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The smell of cinnamon hit him first. Hen had made a batch of muffins that morning, and the scent still hung faintly in the kitchen when Buck came in from cleaning the rigs. It was too sweet, too warm. The kind of thing that made you think of family and Sundays and people who weren’t here anymore.
He smiled anyway, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re trying to put me out of business,” he said lightly, picking one off the counter.
Hen didn’t look up from her tablet. “Pretty sure Bobby would’ve wanted the carbs shared equally.”
There it was again—Bobby’s name, dropped like a glass that didn’t break. Nobody flinched anymore. Not like Buck still did.
He bit into the muffin, nodded, swallowed. “He would’ve said something about teamwork,” he managed, keeping it steady.
Hen smiled, small and sad, then went back to her charting.
It was Ravi who broke the silence. He was wiping down a table, his movements too careful, like he was trying not to disturb something fragile. “Hey, uh… did you hear about Eddie?”
Buck’s chest gave a little twitch, the way it always did when someone said Eddie’s name like that. Like it meant something had happened. “What about him?”
“His abuela passed away,” Ravi said softly. “Couple days ago, I think. Cap mentioned it to me this morning.”
The words landed heavy, slow.
Abuela.
For a second Buck wasn’t in the kitchen anymore. He was back in that little backyard years ago, the first time she’d pressed a kiss to his cheek and called him mijo like it meant something. The smell of tamales, Chris’s laughter. Her teasing Eddie about his haircut, her sharp eyes softening whenever Buck made her laugh. She’d been family, even when Buck wasn’t sure if he counted.
He swallowed hard. “I didn’t… uh, I didn’t know.”
Ravi looked at him, a little uncertain. “Yeah. He’s been out since yesterday. I thought maybe he’d told you.”
Buck forced a smile. “Nah. He’s got a lot going on.”
But it stung. It shouldn’t have—Eddie didn’t owe him updates on family deaths—but it still did. The space between them had stretched so wide lately that Buck wasn’t sure what counted as friendship anymore.
He stayed at the station longer than he needed to. The others went home, one by one. Chim had called something about paperwork, Hen waved a tired goodbye, Ravi gave him a small, knowing look before he left.
When the place finally went quiet, Buck washed the last of the mugs, dried his hands, and drove home.
The silence of the truck felt like pressure in his ears. He turned the radio on just to fill it.
He baked that night.
Banana bread, because it was simple, forgiving. Because he didn’t know what else to do with the knot in his chest. The smell of it filled the house, warm and familiar, like the nights he and Bobby used to cook together. He tried to imagine what Bobby would’ve said. Something like, You’re doing good, kid.
The thought almost made him laugh, except it didn’t.
When it was done, he wrapped the loaf in foil, stood there for a long minute staring at it on the counter. He almost texted Eddie first. Almost.
But words felt too small, too late.
So he just got in the truck again.
The Diaz house looked exactly the same. Porch light on, one of the curtains half-drawn. He could hear voices through the open window. Tía Pepa, soft and firm in Spanish, Chris laughing at something. It was the sound of home.
Not his.
He knocked.
Footsteps. Then Eddie opened the door, just a few inches. He stepped outside and pulled it mostly shut behind him. Buck caught a glimpse of light, movement inside—family gathered, the hum of grief and comfort—but then it was gone.
“Hey,” Eddie said, voice low. He looked tired. His eyes were red in the porch light. “What’s up?”
Buck smiled, small. “Ravi told me about your abuela. I just… uh… wanted to say I’m sorry.” He lifted the foil-wrapped loaf between them. “Brought you some banana bread.”
Eddie blinked, like he hadn’t expected him to show up. “Oh. Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to,” Buck said, quiet. “She was… she was amazing.”
“Yeah.” Eddie’s voice softened for half a second, then tightened again. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”
Buck waited, half-hoping Eddie would open the door a little wider. Invite him in, maybe. He didn’t.
Eddie shifted, glancing back toward the house. “It’s just…it’s family right now. You know?”
“Yeah,” Buck said quickly. “Of course. Totally. I just wanted to drop it off.”
“Thanks,” Eddie said again. “I’ll see you at the station.”
The air between them felt thin, fragile. Buck nodded, stepping back. “Yeah. When’s the funeral?”
“Tomorrow.” Eddie hesitated. “But I’ll see you at work the next day.”
Buck’s throat hurt. “Right. See you then.”
Eddie gave a short nod, then turned and went inside, closing the door gently behind him.
Buck stood there for a moment, staring at the wood grain of the door, the faint glow around its edges. He told himself it was fine. He’d done the right thing. He hadn’t made it about himself.
Then he heard it—voices inside, muffled but clear enough.
“¿Quién era?” Tía Pepa’s voice.
“Nadie,” Eddie said. “Un vecino. Trajo pan y condolencias.”
And then Chris: “Did you hear from Buck? Is he coming tomorrow?”
A pause. Then Eddie, softer. “He’s busy, buddy. He’s got other plans.”
Something cracked deep in Buck’s chest, quiet but final.
He turned, walked back to his truck before he could think better of it. His hands shook when he started the engine. He stared out the windshield for a long minute before pulling out his phone.
To Chris: call me anytime, buddy. sorry I can’t be there with you tomorrow. ❤️
He sent it before he could overthink it. Tears blurred the screen anyway.
He didn’t go home. He drove across town, to the only place that still felt like it might let him breathe.
Maddie opened the door before he even knocked, eyes widening when she saw him.
“Evan?”
He tried to smile, failed.
His voice broke when he said, “I think I did something wrong again.”
Maddie’s living room was dim except for the soft blue light of the TV.
The house felt lived-in—blanket half off the couch, a couple of Jee-Yun’s crayons on the coffee table, one of the baby’s bottles sitting empty beside them. Buck could hear the faint hum of the dishwasher, the distant creak of pipes, the kind of background noise that felt safe.
He hesitated in the doorway until Maddie opened it wide and stepped aside.
She was barefoot, hair tied back, half a glass of wine in her hand. Love Island played on the screen. Two contestants arguing about who’d kissed who behind a cabana. When she studied his face, she didn’t say a word. Just wrapped him in a hug that made him finally exhale.
“Hey,” she murmured against his shoulder. “You want to sit?”
He nodded. His throat felt raw. Words weren’t an option yet.
Maddie guided him to the couch, then disappeared into the kitchen. She came back with a pint of ice cream and two spoons. No questions. Just pressed one into his hand and hit play on the TV again.
For a while, they sat like that. Buck half-curled against her side, breathing slow, trying to let the noise of the show drown everything else out. The familiar banter, the fake laughter, the bright colors. He let his brain rest against the nonsense.
It was stupid, but it helped. Until one of the new contestants walked onscreen. A tall, handsome Latino guy with a bright smile and kind eyes. Something about his voice, the warmth in it, broke something open in Buck’s chest.
He made a small sound before he could stop it, and then his face was in his hands. The first sob was quiet. The second wasn’t.
“Oh, honey.” Maddie paused the show and pulled him close, hand smoothing through his hair like she used to when he was small. “Talk to me.”
He shook his head. “I can’t… I just…” The words caught, heavy and clumsy. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“Then start anywhere.”
He took a shaky breath. “It’s Eddie.”
Her expression softened. No surprise there. “What happened?”
He stared at the spoon, at the streak of melted ice cream running down the side. “You know his abuela died?”
She nodded. “Chim mentioned it.”
“I found out from Ravi.” His laugh was small and cracked. “Not from him. I made banana bread and went over there tonight. I could hear Chris and Tía Pepa inside. He came out, closed the door behind him. Told me it was just for family right now.”
Maddie’s eyes darkened, but she stayed quiet.
