bathroom and happens to check Find My Friends and finds the little dot at the hospital, not moving — he stops breathing and hits the call button.
It rings. And rings. And rings. Chris’ sinuses burn. His chest tightens. He blinks back tears. He still needs his dad. He doesn’t know how to be alive without him. There are so many things he doesn’t know how to do. He doesn’t even know where he’d live. He doesn’t want to move back to Texas. He doesn’t want - -
“Hey, Chris,” Dad says. Relief floods through him at the sound of his voice. “How’s your campaign going?”
“What’s wrong?” Chris demands. He’s going to cry. He can feel it. “Why are you at the hospital?”
“Nothing’s wrong, I’m okay,” Dad says, which means something is wrong, and he’s not okay. Everyone is always not okay. Why does everyone keep getting hurt? “I just got a little banged up, but everything’s fine. Just some bruises and a scratch.”
“You’re in the hospital,” Chris repeats.
“Just to be safe,” Dad says. “A few stitches. I promise I’m okay. I’ll explain when I get home, okay?”
“Were you going to tell me?”
“There’s nothing to tell, bud. Everything’s okay. I’ll be out of here in no time.”
But Chris doesn’t believe him. He’s hiding something from him. He wouldn’t tell him if something was wrong — he didn’t even tell him he was in the hospital.
“Oh, shoot. Sorry, buddy. My doctor is here. I’ve gotta go, but I’m okay, and I’ll call you when I’m done, okay? I love you, kiddo.”
Chris is fuming. He’s so, so tired, and he’s so, so angry, and he’s so, so sick of everyone getting hurt. He hangs up the call without even saying goodbye.
He brings up Buck’s contact and taps on the call button. He answers after the first ring.
“Hey, buddy,” he says, all cheery, like Chris isn’t about to be an orphan.
“Are you with Dad?”
“Uh. No. What’s up?”
“Why not?” He demands. “He’s in the hospital. He got hurt.”
“What?” Buck breathes. “Where?”
“I don’t know. The hospital.”
“You spoke to him? What did he say?”
“That he was fine, but I could tell he was hurt. I knew he was going to get hurt.”
“Okay. Hey. If he says he’s fine, we should believe he’s fine. He wouldn’t lie to you.”
Chris huffs. “Why aren’t you with him?”
“I - - uh,” he stutters. “I’ll go now. Okay? I’ll make sure he’s okay. Are you okay?”
“I’ll be better if I’m not an orphan.”
It’s so frustrating. No one else seems to understand the stakes of the situation. Someone is trying to hurt his dad. Again.
“Just - - hang on, buddy, one second,” Buck says, followed by muffled voices in the background.
“You’re sure?” He hears Buck say. “Okay. Okay, thanks, Harry.” He must bring the phone back up to his ear, then, because his voice comes through clearer. “Athena is with your dad, buddy. He’s okay. I promise.”
It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t mean anything. He still got hurt. They’re still trying to hurt him.
“You’re still going to see him, right?”
“I’m on the way right now,” Buck confirms.
“Don’t tell him I called you.”
“Chris.”
“He'll just worry about me.”
“That’s his job.”
“I won’t be worried about him if you’re there. So, you just have to hurry up.”
“Okay, bud. I’ll text you when I’m there. You call me if you need me.”
Chris lets out a breath. If Buck’s there, he’ll be okay.
Chris doesn’t move, he barely breathes, he just stares at the phone in his hand for what feels like an eternity until the screen lights up.
Buck
<photo of Eddie with a black eye and thumbs up> Looks worse than it is. He’s okay! 😁
Chris hearts the message. If Buck’s there, he’s okay. Buck promised, so he’s going to be okay. Buck saved him lots of times before, and he can do it again if he needs to. Everything’s probably fine.
Chris gets himself together and drags himself back to the campaign. He’s not really keeping up with much of what’s happening — his eyes are so heavy.
His phone vibrates in his pocket.
Dad
Just leaving the hospital. You doing okay? I can come get you.
