Chapter Text
The firefighter was there.
Technically, a lot of firefighters were—that was to be expected at the 63rd Annual Los Angeles Fire Muster & Firefighter’s Family Day. And maybe a small part of him had agreed to be on station 6’s team in the hopes that the 118 would also be there. But he hadn’t, like, actually prepared himself to see him there.
“Is that lover boy?”
Eddie started as Lena appeared next to him. He supposed he wasn’t really being subtle as he stared at where the 118 was congregating under their station tent. Most stations brought a similar set-up for the tailgate—a tent, folding tables, a grill. But the 118 had an entire mobile kitchen there, with a mini fridge, several coolers, a full-size barbecue, and so many Tupperware containers spread out it looked like one of those cooking shows where chefs had to prepare four-course meals in abandoned warehouses.
Whatever food was being made over there looked amazing—brats and burgers and grilled peaches he could smell across the parking lot—but Eddie was drooling for a different reason.
Firefighter Buckley was standing next to the guy manning the grill, looking like he stepped right out of the Hot Days and Smoldering Nights Men of the LAFD calendar. August edition.
He was in his turnout pants, his neon yellow suspenders hanging down on either side of his massive thighs, and he wore a tight tank top that used to be white but was damp and dirtied with soot and sweat and other things designed to torment Eddie. The tank showed off his biceps, which might as well have been oiled up for how mouthwatering they looked and—was there really not an LAFD photographer around? Because that was a real missed opportunity. They would sell so many calendars. To Eddie, specifically.
As he watched, Buckley pointed at something in the far corner of the tent. When the guy turned away to look, Buckley pulled a strip of zucchini off the grill and shoved the entire thing into his mouth. He seemed to regret it immediately, coughing and fanning himself, and when the other guy turned around and caught him, Eddie could make out his exasperated look from twenty yards away.
The guy used a dishtowel to smack Buckley’s side, and then shooed him away. Buckley, laughing now—god, he looked like he had a great laugh—took a few steps towards a cooler and bent over, and Eddie really had to stop staring now.
“This is so embarrassing,” said Lena. Eddie had forgotten she was there again. He turned to face her, because Buckley was now putting a straw in a juice pouch for a boy around Chris’s age, and if Eddie had to watch Buckley be good with kids, he was going to combust.
“I mean, look at him,” he said to Lena, gesturing towards the tent. Lena’s eyes traveled over Eddie’s shoulder—he resisted the urge turn and look again, like a compulsion—and then settled back on his. She had a decidedly unimpressed look on her face, and Eddie knew Lena didn’t swing that way but, like, she had eyes, right?
“He is, I repeat, just a man.” Lena had spent approximately nine months dealing with Eddie’s tragic pining, so she had a right to be tired. But still—calling Buckley just a man was patently false.
The first time Eddie saw him was during the earthquake, his first week at Station 6. Eddie had been tasked with setting up the crash-pad under the area of a high rise where people had been spotted—the pad still wasn’t fully inflated when an aftershock hit, and a woman nearly fell out a window, only to be snagged at the last possible minute by a firefighter. The crowd under the building had watched in anticipation, ready to shift the crash-pad if needed, so they all saw the guy’s dramatic save, his impressive form as he lifted her back into the building.
“Holy shit,” said someone. It might have been Eddie.
“Is that Buckley?”
“Think so,” said another guy on his team—Eddie was still learning their names, he thought it might have been Bowler. “Looks like he had better luck this time.”
“What do you mean?” he asked. In a very normal, casually curious kind of way.
“Guy was on the news a few months ago for a rescue on a roller coaster where the vic fell. It was rough.”
Eddie absolutely did not go home that night and google LA roller coaster accident, because that would have been really fucked up. But he did google firefighter buckley LA amusement park interview.
And—there he was. Firefighter Buckley. He looked around his age, and he had really, really blue eyes. Eddie had only recently come to terms with the fact that he was gay, and every once in a while, this happened to him: he’d see a man and go, oh, yep. Definitely gay, then.
But even though the guy had amazing shoulders and a very tight t-shirt and a lot going on, face-wise, Eddie was also struck by his shell-shocked expression and his tone of disbelief. Eddie had lost enough people in combat to recognize that look—it was his first time. For a moment, he contemplated reaching out. Calling the number for station 118 and offering to buy him a beer; telling him, it’s fucked up, but it gets easier.
But that would be creepy. And weird, and invasive.
So instead, Eddie developed a secret, one-sided, absolutely pathetic crush on the guy.
It might not have happened, except that a few weeks later, station 6 was called in for back-up to assist the 118 on what should have been a routine medic call at a child beauty pageant. A fight between moms escalated, but the real problem was that half the 118 had been served laced brownies and were tripping at the scene.
When Eddie arrived, a no-nonsense cop directed him towards the nearest firefighter and said, “make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.” Which didn’t seem like that hard of a job, since the guy was just standing still, staring intensely at a bunch of balloons. But then he read Buckley on the back of his turnouts and thought they should really assign a second person to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid, either.