Buck swallowed. “I asked about the funeral. He said it was tomorrow, but he’d see me at work the next day. I was walking back to my truck when I heard him tell his aunt I was just a neighbor dropping off bread. And then Chris asked if I was coming to the funeral, and Eddie told him I was busy. That I had plans.” His voice cracked on the last word.
Maddie’s hand tightened around his shoulder. “Evan…”
He blinked hard, trying to clear the blur from his eyes. “It just… it felt like he slammed a door I didn’t even know was open. And I know, I know it’s not about me. I don’t want to make it about me. But… God, it hurts.”
She waited. He’d always hated silence as a kid, but Maddie knew when to use it. It worked. After a minute, he kept talking.
“It’s not just tonight. It’s been bad since Bobby’s funeral. We had this fight. In my kitchen, well, his kitchen I guess... I never told you about it.” His voice went quiet. “He said I was making everything about myself. That the whole world was the ‘trials and tribulations of Evan Buckley in ninety-seven acts.’” He gave a humorless laugh. “Guess he’s been counting.”
Maddie’s eyes sharpened, that protective big-sister flash of anger. “He actually said that?”
“Yeah.” Buck rubbed at his face. “He was grieving, Maddie. We both were. I think I pushed too hard trying to fix things, and he… he snapped. He’s allowed to. I probably deserved it.”
“No,” she said firmly. “You didn’t deserve to be spoken to like that.”
He gave her a tired look. “You’d have defended him too if you’d seen him that day.”
Maddie exhaled through her nose, leaning back. “Maybe. But it doesn’t make it right.”
He let his head rest against her shoulder. “Now he barely looks at me. Won’t talk to me about anything that isn’t work. Chris texts me less. It’s like… they’ve moved on. Not just moved on from Bobby dying… but moved on from me too.”
“It feels like a breakup,” Maddie said quietly.
He laughed under his breath. “Yeah. Worse, actually.”
She turned her head a little, watching him. “Why do you think that is?”
He frowned. “Because I’m pathetic?”
“Try again.”
He met her eyes. She was serious, gentle but deliberate. “Maddie—”
“No, really. Think about it. You’ve had relationships end before. Why does this one feel different?”
He opened his mouth, closed it. “Because… he’s my best friend.”
“Okay,” she said softly. “So if he’s your best friend, why does it feel like your heart’s breaking instead of just… losing a friendship?”
He scoffed, wiping at his face. “Don’t start.”
“I’m not saying you’re in love with him,” she said evenly. “But you and Eddie… neither of you do normal friendship. You’re all in, both of you. You build lives around each other and call it coincidence.”
He looked away, jaw tightening. “He’s my family. At least… I thought he was.”
“I know.” Maddie’s voice softened. “But maybe that’s part of it. Maybe this… maybe this friendship… has taken up so much space that you haven’t left room for anything else.”
He didn’t answer. The silence stretched, heavy.
She reached out, brushed his curls off his forehead. “You’ve always worn your heart on your sleeve, Ev. You feel everything out loud. Eddie doesn’t. He locks his away behind anger or control or pretending he’s fine. So when you show your heart, he doesn’t know what to do with it. Sometimes he mistakes it for you making it all about yourself, when really, you’re just trying to connect.”
Buck let out a shaky laugh. “So it’s a translation issue?”
“Something like that.” She smiled faintly. “You miss your friend.”
He nodded, eyes glassy again. “I miss both of them. Him and Chris. I miss the house, and dinner, and movie nights. I miss… being wanted there.”
Maddie’s next words were gentle but deliberate. “Do you think maybe holding on to this… holding on to him… has kept you from finding your own family?”
He looked up, startled. “That’s not—no. It’s not like that.”
“I’m not accusing you,” she said softly. “I’m asking you to think about it. Because I’ve noticed something… when things are good with Eddie, you don’t put yourself out there. You don’t date. You don’t reach for anything outside that bubble. And from the little I’ve seen and from what you’ve told me, I think Eddie’s the same way. He only dates when you do. Like you’re both waiting for permission.”
Buck shook his head, half a smile breaking through the exhaustion. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” she said, tilting her head. “You said yourself this hurts worse than any breakup. So maybe you don’t need to decide what it means tonight. But you should ask yourself why.”
He didn’t answer. The silence settled again, softer this time. He leaned into her shoulder, tired and raw, the weight of the night pressing down.
Maddie reached for the remote and turned the TV back on.
The bright, dumb chaos of Love Island filled the room again.
“Eat your ice cream,” she said gently. “You’ll feel worse if it melts.”
He laughed quietly, and it broke something open in him again. But this time, it didn’t hurt as much.
The morning of the funeral was too bright.
The kind of clear blue sky that made the world look wrong when you were grieving. Buck stood in his kitchen surrounded by half-unpacked boxes, cardboard flaps like open mouths. He’d meant to finish this days ago, but somehow every box he opened just made the place feel emptier.
He tried to keep busy anyway.
Plates, mugs, the framed photo of him and Chris at the pier. The one Abuela had insisted on printing herself. “So you remember who you belong to,” she’d said, laughing. He set it on the counter and had to walk away for a minute.
By noon, his hands smelled like cardboard and dust. He sat on the floor, phone in his lap, staring at the screen.
Typing. Deleting. Typing again.
To Eddie: Thinking of you today. I know how much she meant to you.
To Chris: Sending love to you and your dad, buddy. Wish I could be there.
To Tía Pepa: I’m so sorry for your loss. She was an incredible woman.
He hesitated, thumb hovering, then hit send on all three.
Set the phone face down beside him.
It buzzed a few minutes later. Once. Then again.
From Tía Pepa: Thank you, Evancito. My mami loved you very much. I’m sorry you couldn’t be with us today. I know you would have made it if you could.
He smiled faintly, throat tightening. Then another buzz.
From Chris: I don’t understand why you’re not here buck???
That one stayed on the screen for a long time. He didn’t know how to answer. How to explain that he’d wanted to come more than anything, but the door had been closed before he even got the chance.
He typed something—I wanted to be there—and deleted it.
Put the phone away instead.
The third message never came.
Eddie’s chat stayed open, a single grey “read” mark under the text.
The next day at the station, Buck walked in smiling.
It felt like muscle memory now. The bright grin, the too-loud “morning!” that filled the space before anyone else could. He handed Chim a coffee, tossed Hen a donut, bumped fists with Ravi. The rhythm almost felt normal.
Until Ravi said, offhand, “Yesterday was really nice, huh? The service. Eddie’s family was amazing.”
Buck’s hand froze around his mug. “What?”
Ravi looked up, confused. “The funeral. I figured I just missed you… you weren’t there?”
The pause stretched too long. Chim glanced over, brow creasing, but Buck forced a laugh. “Nah, couldn’t make it. Had… stuff at the house.”
“Oh,” Ravi said, awkward. “Right. Sorry, man.”
Buck waved it off, trying to swallow around the tightness in his throat. “Don’t worry about it.”
He didn’t look at Eddie. Couldn’t.
But he felt it. The solid, heavy presence a few feet away, the quiet that wrapped itself around him. Eddie didn’t say a word. Didn’t even look up from the report he was filling out.
Buck’s chest ached in a way that wasn’t quite emotional anymore.
By the afternoon, the ache had turned sharp.
He told himself it was nothing. Just stress, lack of sleep, too much caffeine. But every time he bent to lift a hose or climbed the stairs, it flared behind his ribs like a bruise. He caught himself rubbing at it more than once.
When he finally slipped out to the roof for air, the city stretched endless beneath him. Sunlight on the glass towers, traffic humming below. Normally the view grounded him. Today it just made him dizzy.
He sat down against the wall, pressing the heel of his hand to his chest.
Breathe in. Out. In.