Chris is so tired. He kind of just wants to go home and take a nap, but if he’s there, his dad will be too focused on keeping him safe and not on keeping himself safe. So, he replies:
Are you with Buck?
Dad
Yeah.
Gonna call you
Chris shuffles away from the table as his phone rings.
“Hello?”
“Hey, buddy. You okay?”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m good. Just a few bruises. But, hey, Athena arrested the guy who spray-painted our car, so you don’t have to worry anymore.”
Chris freezes. “A guy?”
“Turns out it was Abigail’s dad, not Abigail. But she’s safe, she’s with Alex.”
They found him. They found the person who wants to hurt his dad.
“And you’re with Buck?”
“Hey, Chris!” Buck chirps.
“And you’re really okay?”
“I’m really okay,” Dad confirms. “Sorry I scared you, mijo.”
Chris lets out a breath. His body feels like it just ran a marathon. “He’s going to jail?”
“Yeah. Yeah, Athena will make sure of it.”
Oh. He’s suddenly so exhausted he could fall asleep standing up. He feels his body sag, catching himself on his crutches.
“You want us to come pick you up?” Dad asks. “You could come watch the auction, or we could just go home?”
He wants to sleep. He wants to sleep so much, but he doesn’t want Dad to know that he’s been worrying. If he knows that, he’ll never tell him when bad things happen. Chris has to know when bad things happen. He has to be ready for them to happen before they do.
“No, I’m good here,” he says. “Our campaign is still going.”
“Alright. Call me if you need anything, okay?”
“I know, Dad.”
“I love you, mijo.”
“Love you,” Chris manages, ending the call. He makes it to the bathroom before bursting into tears.
It’s late by the time Buck’s truck pulls up in front of Grayson’s.
When he gets in the car, Buck is grinning. “Guess,” he says.
Dad shakes his head, exasperated.
“$8002,” Chris guesses.
Dad and Buck turn around in their seats to gape at him.
“How did you do that?” Dad asks.
He shrugs. “The internet.”
“They put it on the internet?” Buck grins.
“Instagram. You broke your own record.”
“Heck yeah, I did. I still got it.”
Dad rolls his eyes.
“Did Instagram mention that your dad was bid on by a secret bidder?” Buck teases.
Instagram didn’t mention that. Chris doesn’t like that.
He sniffs. “It wasn’t Abigail, right?”
“No,” Dad insists, twisting back around to look at him. “You don’t need to worry about that, okay? That’s over.”
Chris lets out a breath, trying to force the beating of his heart to quiet down. “So who was it?”
“Yeah, Eddie,” Buck teases. “Who was it?”
“I don’t know. It was a secret bidder. Key word secret.”
Buck snorts. He catches Chris’ eye in the rearview mirror. “He bid on himself,” he whispers loudly.
Dad sighs. “Chimney, I assume?”
Buck shrugs in a way that’s supposed to be mysterious but definitely means it was Chimney.
“Are you allowed to do that?” Chris asks.
“It’s for charity! I don’t think they care where the money comes from. It’s a win-win.”
“Using my own sister as an accomplice,” Buck tsks. “Your dad is an enigma, Chris. Who pays thousands of dollars not to go on a date with a pretty woman?”
“You don’t know that it was going to be a pretty woman,” Dad counters. “It could’ve been a gaggle of elderly knitters.”
Buck scoffs. “In your dreams.”
By the time they make it home, Chris is so tired that his eyelids feel like rocks.
He bee-lines for his room, finally plonking down onto his bed. He thinks he must fall asleep sitting up for a second, because he blinks, and then there’s a knock at his door.
“Yeah?”
The door opens a bit to reveal Buck hesitating in the doorway. “Hey. Mind if I come in?”
Chris blinks slowly and tries to pretend he didn’t just fall asleep sitting up. “Sure.”
“Just wanted to see if you’re doing okay,” Buck says, sitting next to him on his bed. “It must’ve been scary, earlier.”