Before he had a chance to panic, Buckley turned around, and if Eddie thought his blue eyes were striking on screen, it was nothing compared to seeing them up close.
“Hey, man,” he said, sounding overwhelmed. “Did you know there are tiny ladies here?”
“What?” He told himself that formulating a response to Buckley would have been hard, even if he had said something comprehensible.
Buckley gestured down the hallway, where a bunch of six-year-olds in miniature prom dresses were descending into chaos. Eddie imagined this would be disorienting to someone who didn’t know they’d been drugged. “They’re kids,” he explained. When Buckley scrunched up his nose in confusion—it was so cute, Eddie was going to die—he clarified, “they’re little kids, dressed up.”
Buckley blinked, slowly, and then started nodding. “Oh, man, I love kids,” he said, and then he grinned at Eddie. “Aren’t they the best? They’re just so weird, you know?”
Eddie did know. The other day, Chris used up an entire notebook’s worth of paper drawing what he called Pencil World, which was, as far as Eddie could tell, a pretty vicious community of writing implements dealing with a pen dictator.
He wondered if Buckley always liked kids, or if he was just more enthused by them while he was under the influence. Not that it mattered, or anything.
Buckley didn’t bother waiting for an answer, which was good, because Eddie had no idea what to say under the circumstances. Eddie was so in over his head, it was a relief when Buckley just laid down on the floor and stared up at the ceiling until a 118 paramedic came to collect him.
“Thanks for watching him,” said the guy, shaking Eddie’s hand. “I’m Chimney. You from station 6?”
“Yeah,” said Eddie, schooling his face so he appeared relieved to be off Buckley-sitting duty. “Eddie Diaz. It was no problem.”
“I know he can be a handful,” Chimney said, using his foot to prod Buckley. “Come on, Buckaroo—time to get you to the bunkroom.”
“Chimney?” Buckley said, whispering for some reason. His eyes widened as he stared up at Chimney. “Isn’t it crazy that there are fires in chimneys, and you’re a fire-fighter?”
Chimney rolled his eyes at Eddie, the kind of frustrated-but-fond gesture Eddie understood fundamentally, as a parent. “Astute observation there, Columbo.” He reached down to offer Buck a hand as he stood up. Eddie should have done that. “You know who’d want to hear about that?”
“Who?” asked Buckley, riveted.
“Bobby.”
“Bobby! I love Bobby,” Buckley replied. His smile made Eddie want to do something stupid.
“I know you do,” said Chimney, reaching out to grab his shoulders and steer Buckley towards the exit. “Let’s go find him, okay?” Then he called over his shoulder, “see you around, Diaz!”
“Bye,” Eddie called after them, quietly enough that Chimney didn’t seem to hear it, but loud enough that it caught Lena’s attention. She saw his face as he watched him go, and she’d been giving him shit for it ever since.
“I have a crazy idea,” said Lena, snapping her fingers. “What if you talked to him?”
This was roughly the thirtieth time she’d suggested that, and, like he had every previous time, Eddie scoffed. Talk to him, she said, like it was that easy. Like Eddie was going to finally dip into the world of gay dating by going after Buckley. That would be like deciding he was going to get into running by signing up for an ultramarathon: it was so out of his league it might actually kill him.
“I’m serious,” Lena said, pressing the issue. “It’s the perfect time for it. Tell me one good reason why you shouldn’t?”
Eddie thought for a minute, still keeping his back to the 118 tent so his brain would continue to function. Regretfully, she kind of had a point. The last time Eddie spotted Buckley, Eddie had been dropping a patient off at the hospital and Buckley was wearing blood-stained civilian clothes, pacing in the hallway while having what sounded like a very stressful conversation on the phone.
The time before that, he’d been on the platform in front of an overpass sign, being held at gunpoint by a woman in a bathrobe. Eddie had been frozen, watching the whole time: first, in fear, and then in awe as he managed to talk the woman down. Was there anything Buckley couldn’t do?
But the point was, all the previous times he’d been around Buckley had been dangerous, or stressful, or otherwise inappropriate times to strike up a conversation. So Lena wasn’t technically wrong that LAFD’s cookout and muster games—an event whose entire purpose was inter-station fraternization—was, kind of, an ideal time to actually introduce himself.
Maybe, if Eddie were someone else. Someone who wasn’t a widowed father with PTSD, a terrible track record with relationships, and two decades in the closet.
“Chris needs me,” he said, instead, and sidestepped both Lena and the question.
He found Chris playing a video game under the far end of the tent, while this week’s home health-aid, Lisa, sat on a chair nearby on her phone. Eddie really, really had to figure out better childcare for Chris.
“Hey buddy,” he said, crouching down in front of him. “Are you hungry?”