It didn’t help. His pulse raced faster the calmer he tried to get.
He stayed up there until his radio buzzed with Chim’s voice, casual, routine: “Buck, you good? We’re about to start drill.”
He clicked the mic. “Yeah. Be right down.”
He made it through the next hour on autopilot. He joked with Hen, nodded along with Chim’s notes, checked the rig twice. Pretended not to notice how Eddie kept his distance, talking to everyone but him.
By the time they hit the kitchen again, Buck felt hollowed out. Every breath scraped. He leaned against the counter, trying to look casual, but Hen caught it immediately.
“Hey,” she said, quiet but sharp. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” he said, forcing a smile. “Just tired.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re pale. And you’re doing the thing with your hand.”
He glanced down. Fingers pressed to his chest again, rubbing the same spot over his heart. He tried to drop it, but his breath hitched instead.
“Buck?” she said, more urgent now.
He opened his mouth to answer, but the air didn’t come right. His chest tightened hard, sudden and terrifying. He gasped, reaching for the counter, but it wasn’t enough.
“Hen—” His voice broke on the word.
She was already moving. “Ravi! Gear from the ambulance, now!”
Buck shook his head, tried to wave her off, but the world tilted. He couldn’t get a full breath. Panic clawed up his throat.
Hen’s hands were steady on his shoulders, lowering him onto the floor with his back against the kitchen island. “Easy, Buck. Stay with me. What’s going on?”
He pressed a hand to his chest, couldn’t speak. Just looked at her. Pleading, confused, scared.
“Chest pain?” she said quickly. “Okay. Okay, we’ve got you.”
Ravi came running in with the jump bag. Chim was already on the radio, calling them offline. “Station 118 is temporarily out of service. Medical emergency on-site.”
Eddie appeared at the top of the stairs. For a second, Buck thought maybe—just maybe—he’d see something in his face that looked like the old Eddie, the one who knew him before all the walls went up.
But Eddie’s voice was calm, professional. “What do we have?”
Hen answered fast. “Onset chest pain, shortness of breath, pale, diaphoretic.”
“Buck,” Eddie said, kneeling beside him. His tone was gentle, but distant… measured. The way he spoke to strangers. “I need you to stay still, okay? We’re going to get you on oxygen.”
Buck shook his head, tears stinging. “I’m fine—”
“You’re not,” Eddie said quietly, slipping the mask over his face. “Don’t talk.”
He could feel Hen attaching leads to his chest, hear Chim pulling the stretcher closer. His heart hammered against the wires, each beat echoing too loud in his ears.
“Sinus tach,” Hen said, reading the monitor. “No clear ST elevation, but—”
“Let’s move,” Eddie cut in. “We’ll figure it out in the rig.”
They lifted him together—Hen, Eddie, Ravi—and he tried not to panic at the way the ceiling spun overhead. The mask fogged with his breath. He wanted to say Eddie, please, wanted to reach for his arm, but Eddie’s focus never wavered from the protocol.
Professional. Controlled. Distant.
The last thing Buck saw before they wheeled him out was Hen’s worried eyes over Eddie’s shoulder and Eddie’s hand steady on his chest, checking the rhythm that didn’t feel like it belonged to him anymore.
The world blurred into sirens and motion.
Metal clanged. Doors slammed. The rig lurched forward hard enough to jolt Buck against the stretcher straps.
Hen was at his side, already hanging a line. Eddie sat opposite, gloved hands steady, watching the monitor like he could will it into behaving.
Buck could hear Ravi and Chim up front, voices muffled through the partition. Directions, traffic, the clipped urgency of people trying not to panic.
“Pressure’s dropping a bit,” Hen said, frowning at the screen. “Heart rate’s still high.”
Buck’s chest burned. He tried to take a deep breath, but it felt like inhaling through cement. “Something’s wrong,” he rasped through the oxygen mask.
“I know,” Hen said gently. “We’ve got you, Buck. Just try to relax.”
He turned his head, eyes finding Eddie.
“Don’t—” he started, and then stopped, shaking his head. The fear hit him like a wave. “Don’t let me—”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Eddie said, voice even. He adjusted the IV line, eyes flicking between the monitor and Buck’s face. Calm. Controlled. Like this was any other call.
Hen glanced at him. “Could this be related to the lightning? Some kind of delayed cardiac issue?”
Eddie didn’t look up. “He had every test they could run. Cardio cleared him… echo, stress test, the works.” His jaw tightened. “They said his heart was fine.”
Hen muttered, “Well, something’s not fine.”
Buck caught the edge of their voices, but it was getting harder to focus. The siren was a constant scream inside his head. His fingers twitched against the sheet.
“Eddie,” he whispered.
Eddie looked up.
“I don’t—” Buck’s voice broke. “I don’t want to die.”
Something in Eddie’s face cracked then. Just a flicker, but real. “Hey. You’re not dying. You hear me?”
Buck’s eyelids fluttered. He wanted to nod, but the edges of everything were going soft. The sound of the siren stretched thin, like it was underwater.
Hen’s voice sharpened. “He’s dropping. Buck, stay with us.”
“God damn it,” Eddie muttered, leaning forward. His hands came up, cupping Buck’s face firmly, forcing his gaze up. “Look at me, Buck. Right here. Eyes on me.”
Buck’s breathing stuttered, uneven. His pupils tracked Eddie’s face—the sharp worry there, the tremor in his voice that hadn’t been there a second ago.
“Stay awake,” Eddie ordered, voice cracking now, not professional anymore. “You stay with me, okay? You don’t get to check out on me, not like this.”
Hen’s hands moved fast, checking vitals, adjusting the oxygen flow. “Almost there,” she said, but it felt far away.
Buck’s vision narrowed until there was only Eddie. The sound of his voice, rough and breaking, the pressure of his hands keeping him anchored. Then something warm wrapped around his palm—Eddie’s hand gripping his hard, their fingers locking.
“Stay with me,” Eddie said again, low and desperate.
Buck blinked, breath shuddering out. He held on—because Eddie was holding on—and for a moment, it was just that: two hands, one heartbeat, and the sound of sirens pulling them both toward whatever came next.
The world blurred into sirens and motion.
When he woke, the world was quiet.
Too quiet—like sound was something that had to climb its way back to him. First came the steady beeping of a monitor, then the low hum of hospital air conditioning. The smell of antiseptic. Light filtering through the blinds, pale and unfamiliar.
His chest ached, not sharp anymore but deep, sore, like someone had pressed their hand there and never quite lifted it away.
He blinked until the blur softened into shapes. A chair beside the bed. A hand wrapped around his—warm, familiar.
“Hey, little brother.”
Maddie’s voice was soft but thick, her smile a fragile thing. Her eyes were red-rimmed, like she’d been sitting there awhile.
“You scared us.”
He swallowed, throat dry. “Eddie.”
The way she flinched was small but impossible to miss. Her mouth twitched before she sighed. “He’s in the waiting room.”
Buck’s voice rasped. “Can I—?”
“Later,” she said gently. “You can see him later. Not right now.”
He frowned, confusion fighting through the haze. “What… what happened?”
Maddie sat up straighter, brushing his hair back like she used to when he was a kid with a fever. “You’re in the cardiology ward. The doctors said you had something called broken heart syndrome.”
He blinked at her, slow. “That’s… that’s a real thing?”
“It is,” she said. “It’s called stress cardiomyopathy. Your heart basically reacted like it was having a heart attack. But it’s caused by emotional stress, not blocked arteries.” She gave him a look that was equal parts affection and worry. “They said it’s common after something really traumatic. Usually it gets better with rest and medication, but you need to take it easy.”
He stared up at the ceiling. “So my heart literally broke.”