Chris is too tired for this. He already feels like he’s about to cry just thinking about it.
“I’m fine.”
“I was scared, too, you know. It’s okay to be scared.”
Chris shrugs. “He was fine.”
Buck looks at him, and Chris wants him to stop looking. He wants him to look away before he sees all the things he doesn’t want him to see.
“You’re a really brave kid, you know that?”
Chris frowns. What a ridiculous statement. “No, I’m not.”
Buck scoffs. “Oh, come on. You’re the bravest kid I know. You have been since the day I met you.”
Chris feels defensive, suddenly. Like Buck is trying to trick him. That doesn’t make any sense. Chris can’t be brave — he can’t even protect his dad. He gets kidnapped.
“I don’t do anything brave,” he insists. “You and Dad do.”
Buck looks over his shoulder, then leans in closer. “Can I tell you a secret?”
Chris nods. His head feels so heavy.
“It’s way scarier to be outside the burning building knowing someone you love is in there than it is to be in it.”
“Really?”
“Really. I don’t like it when your dad does scary things without me either, but, and don’t tell him I said this, but he’s pretty tough. And he’s good at his job. And he does everything he can to make sure he can come home to you at the end of the day.”
“And you’re always with him, right?”
“Me and the whole team. Chimney makes sure we’re all safe. He wouldn’t want to tell Maddie that anything happened to her little brother, right?”
Chris sighs. He’s so tired that he can’t stop the truth from coming out. “I don’t want anything to happen to my dad, like with everyone else.”
Buck lets out a breath. He looks really sad. Chris feels bad for making him look like that. “I know you don’t want your dad to worry, but I think you’d feel better if you talked to him, buddy. And I think he’d want to know that you’re feeling like this.”
Chris sniffs. He shrugs. “I don’t want to make it worse.”
“Hey,” Buck frowns. “Hey. You never make anything worse. You make everything better.”
He swallows. He trusts Buck. Even if it doesn’t really feel like it right now, he trusts Buck. Dad said he can trust Buck. “Okay.”
“Okay,” Buck smiles. “Hey, uh, Eddie?” He calls out.
It’s a small house, so a few moments later, Dad rounds the doorway.
“Sup?” He asks, drying his hands on his sweats. He stops in his tracks as he takes in the mood of the room. “Oh. What’s - -?” He takes two steps toward them, and Chris bursts into tears.
“Oh, buddy. Hey,” Dad says, suddenly in front of him, pulling him into a hug. Chris slumps against him.
“I think we’re feeling a little anxious,” Buck explains. “About you getting hurt again.”
“I don’t want you to die!” Chris sobs.
Everyone keeps dying.
Everyone keeps dying.
“I’m not going to,” Dad insists. “I’m right here, baby.”
“And I don’t want Buck to die!” He adds, sobbing the words into Dad’s chest.
“Oh,” Buck breathes. A hand finds his shoulder and squeezes. “I-I’m right here, too, bud. I’m okay. Everyone’s okay.”
“No,” he gasps. “Everyone’s not okay. Everyone keeps dying.”
“Okay,” Dad breathes, holding him tighter. “Okay. You’re okay.”
Chris shakes his head. He’s not. He’s not. He gasps for breath between the sobs racking his body.
“Chris,” Dad says. “Try and take a deep breath with me.”
He sucks in a ragged breath. He’s so tired and so stupid and so sick of everyone dying. “I-I’m sorry,” he says.
“You don’t need to be sorry.”
“I-I didn’t sleep,” he hiccups. “I-I’m really tired.”
Dad runs a hand through his hair. “You didn’t sleep last night?”
He shakes his head. “Thought they’d come back.”
“Oh, buddy,” Dad breathes.
“M’sorry,” he whispers.
“No. You don’t apologize. I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t - - I missed it. We can talk in the morning, huh? When you’ve had some sleep and you’re feeling better? Do you think you can sleep?”