“Yeah!” Chris said, so enthusiastically that Eddie felt a pang of annoyance at Lisa. She wasn’t even supposed to be there—his family was supposed to bring him, but abuela had gotten sick and Pepa needed to stay with her. Chris had been so heartbroken at the idea of missing out that Eddie ended up asking the aid service to add a day but he might as well have just brought Chris alone, for all she was doing.
Lisa continued scrolling her phone and entirely missed his dirty look, so Eddie just told Chris he’d be right back and went to make a plate up.
From the buffet line, he had a clear view of the 118 tent, where—shit, was that Lena? Fuck. Lena was talking with Chimney and another woman in uniform. His only saving grace was that Buckley was nowhere to be seen.
He tried to focus on Chris’s plate—he skipped the potato salad, because who knew how long it’d been sitting out—but he glanced up again when he heard Lena laughing. That was never a good sign. After snagging the last good pieces of watermelon, he glanced up again and realized all three firefighters looked at him; he startled so badly he dropped Chris’s hot dog.
Chimney lifted up his hand in a friendly wave. Eddie calculated that it would actually be way more embarrassing to duck under the buffet table, so he lifted his hand and gave a quick wave back, before grabbing another hot dog off the grill and hurrying to deliver the food to Chris.
“Guess what,” said Lena, ten minutes later. She appeared out of nowhere, blocking out the sun as she stood over where Eddie was sitting on the ground next to Chris, explaining the afternoon muster drills.
“What,” said Eddie, flatly.
“He’s single,” said Lena, victoriously. “Fresh off a break-up with someone from the 146. A guy. Who sucked, apparently.”
Chris looked back and forth between Lena and his dad, scrunching his eyebrows together behind his red glasses. “Who?” he asked, guilelessly.
“No one,” said Eddie.
“A guy your dad has a crush on,” said Lena.
At age seven, Chris was starting to understand the concept of crushes. Unfortunately, this coincided with his new Disney phase, so now he was very into the idea of happily ever afters. He perked up and asked Lena, “another firefighter?”
“Yep,” said Lena, with complete disregard for Eddie’s privacy. Or dignity. “His friends said he’s really nice. Don’t you think your dad should ask him out?”
Eddie had been banking on using the Chris-isn’t-ready-for-me-to-date excuse for at least a few years, if not decades, so he felt a stab of betrayal when Chris nodded, eagerly. “Yeah, dad! On a boat ride. Or to a library. Or a ball. And then you guys can get married.”
It wasn’t his sanest thought, but he couldn’t help resenting Disney for never making movies with evil step-fathers.
“Okay, mijo,” he said, messing up Chris’s hair and standing up. “I gotta go get ready for the next event.”
“Cooper’s making you do the ladder climb?” Lena asked, eyes raised.
“Apparently, I’m the fastest,” Eddie said. The things he did for a chance to see Buckley. Or—the things he did for his station. “I’m supposed to report to the event stage, if you want to take Chris over to watch in twenty minutes?” Lena looked pointedly at Lisa, who was still ignoring them, and back at Eddie, who shrugged in resignation.
“Fine,” she said. “Should we go cheer for your dad, kiddo?”
“Yeah,” said Chris. “Are you going to climb to the top like Mulan?”
“Gonna try,” said Eddie, because that was better than most princess comparisons he got.
“And then the guy will fall in love with you, like Shang does,” Chris continued. Lena was doing a terrible job of hiding her laughter.
“I’ll see you over there, buddy,” Eddie said, and then he grabbed a bottle of water and headed towards where participants were supposed to gather prior to each event.
He was just cutting through two firetrucks, when a man bounded around the corner and smacked into him. It took him a moment before he registered that the man whose body had just been on his was Buckley. Buckley.
Eddie opened his mouth to say something—probably an apology for being in his way, or something equally pitiful, when—
“Are you homophobic?”
“What?”
“Will you be my boyfriend?”
“Yes,” Eddie answered, automatically, even though his mind had volunteered several other pressing questions, like what are you talking about and what is happening and did I recently sustain brain damage.
“Thanks,” said Buckley, and then he pushed Eddie back against the side of the firetruck and kissed him.
Buckley. Was. Kissing. Him. Buckley was kissing him. Buckley was—dear god.
It was a good kiss, too. It didn’t have to be—Buckley could have had the technique of a dead fish and it still would have been Eddie’s best kiss. It was his first with a man. It was Buckley. Buckley, who was kissing him. He felt like his brain had gone offline.
He wrapped one hand around Eddie’s head so it wouldn’t slam into the truck, and he was tilting him back, and Eddie felt his mouth slip further and further open. He smelt like charcoal and summer sun, and the angle he was leaning, pressing against Eddie made him feel a little insane, and he wanted to—
“Evan,” said a voice.
Buckley froze, but didn’t pull away yet. Instead, he pressed forward again, intentionally, pushing another kiss onto Eddie’s swollen lips. Only then did he move back, his eyes blinking into Eddie’s, before pulling away to look at the intruder.
“Oh, Tommy,” he said, and even Eddie could tell he was putting on a front. “Didn’t see you there.”