“Pretty much,” Maddie said softly. “And Buck, I think maybe you shouldn’t see Eddie for a while.”
That cut through the fog faster than anything else. His eyes snapped to hers. “What? Why?”
“Because this—” she gestured toward the IV line, the monitor, the sterile room “—is what it’s doing to you. I talked to Hen and Ravi. They were both at Eddie’s abuela’s funeral. Chim wasn’t—Eddie probably figured it’d get back to you through me.”
Buck closed his eyes. The monitor picked up a little, beeping faster. “He didn’t want me there.”
“Buck,” she said gently, “it’s literally breaking your heart.”
He turned his head toward the window, blinking hard. “I can’t just pretend he doesn’t exist.”
“I’m not saying that,” she said, voice steady. “But you need space. Time off. You’re going to be out of work for a few weeks at least. So come stay with me and Chim. The kids would love it, and you won’t be alone.”
He let out a shaky breath. “And do what? Watch Love Island reruns with you until I heal?”
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “That, and maybe think about what you want next. You remember that transfer request you put in last year… the one you pulled when Eddie came back from Texas?”
His brow furrowed. “Yeah.”
“Maybe you should think about putting it back in.”
He blinked at her, stunned. “You’re serious?”
“I just want you to be somewhere that doesn’t hurt,” she said quietly. “You’ve been trying to hold this thing together—whatever’s between you and Eddie—and it’s tearing you apart. Maybe stepping back would help.”
Buck shook his head, the motion weak but stubborn. “You didn’t see his face, Maddie.”
“What do you mean?”
“In the ambulance,” Buck said, voice breaking. “He—he grabbed my face. Told me to stay with him. I saw it. He still cares. I know he does. Please… just let me talk to him.”
The monitor’s rhythm spiked again, sharp and fast.
Maddie’s eyes flicked to it, alarmed. “Evan, stop. You need to calm down. Your heart can’t handle this right now.”
He swallowed hard, fighting to breathe past the ache in his chest. “I just… I need to see him.”
She leaned forward, voice soft but firm. “No, what you need is to live through this. Let me help you. Please.”
He closed his eyes, tears sliding down toward his temples.
The monitor slowed, just barely.
Maddie’s hand tightened around his. “Rest,” she whispered. “That’s your only job right now.”
Buck didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
He just lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember how to breathe around the space where everything used to fit.
The door clicked softly behind her as she stepped out of Buck’s room.
For a moment, Maddie just stood there in the corridor, trying to breathe past the knot in her throat. Hospitals always felt the same. Cold floors, recycled air, the faint hum of fluorescent lights. She’d spent too many nights in places like this, waiting for someone she loved to wake up.
When she finally pushed open the door to the waiting room, the rest of the team looked up at once.
Hen was pacing with a coffee in her hand. Chim sat forward in one of the chairs, elbows on his knees. Ravi leaned against the wall near the window, arms crossed. Eddie stood apart from them all, like he couldn’t quite bring himself to sit down.
Maddie’s eyes skimmed right past him. She went straight to the others.
“He’s awake,” she said. Her voice sounded steadier than she felt. “They’ve moved him to cardiology.”
Chim stood up immediately. “What happened?”
She hesitated, then forced herself to meet his eyes. “They’re calling it broken heart syndrome. It’s a real thing… stress cardiomyopathy. The heart goes into shock from emotional stress, mimicking a heart attack.”
Hen blinked. “You’re kidding. I've read about it, but I've never seen it.”
“I wish I was kidding,” Maddie said. “They said it can happen after a trauma, a loss… anything that feels like your world’s been pulled out from under you.”
For a moment, nobody spoke. The silence felt too heavy for a hospital hallway.
Then Ravi shifted, glancing toward Eddie. It was quick, almost reflexive, but Maddie caught it. The way his expression softened, the flicker of recognition in his eyes. He knew. Maybe not the whole story, but enough.
Eddie’s jaw flexed. “Can I see him?”
Maddie finally looked at him then, and it took everything in her not to let her anger bleed through. “No visitors for now. He’s resting.”
Eddie nodded once, eyes dropping to the floor. The smallest flinch, like he’d expected that answer.
Chim moved to Maddie’s side, slipping an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s give them space,” he said gently. “We’ll head back to the station. We can visit tomorrow.”
Hen squeezed Maddie’s arm on her way out, Ravi gave a small nod. Eddie didn’t move.
When the others turned down the hallway toward the elevators, Maddie turned to head back to Buck’s room. She’d barely taken a few steps when she heard him behind her.
“Maddie.”
She stopped but didn’t turn.
“Can I see him? Just for a few seconds.”
Her jaw tightened. She closed her eyes briefly before facing him. “No.”
“Maddie, please—”
“No,” she said again, quieter but sharper this time. “You don’t get to walk in there right now.”
He blinked, caught off guard by the tone. “I just… I need to know he’s okay.”
“He’s alive,” she said flatly. “You’d know that sooner if you hadn’t put him there.”
That landed. His mouth opened, closed again. “I didn’t—”
She took a step closer, voice low but steady. “I’m sorry about your abuela. I am. I know you’re hurting. But my brother loves you, Eddie. He loves you, and he doesn’t understand why you’re treating him like he’s disposable.”
Eddie’s eyes flickered, pain cutting through whatever armor he’d put up. “That’s not—”
“It is,” she said. “You shut him out, and then you let him think it was his fault. You think I don’t know what that does to him? You think I haven’t seen him tear himself apart trying to earn back people’s love?”
He stood there, silent, hands clenched at his sides.
Maddie exhaled slowly, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “You need to figure your stuff out. See a therapist. Talk to someone. Anyone. But you don’t get to take it out on him anymore. Not when it’s literally breaking his heart.”
Eddie swallowed hard, eyes glistening but fixed on the floor. “I never meant—”
“I know,” she said quietly. “That’s the problem. You never mean it until it’s too late.”
For a second, the hallway was just breathing and silence.
Then Maddie turned, her tone softening but final. “Go home, Eddie. Let him heal.”
She walked back toward Buck’s room before he could say anything else.
When she glanced back once, he was still standing there—alone, unmoving—like a man who’d finally realized what he’d done.
Eddie finished the shift like he was sleepwalking.
The rhythm of it—the calls, the cleanup, the paperwork—was almost merciful. Something to do with his hands so he didn’t have to think about the image that kept replaying in his mind: Buck on the stretcher, pale and shaking, eyes wide with fear.
Hen barely spoke to him. Chim tried, once or twice, then gave up. Ravi stayed professional, polite, but colder than usual—quiet in that deliberate way that said don’t talk to me.
By the end of shift change, the silence felt like punishment he deserved.
Eddie packed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and caught Ravi near the lockers. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he said flatly.
Ravi looked up, expression unreadable. “Yeah. Kind of.”
Eddie’s jaw tightened. “So you blame me too.”
Ravi didn’t flinch. “You want me to lie?”
“No,” Eddie said. “Say what you mean.”
Ravi took a slow breath. “Buck’s not perfect. He can be reckless, stubborn. But when it comes to you? He’s never been anything but loyal. Every time you’ve needed something… for Chris, for a call, for anything… he’s there. Every damn time.”
Eddie swallowed, staring at the floor.
“And you,” Ravi continued, voice steady, “you take it. You let him carry the weight, let him make it easy for you. And when you can’t handle what he’s offering, you shut him out and call it his fault. So yeah, Eddie… I do blame you.”
Eddie couldn’t think of a single thing to say to that. He just nodded once, sharp, and walked out.
The church was mostly empty when he got there.
The kind of quiet that settled deep, where even your heartbeat felt too loud. Sunlight spilled through the stained glass, red and blue and gold across the floor. Bobby had always said it was his favorite place to think. Somewhere you could be honest with yourself because God already knew anyway.