Chris nods. He’s so tired. He slumps further into Dad’s arms.
“That’s good, mijo. That’s good,” Dad whispers. Chris loses the fight to keep his eyes open. “We’ll be right here, okay? Everything’s okay.” It’s the last thing he hears as exhaustion pulls him under.
When he wakes up, it’s to morning light coming through the window. He’s tucked into his bed, alone, and can smell pancakes, which means Buck is probably still here.
Instead of fear, like the last few mornings, he’s struck with a nauseating wave of embarrassment.
Oh, god. He’d sobbed in front of Dad and Buck — they’re never going to tell him anything ever again. They’re going to keep treating him like a baby because he’s acting like one.
He’s so, so embarrassed. He doesn’t want to get up and face it. Maybe he’ll just stay here all day, pretending to be asleep. He could probably get away with it.
But before he can figure out the logistics of pretending to be asleep for the next two months, minimum, his door cracks open a little, quietly, like they don’t want to wake him.
He’s doing an admittedly terrible job of pretending to be asleep, because his eyes aren’t even closed. So when Dad cracks the door to check on him, he unfortunately concludes that he’s awake.
“Hey,” Dad smiles. “Good morning. Good sleep?”
He shrugs. His head is throbbing from all the sobbing last night, and he feels stupid.
Dad sits on the edge of the bed. “You feeling a bit better?”
He shrugs again. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He wants to get back under the covers and never come out.
Dad reaches over and runs a hand through his hair. “Buck is making waffles. You hungry?”
Chris nods. Now that he mentions it, he’s starving. “Can I eat in here?”
“No,” Dad says. “Come on. You’ll feel better when you’re up and full of waffles.”
Chris doesn’t think that’s true, but it’s clear Dad isn’t going to let him rot away in bed like he wants to, so he drags himself toward the kitchen.
On the way, he notices that the couch isn’t set up as Buck’s makeshift bed like it usually is when he stays over. He wonders if he went home and came back before Chris woke up.
“Oh, thank god,” Buck sighs theatrically as Chris shuffles into the kitchen. “Chris. This is very serious. Choc chip or blueberry? You’re the deciding vote.”
Chris rolls his eyes, but he’s flooded with relief. They’re not being weird about this. He’s so, so relieved that they’re not being weird about this. “You’re gonna just make both,” he says. Buck always makes both, so ‘both of his Diazes can have their favorite’.
Buck chuckles. “Am I that predictable?”
“Yes,” he and Dad both say.
He takes a seat at the table. Dad pours him a glass of orange juice, and Buck delivers waffles to the table as they finish cooking, eventually sitting down to join them.
He’s hit with a pang of guilt as he notices that Buck is wearing the sweats he leaves here. Maybe he did sleep on the couch after all, with his bad back and everything, just because Chris couldn’t keep it together and be normal.
As they eat, Buck and Dad keep looking at each other, and Chris doesn’t know why, or what they’re not saying out loud. He’s so sick of people not saying things out loud.
Suddenly, he doesn’t want to wait for whatever plan they’ve concocted to coax him into talking about his feelings. He just wants it to be over with.
“I was just tired,” he announces to the table. Dad and Buck look up at him. “I don’t want you to quit again or anything. We don’t really need to talk about it.”
Dad finishes chewing his mouthful of waffle, puts his fork down, and says, “Do you remember when you had to call Buck because I locked myself in my room?”
Chris frowns. That’s not what he thought he was going to say. It was a long time ago, and Chris was just a kid, but he remembers it. He remembers being so scared. “Yeah?”
“When he found me, I’d smashed holes in the wall with a baseball bat,” Dad admits.
Oh. Chris didn’t know that. He hadn’t really thought about it much since, hadn’t ever really questioned what had actually happened. He just remembers that Buck showed up and then everything was okay. Buck took care of Dad, and Buck took care of Chris, and everything was okay.
“You did?” Chris frowns. “Why?”