And—oh. Oh. He’d meant will you be my boyfriend like, can you act like my boyfriend in front of my ex. Not do you want to commit to each other, long term. That made sense. In a sick sort of way.
The man, Tommy, looked too old and too surly to be worthy of Buckley. Fresh off a break-up, Lena had said. Well. Eddie was about to be the best fake boyfriend Buckley ever had. He was going to be so damn good at it that Buckley would consider dating him for real.
Tommy made a noise low in his throat that sounded insultingly skeptic. “Can we talk, please?” His tone reminded Eddie of the parents he judged on the playground—the ones that always sounded annoyed when their kids wanted them to play, too. Like they were tired of dealing with their silliness. Eddie always wondered why those people bothered having kids, if they found them so annoying.
He couldn’t snap at those parents—it was frowned upon, in playground etiquette—but he could say something now. Buckley opened his mouth to reply, but Eddie beat him to it.
“Can I help you?” The disdain in his voice was audible, slipping out when he thought of this man, getting to date Buckley and messing it up.
Tommy finally looked away from Buckley and focused his attention on Eddie. “Listen,” he said, patronizing. “I don’t know what he said, but this is between us.”
Both Tommy and Buckley watched him, like they were expecting Eddie to gracefully bow out.
Well. He was a better fake boyfriend than that.
“Oh,” he said, looking back at Buckley, gratified to see his eyes dilated in the bright summer sun. “This is him, huh?” He said it in a conspiring tone, raising his eyebrows and trying to sound as bitchy as his sisters always said he did.
It did the trick—Buckley relaxed, and Eddie felt a rush of satisfaction at the sight of his face clearing, his posture straightening. His eyes flicked to Tommy and then landed back on Eddie, and he said, “yep.” He popped the word and Eddie felt it in his gut, and for the first time since rudely barging in on the best kiss of Eddie’s life, Tommy looked wrong-footed. Good.
“Right,” Eddie said nodding his head like he now understood something terrible about Tommy. “Well, we were kind of busy, so if you don’t mind, I’d really like to get back to making out with my boyfriend.”
“Your boyfriend?” Tommy had a look of disbelief, which Eddie found insulting, at this point. What else did he have to do—stick his hand down Buckley’s pants? He would.
“Yeah,” said Buckley, and Eddie felt a little thrill of pride at his defiant tone, even though he still had like, no idea what was going on.
“It’s been two weeks,” said Tommy. He narrowed his eyes at Buck, and said, “or did you start something while we were still together? I thought you were done with all that.”
“No,” objected Buckley. “I didn’t, I just—”
“We met the day after you broke up,” Eddie interrupted, hoping this wasn’t easily contradictable. “Hit it off. Bonded over having shitty exes—” sorry, Shannon, he thought, “—and it got serious, fast. Not sure how that’s your business, though, Tommy.”
He kept Tommy’s gaze. It was only difficult because he could feel Buckley’s eyes boring into him from the side, and he'd much rather be looking at him.
Finally, Tommy lost their staring competition and glanced at Buckley. “Really, Evan? You immediately ran out and got a new boyfriend?”
“Yeah,” said Buckley, his voice sounding surer now. “And guess what? This one’s not racist,” he said, gesturing at where Eddie stood.
He couldn’t help it—he burst out laughing. What the hell? For a second, he worried he blew their cover, but when he glanced at Buck, he found him grinning back.
Tommy was annoyed now, which was, in Eddie’s opinion, was a telling response. “Look, whatever Chimney and Hen said—”
“I really don’t think you want to go there,” Buckley interrupted, his low, firm voice doing things to Eddie.
But before he could say more, a whistle trilled in the distance, and through a megaphone, someone said “those competing in the ladder climbing event please report to the main stage!”
“That’s me,” said Buckley, grabbing Eddie’s hand—holding Eddie’s hand—and pulling him past Tommy. “See you around.”
Eddie let himself be dragged until they were well out of range of Tommy, content to go along, hand in his, until Buckley stopped and turned around.
“Thank you so much for that, I—seriously, I’m really sorry, I just—thanks,” he said, his cheeks pink. Eddie had no idea what he was apologizing for. Eddie should probably be the one thanking him, actually. “Maybe I can buy you a drink? After—I wasn’t lying, I do actually have to compete in the ladder climb—”
“Me too,” said Eddie. “I’m also climbing—yeah,” he trailed off. He managed to not say I’d rather climb you like a tree. Was it usually this hard to form sentences?
“Oh, yeah?” asked Buckley, giving him a once over. Eddie felt goosebumps break out down the back of his neck. “So, you’re the competition?”
“Guess so,” said Eddie.
“I’m Buck, by the way,” he said. Eddie thought of the way Tommy called him Evan and wondered if this was a victory or not.
“Eddie,” he said. And why couldn’t he manage to be even a little bit charming for Buck’s first impression of him?