Eddie sat down halfway up the aisle. His hands hung between his knees. He didn’t pray. Didn’t even know what to ask for.
He just stared at the altar until the sound of footsteps approached behind him.
“Eddie,” came the familiar voice. Father Brian sat down beside him, leaving just enough space to breathe. “It’s been a while.”
“Yeah.” Eddie’s voice sounded raw even to himself. “Sorry, Father.”
“You don’t owe me an apology.” Brian tilted his head slightly, studying him. “You look like a man with something heavy on his mind.”
Eddie gave a short laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “You could say that.”
Father Brian waited, the way only someone truly patient could. No pressure. Just presence.
Finally, Eddie said it: “I broke my best friend’s heart, Father.”
A long pause. Then, gentle curiosity. “Your best friend is upset with you?”
Eddie shook his head, eyes fixed on the stained glass. “No. I mean… I literally broke his heart. The doctors said so. He’s in the hospital.”
Brian’s expression softened, but he didn’t interrupt.
“I didn’t hit him or anything,” Eddie said quickly. “I just… I hurt him. I pushed him away. I told him he was selfish. That he was always making things all about himself. I told him the world revolved around the ‘trials and tribulations of Evan Buckley.’” His voice cracked on the name. “And now he’s lying in a hospital bed, and I don’t even know how to fix it.”
Father Brian leaned forward slightly. “You said you thought he was making things all about himself. Do you mean… he was telling you how he felt?”
Eddie hesitated. “Yeah. He was emotional. Always is.”
“And that’s making it all about himself?”
Eddie looked down, jaw working. “When you’re drowning and someone’s narrating their own pain at you… it feels like it.”
Brian nodded thoughtfully. “Tell me more about this friendship. Do you feel like you make the effort and he doesn’t?”
The answer came fast. “No. He’s always there. Even when I don’t want him to be.”
Brian’s voice softened. “Why don’t you want him to be?”
Eddie stared at the floor. “Because I can’t function around him sometimes.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Eddie’s throat tightened. He pressed a hand over his face, voice cracking. “If I’d let him in after my abuela died… if I’d let him come to the funeral, I would’ve lost it. I can’t—” He stopped, breath shaking. “I would’ve lost it.”
Brian’s tone stayed even, careful. “Why?”
The tears came quietly, without warning. Eddie didn’t even wipe them away. “Because he’s the only one I can actually open up to like that. And I couldn’t afford to fall apart. Not with my family there, not with Chris watching. I had to keep it together.”
Brian let the silence sit. The colored light from the stained glass shifted over them as clouds moved past the sun.
Then, gently: “So it wasn’t really about him making it about himself, was it?”
Eddie looked up, startled.
Brian went on, calm but clear. “It sounds like he allows you to make it about yourself. And that’s something you’re not used to. You spend your life being the strong one—the soldier, the father, the steady hand. You handle everyone else’s pain. But you don’t know how to handle your own. So when someone makes space for it, it terrifies you.”
Eddie’s shoulders trembled. “And now I’ve lost him. I hurt him, and I’ve lost him, and I’ve broken us, and I don’t know what to do.”
Brian rested a hand on his arm. “Why is he the only one you feel you can be your true self around?”
Eddie didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The question hung between them like something too dangerous to touch.
“And why,” Brian added softly, “does that scare you so much?”
The tears fell freely now, silent and unstoppable. Eddie pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to breathe.
Brian let him have the silence. Then, after a long moment: “You don’t have to know the answer today. But you should look for it. Write him a letter. Say everything you can’t say out loud. Even if you never give it to him, it might help you understand what’s really in your heart.”
Eddie nodded, slow, broken. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Maybe.”
Father Brian squeezed his shoulder. “Take it one breath at a time, Eddie. Sometimes forgiveness starts with telling the truth… even if it’s only to yourself.”
Eddie stared up at the stained glass again, colors washing over his face—light bending through cracks, breaking, reforming.
For the first time in days, he let himself pray.
Not for answers. Just for courage.
By the time Eddie got home, the sun was already setting—gold bleeding into the street outside, soft shadows stretching across the living room.
Chris was at the table doing homework, earbuds in, pencil tapping against his notebook. He looked up when Eddie came in, eyes narrowing the way they always did when he knew something was wrong.
Eddie dropped his keys in the bowl by the door. “Hey, bud.”
Chris pulled one earbud out. “Hey. You look weird.”
Eddie huffed a quiet laugh. “Thanks, kid.”
Chris frowned, pencil stilling. “What happened?”
Eddie hesitated. He’d spent the whole drive home thinking about how to tell him. There wasn’t a good way.
“It’s Buck,” he said finally. “He’s in the hospital.”
Chris’s pencil fell from his hand. “What? Why? What happened?”
“He’s okay,” Eddie said quickly. “He’s stable. They said it’s something called stress cardiomyopathy. It’s kind of like a heart attack, but it’s caused by… emotional stuff. Stress.”
Chris blinked, trying to process that. “Buck’s heart broke from stress?”
Eddie winced. “Basically.”
Chris stared at him. “That’s—what? That’s crazy.”
“Yeah,” Eddie said softly. “It is.”
Chris’s expression shifted, worry clouded by something sharper. “Is it because of Abuela?”
Eddie looked at him, startled. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Chris said, voice tight, “he didn’t even come to her funeral. That’s messed up. He loved Abuela. Why didn’t he come?”
Eddie sat down across from him, elbows on the table. “Chris…” He stopped, rubbed a hand over his face. “That’s not on Buck. He didn’t come because… because I didn’t tell him she died.”
Chris froze. “You what?”
“I didn’t tell him,” Eddie said quietly. “Ravi mentioned it at the station and Buck found out that way. He came over the night before the funeral with banana bread. I turned him away.”
Chris’s mouth fell open. “Dad! What the hell?”
“Chris—”
“No, seriously, Dad! He’s your best friend! Why would you do that?”
Eddie flinched. “I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking right. I was… trying to keep it together. For you. For the family.”
“That’s crap,” Chris said flatly. “You could’ve still let him in.”
Eddie’s shoulders sagged. “I know.”
Chris stared at him, angry and hurt all at once. “Did something happen when I went to Texas? Between you and Buck?”
Eddie shook his head. “No. He was amazing through all of that. Helped me every step of the way. Even when I didn’t make it easy.”
“Then what happened?” Chris pressed.
Eddie looked down. “We fought. After Bobby died. We were both grieving, and we didn’t handle it well. I said things I shouldn’t have.”
Chris’s face softened for a second, then hardened again. “Well, Buck’s like my other dad, so if you two aren’t gonna be friends anymore, I still want to see him.”
“Chris—”
“It sucks you messed this up,” Chris interrupted. “But I shouldn’t be surprised. You mess up all your relationships.”
The words hit harder than he expected—sharp and clean, like they’d been waiting for a place to land. Eddie’s breath caught, but he tried to keep his tone level. “Hey. That’s not fair.”
“It’s true,” Chris shot back. “Mom, Ana, Marisol, now Buck… every time someone gets close, you screw it up!”
Eddie swallowed, guilt burning hot in his chest. “I know it feels that way, but Buck and I… we’re not in a romantic relationship. It’s different.”
Chris crossed his arms, unimpressed. “Yeah. Okay. Keep telling yourself that.”
Before Eddie could answer, Chris grabbed his crutches and pushed away from the table, heading down the hall. The sound of the bedroom door slamming echoed like a gunshot.
Eddie sat there for a long moment, staring at the empty space his son had left behind.
When the silence got too heavy, he stood and walked down the hall.
Knocked gently on Chris’s door.
“Go away,” came the muffled voice.