“Because sometimes our brains play tricks on us,” Dad says. “And we can get caught in a pattern that isn’t good for us, like not sleeping, or feeling really sad, or really anxious. And I didn’t want to tell anyone, because I didn’t want them to worry.”
“But Buck came,” Chris says, looking at Buck. Buck offers a closed-mouthed smile around his mouthful of waffle.
“He did,” Eddie agrees. “Buck helped me, and Bobby helped me, and I went to a lot of therapy, and that helped me. You helped me.”
Seeing where this is going, Chris notes: “I didn’t break anything with a baseball bat.”
Dad chuckles. “No, and I don’t ever want you to get to that point. You’re - - you’re a lot like me, mijo. I was an anxious kid, too. I don’t want you to have to do any of this the hard way like I did.”
Chris sighs. “Abuelo didn’t keep almost dying.”
“No,” Dad acknowledges. “He didn’t. I’m not saying that your anxiety isn’t valid, buddy. You’ve been through more than anyone your age should have. But I don’t want it controlling your life. I don’t want you always worrying about where I am and who’s with me. It’s not your job to worry about me.”
Chris shrugs. It doesn’t really feel like he gets a choice in the matter.
“I’d like you to go back to therapy,” Dad says. “For at least a little while. I should’ve suggested it after you came home from El Paso.”
“It's not - -“ Chris sighs. “It’s not all the time. It was just - - someone was following you. And it felt like when you were shot. Like everything was fine one minute and then - -“
“Everything is fine, Chris,” Dad cuts in. “I promise. But we can figure out how to make sure you feel safe, and that you feel safe that I’m safe, okay? We can find some ways that work for us.”
Chris sighs, but he nods. “And I don’t want you to keep things from me, or talk to me like I’m a kid. I want to know when things are happening, even if they’re scary. Especially then.”
“Okay,” Dad says. “We can do that.”
Chris looks over to Buck, who’s eating a waffle while trying to pretend he doesn’t exist.
“Sorry for crying on you,” he says.
It takes Buck a second to realize he’s talking to him. “Oh,” he blinks. “No. You can cry on me whenever you want to. Whenever.”
“Can we go to the zoo today?”
Buck opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again. “Yeah, of course! I mean - -” He hesitates, looking at Dad.
Dad just smiles, nodding. “Of course you can. Whatever you want.”
His first therapy session back is fine. He likes his new therapist — he doesn’t treat him like a little kid, and he laughs at his dead mom jokes.
After the session, Buck gives him a knitted scarf. He catches Dad smiling at the two of them kind of dopily while Buck wraps him up in it like a ridiculous snowman.
A few weeks later, on the way to therapy, Dad says, “I, um - - what would you think about me asking Buck on a date?”
Chris frowns. He considers this. “Why would you need to go on a date?”
Dad looks over at him. “What?”
“Don’t you ask people you don’t know very well on dates? What would you even talk about?”
Eddie blinks. “I don’t know,” he says. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
Chris hums. “You should probably figure that out, or it won’t be a very good date.”
“Right,” Dad nods, like he hadn’t thought about that. “So you’d be okay with it?”
“Are you gay?”
Dad chokes a little. “I - - might be.”
Chris hums again. “You should definitely figure that out before the date, probably.”
“No, I - - I know I’m not straight. I just don’t - - labels. I don’t know yet.”
“I think you’re probably gay.”
“You do?”
Chris nods. He tries not to think about his dad kissing anyone generally, but it’s kinda hard not to notice these things when he’s so spectacularly bad at dating women.
“How - - um. How long have you thought that?”
He shrugs. “It just kinda makes sense, doesn’t it? And I overheard Aunt Hen and Aunt Karen talking about it.”
Dad hums unhappily. “Did you now?”
“And you make Buck talk to me whenever I have girl problems.”
“Okay, well - - I have dated women. I just think he knows more about it.”
“Mhm. Wonder why.”
“Okay, Christopher. Thank you.”
“You just paid two thousand dollars to not go on a date with a woman.”