“So, Eddie,” Buck said, still talking to him for some reason. “Loser buys the winner a beer?” Jesus Christ. Was this—what was this? A date? Eddie wished he was brave enough to clarify. Brave enough to say how about loser buys the winner dinner?
“Deal,” he said instead.
They’d reach the main stage, which was less of a stage and more of a big open stretch of parking lot, reserved for the muster games, with stands set up for people to watch on either side. Ten firetrucks were lined up in the middle, their ladders extended the full 100-foot height, and Eddie noticed that the station 118 engine was only one away from station 6’s.
“Good luck,” Buck murmured to him, veering off to the 118 before Eddie had a chance to reply. Focus, he told himself as he climbed up on top of the truck, where Bowler was waiting to help him get in his harness.
While he buckled the carabiner into the safety track, Eddie turned and scanned the crowd. It wasn’t hard to spot Chris in the front row of the stands, his blue crutches gleaming in the sunlight. Lena was pointing at one of the other trucks—probably the 118, knowing his luck—until she caught sight of him and gestured there instead. Eddie watched as Chris saw him and started waving, madly.
“Love you!” he called out into the stands, waving back.
Bowler slapped his shoulder and said, “all set, Diaz—be careful up there,” and then climbed off the truck. When he dropped out of sight, Eddie’s eyes flicked over to the station 118 engine, where Buck was similarly harnessed up, and found him watching him intently. Eddie lifted his hand in a wave, and Buckley’s eyes darted to the stands before they landed back at him, giving a tight smile. Maybe he was nervous?
Eddie didn’t care about heights, or about these stupid muster games, if he was being honest. All he wanted to do was get it over with so he could take Buck up on his offer.
“On our mark, the competing firefighters will race to the top of their ladder, where a bell has been placed. The first one to ring the bell will win ten points for their station, the second will win seven points, and the third place will win five points. On your mark, get set, go!”
At the crack of the starting gun, Eddie took off. He knew he was a fast runner, though he hadn’t thought that would necessarily translate to climbing speed, but halfway up he chanced a glance at his competition and realized he was in the lead. In fact, the only one with a chance of catching him was Buck.
A competitive thrill shot through him, and it spurred him on faster. It wasn’t like he had to worry about Buck buying someone else a beer if Eddie didn’t win, but still—he wanted that number one spot. He wanted Buck to see him at his best.
He snuck another look over at Buck’s ladder, three quarters of the way up, and saw him gaining speed, but then Buck met his eyes, and Eddie snapped his focus back to his own ladder so he didn’t start losing ground. Distantly, he could hear yelling from the crowd, but he tuned it out and kept going, until—ding ding ding!
Only after he finished ringing the bell did he risk another glance over to Buck. But—his ladder was empty. Eddie scanned the other ladders, seeing everyone else nearly a minute behind him, but the 118 ladder was bare. But then—
Ding ding ding!
Another bell rang out, and the crowd roared, and it took Eddie a moment to figure out that Buck had, in fact, come in second place, only, for some reason he was on the opposite side of the ladder. Eddie watched as Buck maneuvered himself around the side, climbing until he was in front of the bell, his face red.
Once he could hear listen past his own pounding heart rate, Eddie realized that the announcer was talking about him.
“—from station 6 secured first place, while Evan Buckley from station 118 managed second place after slipping off and being caught by his harness. With impressive recovery, he finished climbing the backside of the ladder which, our judges ruled, is not technically illegal, so seven points for station 118! And then we have station 136 coming in third, with—”
Holy shit. Eddie kind of wished he’d seen that. He watched Buck wave at the stands, sheepishly, and waited for him to look over, but he never did.
After a minute, he gave up and climbed back down the ladder. Next to the engine, the rest of his station crew was gathered around, cheering for him and slapping him on the back, and Lena stepped forward and punched him in the shoulder. “Knew you had it in you, Diaz.”
“Where’s my kid?”
Lena gestured towards the stands. “Lisa remembered she had a job—said she’d take him to the refreshments area and meet you guys there.”
Refreshments—like where they sold beer. Beer that Buck now would buy for him. Hopefully.
Eddie nodded absently and looked over her shoulder at where Buck was receiving the opposite greeting from his station. At his height, he was easy to spot, looking contrite while the guy from the grill, who Eddie was pretty sure was his captain, laid into him. He gestured at the ladder, Buck’s harness, and then over towards Eddie, for some reason, in what looked like a pretty stern lecture.
At least, it was, until a short brunette woman snuck through the ranks and interrupted, hopping onto Buck and hugging her arms tightly around his neck. Which was—fine. Eddie was fine with that.
He turned back to his team, catching up mid-conversation.
“—Eddie can fill in on the water target event, because he’s got that Silver Star aim—”
“I didn’t get a Silver Star for aiming,” Eddie reminded them. “Also, I have to go meet Chris at the refreshments section.”
“Come on, Eddie,” said Lena. “Lisa’s got Chris, he’ll be fine for another fifteen minutes.”