Eddie rested his forehead against the wood. “I know you’re mad. You have every right to be. But I’m gonna fix it, okay? Whatever it takes, I’ll fix it.”
No response.
He stood there another moment, waiting, hoping, before whispering, “I promise, mijo. I’ll make it right.”
Still nothing.
Eddie stayed at the door long enough for the light in the hallway to fade, the house settling around him. He thought of Buck in that hospital bed, of Maddie’s voice in the hallway, of Father Brian’s question echoing in his head:
Why is he the only one you feel you can be your true self around?
Eddie didn’t have the answer. Not yet.
But for the first time, he wanted to find it.
Recovery looked a lot louder than Buck expected.
It wasn’t the hospital silence anymore—it was the everyday chaos of Maddie and Chim’s house. The thud of little feet. The sound of Bluey on repeat. The constant, small voice of a five-year-old narrating everything she did.
Jee-Yun was currently showing him how to make “the perfect blanket fort” in the living room, while baby Robbie gurgled happily on the play mat, gnawing on a plastic giraffe.
Buck lay on the couch, heart monitor leads gone but with strict instructions from his doctor: rest, no exertion, minimal stress. Which would’ve been easier if his brain didn’t keep circling back to Eddie Diaz.
He tried. God, he tried. He helped Jee-Yun tape up another blanket edge. He let Robbie grab his finger. He watched dumb TV with Maddie in the evenings and pretended the silence between commercials didn’t hurt.
But no matter what he did, he couldn’t not think about Eddie.
The way he said look at me, Buck in the ambulance, voice cracking like something inside him had broken. The way his hands had trembled but never stopped working.
It should’ve been enough to hold on to that—to believe Eddie cared—but it just made everything harder. Because caring wasn’t the same as wanting him around.
Maddie had confessed a few days in—quietly, while she was folding laundry in his room—that she’d told Eddie to stay away.
Not asked. Told.
Buck didn’t argue. He just nodded, staring at the folded shirts she handed him like they might hold a different answer.
He told himself it didn’t matter. That Eddie probably didn’t want to see him anyway. But it was hard to make that lie stick when the house got quiet at night and he caught himself checking his phone for messages that never came.
There were small bright spots, though.
Chris had texted him the first night he was in the hospital, and they’d been talking every day since.
Chris: Dad told me about your heart thing. you’re not allowed to die, okay?
Buck: Deal. I’m kinda busy with all this sitting around anyway.
Chris: You must hate this. ur the worst at sitting still.
Buck: Ur not wrong. Love you superman.
Every time his phone buzzed with a message from Chris, he smiled. It was automatic, like muscle memory.
He wanted to ask about Eddie—every time—but he stopped himself. He didn’t want to put Chris in the middle. He didn’t want to need to know.
Still, he couldn’t help reading between the lines of everything Chris wrote. A 'Dad’s been quiet lately' here, a 'we watched the Dodgers game but it wasn’t the same' there.
Little puzzle pieces of a family Buck used to belong to.
He missed it like a phantom limb.
Maddie had been patient. Hovering but not smothering.
When he got restless, she’d find something small for him to do: hold Robbie, read Jee-Yun a story, help her fold tiny socks.
When he got quiet, she’d just sit beside him and not ask questions.
That afternoon, she came in holding her phone, the soft look on her face that meant she’d been thinking too hard. “Hey,” she said. “You remember Dr. Copeland?”
Buck looked up from the couch, where Jee-Yun was putting little clips in his hair with all the seriousness of a NASA mission. “Yeah. Why?”
“I was thinking maybe you could reach out. She still does virtual sessions. Just while you’re off work for a few weeks. Might help.”
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maddie—”
“I know, I know,” she said quickly. “You’re tired of talking about your feelings. But maybe this isn’t about talking. Maybe it’s about making sure you’re actually healing. Physically and otherwise.”
He smiled, tired but sincere. “I’ll think about it.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
She nodded, satisfied, and went to rescue Robbie from trying to eat his own foot.
Buck leaned back against the cushions, staring at the ceiling. His chest still hurt sometimes—not the dangerous kind, just the echo of it. The doctors said it would fade. They didn’t say what to do about the other kind of ache.
He reached for his phone. No new messages. No missed calls.
He told himself to let it go, to focus on rest and Jee-Yun’s ongoing mission to turn him into a glitter-covered superhero.
But as he watched Robbie gurgle up at the ceiling and heard Jee-Yun laugh at something only she found funny, he couldn’t shake the thought that somewhere across the city, Eddie was sitting in that same silence. Maybe missing him too.
He hoped so, anyway.
By the end of the second week, Maddie was driving him insane.
He loved her, obviously. She’d saved his life more times than he could count—sometimes literally—but she’d also apparently decided he was made of glass.
Every time he reached for his car keys, she appeared like a magician performing the “absolutely not” trick.
When she caught him halfway down the driveway that morning, she’d sighed, long-suffering. “Evan, you’re still under doctor’s orders.”
“She told me to rest, Maddie,” he’d said. “Doesn’t mean I can’t rest away from this house.”
Then she’d folded her arms, and he’d retreated, muttering something about cabin fever and overbearing sisters.
So he waited until the afternoon, when she went out for groceries, and then he left anyway.
The church was quiet when he got there.
Same stone steps, same echo when the doors closed behind him. The air smelled like candle wax and wood polish.
He wasn’t raised religious—his parents thought church was something you did for appearances, not faith—but he’d come here a few times with Bobby. Once with Eddie and Chris. Once for Confession. He’d liked the stillness, the color spilling through the stained glass like sunlight caught in water.
Today, it felt different. Like being near something steady.
He sat halfway up, hands clasped loosely between his knees, trying not to think about the part of him that was still missing.
A few minutes passed before someone sat down beside him.
“I hear you haven’t been well,” Father Brian said, voice calm and familiar.
Buck smiled faintly. “God tell you that?”
Brian’s mouth twitched. “No, someone else.”
“Eddie,” Buck guessed.
“I can neither confirm nor deny,” Brian said mildly, folding his hands.
Buck huffed a laugh, then looked back toward the altar. “Figures.”
Brian let the silence stretch before asking, “How are you doing, Buck?”
Buck shrugged. “Still breathing. That’s a start.”
“And your heart?”
Buck pressed a palm to his chest, thoughtful. “It’s beating. Slower than before. I miss my best friend, though. Can’t medicate that.”
Brian nodded. “Maybe your best friend misses you too.”
Buck looked down at his shoes. “Maybe.”
They sat like that for a while—two quiet shapes in a room built for listening.
Finally Brian said, “Sometimes when people push their emotions down for too long, they find other ways to release them. Anger. Distance. Fear. It isn’t that they don’t care… it’s that they’ve never been taught how to let themselves feel safely.”
Buck let out a small, tired laugh. “Sounds familiar.”
“You’ve experienced that?”
“Not exactly,” Buck said. “My parents didn’t teach me to bottle stuff up—they just didn’t care when I didn’t. So I learned to talk anyway. Probably too much. But that’s different from being told you’re not allowed to feel, right? Eddie grew up with… rules about that. You could see it.”
Brian nodded slowly. “Yes. There’s a difference between indifference and suppression. One starves you quietly. The other locks you away.”
Buck tilted his head, studying the light on the floor. “Yeah. Guess either way, you end up lonely.”
Brian smiled gently. “Did you have anyone who did listen?”
“Maddie,” he said without hesitation. “Always Maddie. She’s been more of a mom than our mom ever was. Probably why she still treats me like I’m fourteen.”
“That kind of love is rare,” Brian said. “But it can make it harder to learn when to stand on your own.”
Buck exhaled, slow. “Tell me about it. She about tackled me for trying to drive here.”