“That’s not exactly what happened.”
“You haven’t gone on a date with anyone in like two years.”
“You don’t know that.”
Chris raises his brows.
“Okay. I haven’t. But I could have, and you wouldn’t necessarily have known about it.”
“Will Buck move back in with us?”
Buck had already been spending more time with them these past few weeks, and Chris had thought it was maybe because of his whole ‘sobbing about how he didn’t want him to die’ thing, but maybe it was about this.
Dad chokes. “Let’s do one step at a time, buddy. He might not say yes to the date.”
Chris scoffs. “Yeah, okay.”
“You think he’ll say yes?”
Chris rolls his eyes. “Yeah, Dad. I think Buck will say yes if you ask him on a date. I don’t even need the internet to tell me that one.”
Dad lets out a breath. “I think he’ll say yes, too.”
After therapy, he snorts when he sees Buck’s truck pull up, Dad in the passenger seat.
“Hey, buddy,” Dad greets. “How’d you go?”
“Good,” he says. “How did you go?”
“Good,” he smiles.
“Hi, Buck.”
“Sup, Chris. Christopher. I mean - - yeah. Hey, Chris.”
Chris snorts.
“Oh!” Buck gasps. “I made you mittens. Remind me to give you your mittens.”
“We live in LA.”
“Christopher.”
“Thank you. For my LA mittens.”
Buck pulls the truck out onto the road. Dad clears his throat awkwardly. “Did you talk about what we talked about with your therapist?”
“Was I supposed to?”
“Well, it’s - - a big change.”
“Is it?”
“So you didn’t?”
“No, I did.”
“Okay. That’s good.”
Dad’s not-so-subtle timing of dropping the information on the way to his therapy appointment wasn’t lost on him. He took the hint.
“Did you talk about what we talked about with Buck?” Chris asks.
“I did.”
“Did Buck say yes?”
“He did,” Buck confirms.
“Cool,” Chris says. “My therapist says we should do a family session, because the relationship change affects my sense of safety and attachment.”
Buck chokes. Dad clears his throat. “That - - yep. That sounds like a great idea. We’ll do that.”
Chris hums. “It’s important not to reinforce anxiety-driven thinking patterns,” he explains. “Since I equate your safety with Buck.”
Dad turns around to blink at him. “You - - are correct,” he blinks. “Did you write that down or something?”
“No,” Chris shrugs. “I just think it’s interesting. Did you know that your nervous system learns patterns? That’s why it keeps trying the same reaction even if the situation is different.”
“Oh,” Dad breathes, turning back toward the front. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s pretty interesting, huh? That’s - - that’s good. That you’re getting something out of it.”
“Y’know,” Buck says, clearing his throat. “I’ve been meaning to watch this documentary series about how the mind works. Would you wanna watch it sometime?”
“Oh, yeah,” Chris smiles. “That sounds cool.”
Buck grins. “Cool. I think it goes into all different topics! Like how dreaming works and stuff.”
That does sound cool. Chris wants to learn everything he can about it. “Can we watch it tonight?”
“Yeah,” Buck grins. “Yeah. Of course. I’d love that.”
He pretends not to notice as Dad reaches over and grabs Buck’s hand in his. He doesn’t give them the same courtesy when he lifts Buck’s hand to his mouth and kisses it.
“Argh!” He groans. “If you keep doing that, you’re gonna have to turn the car around.”
Dad snorts. Buck blushes, but he’s smiling that same, dopey smile he’s seen on Dad’s face for weeks.
Interesting.
“Sorry, buddy,’ Dad says, but he doesn’t sound sorry at all.
“I will be bringing this up with my therapist.”
“Let me know what he says.”
“If you do that at our family session, I’m disowning you both.”
“I promise we won’t engage in any PDA in your therapist’s office, bud.”
Unfortunately, the same rules apparently do not apply to the previously sacred space of their living room, where he’s forced to watch a fascinating documentary about the brain under nauseating, cuddly conditions.