He looked at her, considering how much he would regret telling her that he maybe, sort of, had plans to get a drink with Buck. But, they hadn’t said, like, immediately after the event. And Chris probably would be fine, if he was by the food—Eddie knew they had ice cream. And the rest of his crew was staring at him, waiting for his answer.
“Fine,” he said. “Where’s the target range?”
Nearly a half hour later, he finally made his way to the food trucks. He didn’t spot Chris and Lisa in his first scan of the area, but he did immediately notice Buck.
He was sitting with someone—there were two ice creams on the table, though his view of whoever he was sharing them with was obscured by an oversized menu board.
For one terrible second, Eddie imagined it was Tommy. What if he’d waited too long to claim his offer, and Buck changed his mind?
No—he’d called Tommy racist. They probably weren’t splitting sundaes after that. But what about the brunette woman who’d hugged him?
How many love interests did Buck having waiting in the wings?
Eddie didn’t know how long he’d stood there, staring towards Buck, before he finally glanced up and noticed him. He said something to the person sitting across from him and got up, all before Eddie had time to school his face into a normal expression, and oh god—he was coming over there. Eddie was fucked.
“Hey,” said Buck, running his hand through his hair until the curls stood up on end. He glanced back at the table, and Eddie felt a pang in his stomach. Reluctance wasn’t usually a look you saw on people who were happy to see you. “Nice job on the ladder climb.”
“Thanks,” said Eddie. This was supposed to be his triumphant moment; but he couldn’t bring himself to bring up the beer, because then Buck would just say—
“I’m sorry,” he started, just like Eddie feared he would. “I know I owe you that beer, but . . .”
“That’s okay, man,” said Eddie, hoping the words came out normally. “I get it.”
“Get—?” Buck started, but then turned back to the table. He clearly wanted to get back to his ice cream date, and Eddie was just here, taking up his time, and—
“Yeah,” Eddie interrupted. “You don’t owe me anything. It was like, a joke.”
“A joke?” Buck repeated, scrunching his eyebrows in a way that Eddie was decidedly not finding cute.
“Yeah, like, I know it’s just a thing you say,” Eddie said, defensively. “I’ll buy you a beer. It’s not—I mean, no sweat, man.”
“No,” corrected Buck. “I definitely want to buy you a beer. It’s just—it’s complicated—I have a kid—” he said, gesturing back towards the ice creams and—oh. Oh.
Buck had a kid. Eddie hadn’t expected that, though it made sense, with how much Buck seemed to like children. And in an unexpected way, it eased something in Eddie’s chest. Maybe Eddie being a single father wouldn’t scare Buck away, if he was, too.
“Oh,” he said, a twinge of hope in his voice. “You have a kid?”
“Yeah,” said Buck, smiling back at him. But then a moment later, he blinked, and hurried to add on, “I mean, he’s not my kid. I’m not a—I don’t have a—you know,” he said, flustered. “Kid.”
“You have a kid, or you don’t have a kid?”
“There is a kid I am watching right now,” Buck spelled out. “But he is not mine. He’s—actually, I think he belongs to someone at your station? Chris Diaz—he said his dad is from station 6?”
“Diaz—wait, what?” Eddie said, alarmed. He brushed past Buck, beelining for the table until he could see— “Chris?”
“Hey dad!” said Chris. He was pulling a gummy worm out of the soupy remains of his melted ice cream, looking happy as a clam.
-----
Buck almost hadn’t come to the games that day.
He’d been sulking, mostly. Dealing with the whiplash of realizing he was bisexual, falling for a hot gay helicopter pilot, committing to the first person since Abby, and then learning said helicopter pilot used to work at the 118 during Gerrard’s reign and that he’d happily followed his toxic, racist, homophobic lead and been a real dick to Hen and Chim. Plus, the messy break up and the ugly fallout, during which Tommy implied that Buck was immature for not seeing his side of things, naive for not understanding the closeted experience, and probably going to be single forever.
All in all, it hadn’t been a great two weeks for Buck. So, signing up to spend an entire day pretending to care about interstation relations and worrying about running into Tommy was not exactly his idea of a good time.
But Bobby said they needed him for the ladder climb, and Hen said Denny was looking forward to seeing him, and Maddie said she’d be going to see Chimney either way, so it would really just be Buck, moping alone on his day off if he didn’t come.
So, he gave in.
And he was so, so glad he did.
Part of his bi awakening had been realizing how often he’d clocked hot guys in the past, and how normal that wasn’t, if you were completely heterosexual. Every once in a while, he saw someone that he’d checked out in the past, and now, through his newly outed eyes, he’d realize: I’d let him do things to me.
The guy at the gym on Thursdays, who offered to spot him on the bench. The sleepy barista who always got his order wrong before early morning shifts. The firefighter from station 6 who looked sinful in his turnouts.
The first time he’d seen the guy, he’d been at the Academy. Bobby had asked him to drop off some paperwork with the chief, and he’d stopped to watch the grunts on the obstacle course that still made appearances in his nightmares. One guy was so far in the lead that no one even had a hope of catching him; and when he made it over the final hurdle, he barely looked winded.