“Then I won’t keep you too long,” Brian said, standing. “But, Buck… remember that sometimes distance isn’t rejection. Sometimes it’s fear. And fear can soften, given time and truth.”
Buck nodded, eyes still on the stained glass. “Yeah. Guess I’ll have to wait and see which one this is.”
Brian rested a hand briefly on his shoulder before heading toward the altar.
Buck stayed a while longer, listening to the quiet, thinking about Bobby’s steady faith, about Eddie’s anger, about Maddie’s worry—and about his own heart, still beating, still trying to find its rhythm.
Eddie waited until Chris was inside before he pulled away.
Maddie had met them in the driveway, arms crossed, eyes sharp. She’d smiled at Chris, hugged him tight, and then looked over Eddie’s shoulder like she could see every thought running through his head.
Her message had been clear: Don’t you dare make this harder on him.
He hadn’t meant to.
He just didn’t know how to make it easier.
So he drove.
The church was half-empty when he got there. Same light slanting through the stained glass, same hum of quiet that had started to feel like the only place he could breathe.
He sat in the same pew as last time, hands clasped, head bowed.
Father Brian found him easily, as always. Sat down beside him without a word. After a while, he said, “Have you thought more about writing that letter?”
Eddie gave a humorless laugh. “Thought about it, yeah. It’s all I do. Think about it.”
“But you haven’t written it.”
Eddie shook his head. “There’s things I can’t admit to myself, Father. Let alone to him.”
Brian waited. Always waiting, always patient.
The tears came quiet, almost before Eddie realized. He blinked them away, jaw clenching tight.
“Not admitting it to yourself doesn’t make it go away,” Brian said gently.
That made Eddie’s jaw tighten harder. The tears came faster, unstoppable now, cutting hot down his face.
Brian’s hand settled lightly on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Eddie. You don’t need to feel ashamed.”
Eddie’s voice came out cracked. “But I do feel ashamed.”
He scrubbed at his eyes. “There’s part of me that’s not—I mean, I’m fine with Hen and Karen. I’m fine with Buck. If Chris ever…” His breath hitched. “If Chris ever told me he was, I’d love him exactly the same. But me?” He shook his head, small and broken. “That’s not allowed. That’s not what I’m supposed to be. I can’t be—” His throat closed on the word.
Brian’s tone stayed soft. “Can’t be what, Eddie?”
“I can’t say it.”
Brian nodded once. “Do you want me to say it?”
Eddie hesitated, then gave a small nod.
“Can’t be gay?”
Eddie’s breath shuddered out of him. His eyes fell shut as the word landed—simple, solid, real. He nodded again, once, twice, and then the dam broke.
He bent forward, elbows on his knees, tears dripping onto the floor. For a long time, Brian said nothing. Just stayed beside him, steady as stone, until Eddie’s breathing slowed again.
When he finally looked up, eyes red and raw, Brian asked, “Do you think Buck wouldn’t accept you?”
Eddie shook his head immediately. “No. Of course he would. That’s not the problem.”
“So what are you afraid of?”
Eddie stared at the flickering candlelight. “That he doesn’t love me back.”
Brian tilted his head. “You think he doesn’t?”
Eddie’s answer was almost a whisper. “No. I know he does. I know it.”
“Then what’s stopping you?”
Eddie swallowed hard. “I don’t know if I can give him what he deserves.”
Brian’s voice gentled further. “And what does he deserve?”
Eddie’s hands twisted together. “Everything,” he said, quiet but sure. “He deserves everything. I’m not enough.”
Brian gave a small, knowing smile. “That’s interesting. One says he’s too much, and the other says he’s not enough.”
He looked toward the stained glass, sunlight cutting through blue and gold. “Sounds like a match made in heaven to me.”
Eddie let out a shaky breath that might’ve been a laugh, or a sob, or both. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, whispering, “I don’t know how to fix it.”
“You start,” Brian said gently, “by writing that letter.”
Eddie nodded, voice barely audible. “Yeah. Okay.”
When he finally looked up again, the light had shifted. Dust motes drifted in the colored air like tiny, weightless things.
For the first time, the word gay didn’t echo with shame in his chest.
It just… was.
And maybe, just maybe, that was the start of forgiveness.
A week made all the difference.
Buck’s chest didn’t feel like splintered glass anymore; it just ached sometimes, the kind of dull reminder that said you’re healing, don’t push it.
He was back in his own house now—boxes finally unpacked, sunlight spilling through the wide windows he’d once been so proud of.
Maddie came by every day. Sometimes with the kids, sometimes alone. Watching Love Island had become their guilty ritual: eye-rolling commentary, shared ice cream, soft laughter that made the empty places in his life feel less echoey.
Chris visited every couple of days. He’d grown taller again, Buck was sure of it. Each visit left him full and hollow all at once. He fought the urge every time—to ask about Eddie, to drive past their house, to just see him.
He had clearance to return to work on light duty next week. The decision loomed: go back and face Eddie, or ask for a swap to B-shift. The old transfer request still sat in his email drafts like a threat and a promise.
He couldn’t decide, so he did the only thing that recently had helped him feel like the world made sense.
He went to church.
The place was empty except for the echo of his own footsteps. The stained glass caught the afternoon light in blues and golds, washing the pews in warmth.
He sat where Bobby used to sit. Folded his hands. If you’ve got any pull up there, Cap, I could use a sign.
He wasn’t sure if he was praying or just talking to the air, but he felt close to Bobby here. Closer than anywhere else. Maybe that was the point.
He didn’t hear Father Brian approach, only felt a hand settle gently on his shoulder.
When Buck looked up, the priest was smiling in that small, knowing way of his. “I believe this is for you,” he said, and held out an envelope.
On the front, in familiar slanted handwriting, were two words: For Buck.
Buck’s breath caught. His fingers trembled as he took it.
Brian just patted his shoulder. “Take your time,” he said, and walked away.
Buck sat there for a long minute before he dared to open it.
The paper was plain, folded once, the ink slightly smudged like someone had hesitated over every line.
He heard Eddie’s voice as he read.
Buck,
I don’t know where to start.
You told me once that silence says enough, but mine said the wrong thing. It said go away, when what I meant was don’t look too close or I’ll fall apart.
I told you the world was the trials and tribulations of Evan Buckley in 97 acts. What I should’ve said was that I didn’t know how to be in the story without making a mess of it. You feel things so openly, and I’ve spent my whole life being told not to. Watching you made me angry because it made me jealous.
When Abuela died, I shut the door on you because I knew if I had to keep seeing your face I’d break. You’re the only person I can’t hold myself together around. I told myself I had to be strong for Chris, for my parents, my sisters, for Tía Pepa. But I think I was just scared. Scared of needing you too much.
Father Brian asked me why you’re the only one I can be honest with. I didn’t have an answer. Maybe this is it.
I’m sorry for every time I made you feel like you were too much, when the truth is you’ve always been exactly enough. You gave me a family when I didn’t think I deserved one. You love my son like he’s yours, and I don’t even have words for what that means to me.
There’s something else I have to say, even if it never leaves this paper. I think part of why I pushed you away is because I couldn’t face what I felt. Not just love for a friend. Something I wasn’t ready to name. Something I thought I wasn’t allowed to be.
I’m still figuring it out. But I need you to know I’m trying.
You once told me we were partners. That hasn’t changed. I just hope I haven’t lost the right to call you that.
— Eddie
Buck read it twice before the words really landed.
Then he pressed the paper against his chest, closed his eyes, and exhaled a breath that felt like it had been trapped there for months.
The light through the stained glass shifted across him—blue, then gold, then something warm that felt almost like peace.
Eddie hadn’t planned to come back to the church so soon.
He told himself it was just habit now. The drive, the silence, the way the light hit the pews in late afternoon. But when he parked across the street and saw the doors already open, some part of him felt like he’d been expected.