Buck remembered seeing his floppy brown hair and lean build and thinking, that guy could be in the firefighter calendar.
No one ever accused him of being too self-aware.
He was memorable enough that it jogged Buck’s memory when he spotted him passing out pizzas during the long shift that followed the earthquake. Buck had been sitting next to Ali while she warmed up in a shock blanket and drank something with electrolytes, when he noticed him—one of the few first responders in a blue LAFD t-shirt instead of the heavy-duty turnout gear.
He was probably a probie at the time, relegated to site management tasks like restocking supplies, running messages, and supplying food to the scene. It was the kind of job that Buck hated when he first started, the type of assignment that would have had him itching for action, bugging Bobby to let him prove himself. But this guy—who Buck had seen lap his peers with ease in training—seemed perfectly happy delivering pizzas.
He made sure first responders knew where the food was and smiled encouragingly at victims and crouched down to make silly faces at kids as he went. He seemed to intuitively understand what it had taken Buck months to learn about the job—that there were quieter ways to help people, and that those mattered just as much as the big things.
But the guy could do the big things, too. A few months later, Buck spotted him a third time, scaling the side of a house like Spiderman, finding the only route to a kid who was stuck in his room, above where a fire engulfed the first floor.
But all of those times were before Buck’s bi realization; so the point was, he was primed to be a little flustered when he spotted the guy under station 6’s tent.
He was in his LAFD t-shirt again, tight enough that Buck could make out his abs from across the lot, and his hair was doing this swoopy thing that reminded him of Elvis, which, come to think of it, had probably been little Evan’s first gay crush.
So, when Tommy spotted Buck on his way back from the bathrooms, when his ex started following him despite the fact that Buck was trying to sprint away, and when Buck then ran smack into the hot guy in question, he really shouldn’t be blamed for reverting to a scheme so harebrained that it wouldn’t even be believable in the rom-coms Maddie used to make him watch.
“Are you homophobic?” Because, while this was LA, some firefighters could be old-school assholes. You know, like his ex.
“What?” the hot guy asked, which was fair enough.
But he didn’t have time to explain, so he just cut to the chase and answered, “will you be my boyfriend?”
And the hot guy—the one with the lean waist and handsome face and ass that Buck really had to stop objectifying, said, “yes.” Easy as anything.
How was Buck not supposed to kiss him?
He cradled his head, eager to feel that soft hair, and tilted his face up and then his mind went up in a puff of smoke. There was nothing left behind his eyelids except sparks and heat.
He was just thinking that he could do this forever when they were interrupted, and he was forced to remember why he’d started kissing him in the first place.
He hated a lot of things about Tommy, now—including the way he could appear reasonable and charming, even when he was being very unreasonable and un-charming. The way he kept a cool head always made Buck feel like he was being childish and overemotional.
So, when he asked if they could talk, please, and he said it in that way, the one that made him sound very rational and Buck very ridiculous, Buck worried that maybe he should agree to talk with him. Or maybe the nice, muscley firefighter whose tongue Buck had sucked would think Buck should agree to talk to him.
But the nice, muscley firefighter surprised him again and instead snapped, “can I help you?”
Which just caused Tommy to act like more of a dick, and Buck was starting to feel bad about dragging this guy into his drama. He wouldn’t have blamed him for bowing out—this would be a lot to deal with, even if you had signed up on purpose, but then he gave Buck a look like they understood each other perfectly, and said, “Oh, this is him, huh?”
And Buck felt a thrill of something—fun, maybe. Camaraderie. The kind of delight you got from being in cahoots, like Maddie used to say. He wasn’t running from Tommy anymore; he and this guy were a united front, willing to wait until Tommy was the one who left.
“Yep,” he said, reveling in the feeling of someone having his back.
“Well,” he went on, looking back at Tommy. “We were kind of busy, so if you don’t mind, I’d really like to get back to making out with my boyfriend.” And even though it was a lie, it gave Buck an unreasonable feeling of satisfaction.
“Your boyfriend?” Tommy asked, which—he didn’t have to say it like that. Like he was shocked Buck found another man who wanted to date him.
“Yeah,” he said.
“It’s been two weeks,” said Tommy, doing that thing where he made Buck seem like one who was being ridiculous. “Or did you start something while we were still together? I thought you were done with all that,” he said, managing to sound both hurt and patronizing. And now, the guy was going to think Buck had some sort of reputation. Or, a worse reputation than the one he actually deserved.
“No,” he tried. “I didn’t, I just—”
“We met the day after you broke up,” the guy said, rescuing Buck yet again. “Hit it off. Bonded over having shitty exes and it got serious, fast. Not sure how that’s your business, though, Tommy.”
And Buck maybe, a little bit, kind of, fell in love with the guy.
“Really, Evan? You immediately ran out and got a new boyfriend?”