Father Brian was lighting candles near the altar. When he saw Eddie, he nodded, smile faint but knowing.
“There’s something for you,” he said, and gestured toward the front pew.
A plain envelope rested there. His name, written in Buck’s messy, unmistakable scrawl.
Eddie’s pulse stuttered. He sat down slowly, fingers hovering over the paper before he picked it up. He hesitated for a long moment—breathing, bracing—then opened it.
Eddie,
You always were better with words. I’m still learning how to say things without tripping over them.
I got your letter. I’ve read it… I don’t even know how many times. Every word felt like something I didn’t know I needed to hear and something I’d been waiting for all at once.
You said you didn’t know if you could give me what I deserve. But I don’t need perfect, Eddie. I never did. I just wanted you. The real you. The one who burns too hot sometimes and shuts down when he’s scared, but still shows up for everyone else anyway.
You’ve been enough since the day we met.
You said you were scared of needing me too much.
The truth is, I’ve been scared of not being needed. That’s the difference between us. I throw myself at people hoping I’ll matter. You hold yourself back afraid you’ll break someone if you do. Somewhere in the middle, we found each other.
I’m not asking you for anything. Not right now.
You’ve got Chris, and I’ve got this half-beating heart trying to figure itself out. But I want you to know — I’m still here. Always. No matter how long it takes you to work things out, no matter what that looks like in the end.
You once told me that home wasn’t a place, it was a person. I didn’t get it then. I think I do now.
I’ll see you soon.
— Buck
Eddie sat there for a long time after he finished reading.
The sunlight had shifted, spilling warm through the stained glass, painting the pews in colors that looked almost alive. He folded the letter carefully, pressing his thumb over his name on the envelope like he could feel Buck’s touch in the ink.
He didn’t realize Father Brian had come back until he felt the soft weight of a hand on his shoulder.
“Looks like he answered,” Brian said quietly.
Eddie nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”
“Does it help?”
Eddie let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. More than I thought it would.”
Brian smiled faintly. “Then maybe it’s time you stop writing, and start speaking.”
Eddie looked down at the letter again, the edges smudged from his fingers. “Maybe,” he said softly.
He stayed a little longer after Brian left, reading Buck’s words again until he could almost hear his voice saying them.
And for the first time in months, Eddie didn’t feel lost. Just found. Halfway, waiting, ready to take the next step.
The text took him twenty minutes to type and five more to send.
To Buck: I’ll be at the church tomorrow at 4. You don’t have to reply. I just need to talk, and I’ll understand whatever you decide.
He almost deleted it twice. When the little “delivered” mark appeared, he set his phone face-down and didn’t look again.
He reached the church early. The same pew, the same colored light sliding down the aisle. He told himself he wouldn’t expect Buck to come. That it was enough just to finally say everything aloud, even if the echo was all that answered.
But when the door creaked open, Eddie’s breath caught.
Soft footsteps, then Buck—looking healthier, color back in his cheeks, moving carefully but steady. They didn’t speak as he sat beside him.
Eddie’s eyes burned the second he moved to turn his head, so he didn’t. He stared at the altar instead. “I can’t look at you,” he said, voice breaking. “Because if I do, I’ll fall apart, and I won’t be able to say what I need to say.”
Buck didn’t answer. He just let his hand rest on the bench between them, fingers open. A moment later, a light touch—pinkies bumping. I’m here.
Eddie’s throat closed. He forced himself to breathe.
“When I was a kid,” he began, “I knew I was different. Before I even knew a word for it. And I learned real quick it wasn’t acceptable. The church, the priest, my parents—they made sure of that. So I took every feeling that didn’t fit and I shoved it into a box. Locked it up tight.”
He swallowed. “Then I met Shannon. She was bold, funny. She asked me out, planned everything. I just… never said no. Because I couldn’t be that other thing. Couldn’t be… Couldn’t be…”
Buck’s voice was barely a whisper. “Couldn’t be what, Eddie?”
Eddie closed his eyes. The word trembled out of him like a confession and a prayer. “Gay.”
The world didn’t crack open. No lightning, no judgment. Just Buck’s hand sliding over, curling around his.
“It’s okay, Eddie,” Buck said, tears shining. “It’s okay. That’s okay. I’m proud of you.”
Eddie’s breath came out uneven. “When I left for Texas, you kept calling. You… your calls were sometimes the only thing keeping me going. I looked forward to them every day. I thought about you all the time. I wanted you there, but I couldn’t ask.”
“If you’d asked,” Buck said softly, “I would’ve been there in a heartbeat.”
“I know.” Eddie laughed through the tears. “That was the problem. Knowing I could say the word and you’d come. Needing you like that. That love I was too afraid to name.”
He shook his head. “Then Bobby, Abuela… it all just—”
He pressed a fist to his chest. “The box was bursting. And you were there, and I couldn’t face it. And then I literally broke your heart. I’m so fucking sorry, Buck. Please—please forgive me.”
He slid off the pew before Buck could stop him, dropped to his knees, and bowed his head against Buck’s lap. “Please.”
Buck’s fingers found his hair, gentle. “Of course I forgive you, Eddie.”
He let out a shaky laugh. “I love you, you idiot.”
Eddie looked up, eyes wide. “You do?”
“Yeah,” Buck said simply. “I do.”
Eddie drew a long breath, steadied himself, and sat back onto the bench beside him. Buck leaned in until his head rested on Eddie’s shoulder, their hands still joined.
“I am an idiot,” Eddie muttered, sniffling.
“Yep,” Buck said, smiling against him. “But you’re my idiot.”
Eddie chuckled, low and hoarse. “And you’re my idiot.”
They laughed then—quiet, unsteady, but real—and leaned until their foreheads touched. The stained-glass light spilled over them, warm and forgiving.
For the first time in a long time, neither of them felt the need to look away.
They stayed like that for a long time, neither moving, just breathing in the same rhythm.
The candles flickered on the altar, small flames that sounded almost like the ocean when the air shifted. Outside, the late sun poured through the stained glass, washing them in color—rose and gold and blue.
Eddie could feel the weight of Buck’s head on his shoulder, the solid warmth of it, the familiar smell of soap and coffee and the faint trace of smoke that never seemed to fade no matter how long it had been. It grounded him, the way it always did.
He exhaled, a shaky, grateful sound. “You know, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to say it out loud.”
Buck didn’t lift his head. “You did, though.”
“Yeah.” Eddie smiled a little. “Guess that’s what forgiveness feels like.”
“Maybe it’s what home feels like,” Buck said.
Eddie turned his head, pressed a kiss into Buck’s hair without really thinking about it, and felt Buck’s small laugh vibrate against him.
They fell quiet again. The light shifted lower, deepening to amber. The world outside went on—cars, birds, ordinary life—but in here, it was just the two of them, sitting in the peace that had taken years to find.
When Eddie finally spoke, his voice was soft. “You sure your heart can handle all this?”
Buck smiled into his shoulder. “Pretty sure it’s beating exactly how it’s supposed to now.”
They both laughed quietly at that, the sound echoing through the empty church, small and certain.
Eddie let his eyes close for a moment. The box inside him—the one that had been sealed for decades—felt lighter now, not gone, but no longer locked.
He didn’t know what came next. Maybe they’d figure it out tomorrow, or next week, or never. But for the first time, that uncertainty didn’t scare him.
Buck squeezed his hand once, gentle. “We’ll be okay, right?”
Eddie nodded. “Yeah, Buck. We’ll be okay.”
And when the last of the light dimmed, they just stayed there, hands joined, foreheads touching, the quiet hum of the church holding them like a promise.
Not an ending—just the start of something finally, finally honest.