“Yeah,” said Buck, wishing he was telling the truth. Wishing Tommy would just leave them alone already so Buck could get on with, like, proposing. “And guess what? This one’s not racist.”
He’d been meaning to piss Tommy off with that comment, but he also made the guy laugh, which was an added bonus.
“Look, whatever Chimney and Hen said—”
And that was the final straw. Because Buck was really not about to let Tommy stand there with their names in his mouth, when Buck knew what he’d said to them. “I really don’t think you want to go there,” he warned.
Before he could say more, a whistle trilled in the distance, and through a megaphone, someone said “those competing in the ladder climb event please report to the main stage!”
“That’s me,” said Buck, and he seized on the excuse. He grabbed his hand and pulled him past Tommy. And he would have kept pulling him all the way to the event stage, if he could. He would have asked the judges if he could compete with a buddy, because he actually didn’t want to stop holding this guy’s hand.
But this guy didn’t sign up for that. So instead, as soon as they were far enough away, he dropped his hand and stumbled through an apology. But then he managed to say, “maybe I can buy you a drink? After—I wasn’t lying, I do actually have to compete in the ladder climb—”
“Me too,” said the guy. “I’m also climbing—yeah,” he trailed off, and for a brief moment, Buck let himself entertain the idea that this sudden infatuation wasn’t entirely one-sided.
“Oh, yeah?” he asked, scanning his defined shoulders and down his body. “So, you’re the competition?”
“Guess so,” he said; and if Buck wasn’t totally off his game, he thought, maybe . . .
“I’m Buck, by the way,” he said
“Eddie.”
Eddie.
Eddie Eddie Eddie.
It was a good name.
“So, Eddie,” he said, enjoying the way his name felt in his mouth. “Loser buys the winner a beer?”
By the time Buck made it to the 118’s ladder truck, he only had two minutes until the race started.
“Where were you?” said Chim, snapping to get Buck’s attention as he handed him the harness.
“Sorry,” said Buck, feeling punch-drunk. “Ran into someone.”
“Not Tommy, I hope,” said Hen, from where she was securing the other end of his harness.
“Oh, yeah,” said Buck.
Both Hen and Chim stopped what they were doing to look at him.
“You did?” asked Hen, her eyebrows raised.
“You didn’t hook up with him, did you?” asked Chimney.
That finally cut through his daze. “What—no!” Buck scrunched up his face in disgust. “Why would you say that? Of course I didn’t—what do you take me for?”
“Oh, good,” said Hen, going back to fixing his ropes.
“Yeah, sorry man, you just had a dopey look on your face,” said Chimney.
“Well, when I ran into Tommy I was, like—with someone.”
“Ooh,” teased Hen. She and Chim locked eyes and then both of them looked at Buck. “Who?”
Buck felt hot around the ears. “Uhm,” he said, his eyes darting to where Eddie was harnessing himself up, on top of the station 6 engine. Hen and Chim both turned to follow his gaze.
“Station 6?” asked Hen, her voice playful.
Buck grimaced at how fast they’d caught onto him, but Hen and Chim were too busy having a silent conversation to notice. He was about to interrupt when Bobby called up that it was time for them to come down.
Instinctually, Buck found where Eddie was, smiling at the stands, a beaming grin that Buck hadn’t seen on him before.
And then he shouted, “love you!”
Oh.
Buck’s head snapped towards the stands so fast he felt a crick in his neck; but it was impossible to tell who Eddie had been shouting to. A family member? Or a partner?
Bang.
The starting gun sounded, and it caught Buck off guard. He tried to focus on climbing, on being the fastest, but not even the rapidly increasing space between himself and the ground could fully keep his attention. He knew he shouldn’t, but still—his eyes slid left, searching for Eddie on the station 6 ladder.
He was a little ahead of Buck, which wasn’t surprising. But then he turned and met Buck’s eyes, and which was surprising—so surprising, in fact, that Buck felt his foot miss a ladder rung. He was moving at a clip, so his other foot had already moved, expecting the support, and when his foot didn’t land, the other slipped, too, and then—fuck, was he really about to fall off a ladder in front of thousands of people?
Maybe he should have stayed home, after all.
For a second, he managed to keep one hand secured to the ladder; but then the momentum from the rest of his body was too strong and then he was just very, very grateful that Hen had been the one securing his harness, because if it had been him, he’d probably be dead now.
But he wasn’t about to finish this event by having his team lower him to the ground like some sort of first-day-probie, so he pushed Eddie out of his mind, heaved himself up on the rope until he got his hand around a rung, and finished the race on the backside of the ladder.
It was embarrassing, but at least he’d managed second place.
Bobby didn’t see his perspective on that.
“What the hell was that, Buck?” he said, the moment Buck’s feet touched down on the ground, still harnessed up.
“What?” he asked, innocently, fiddling with the harness buckles as if he could put off the inevitable.
“Don’t what me,” said Bobby. “That was reckless, if that had been a real rescue—”
“If that had been a real rescue, he wouldn’t have been sprinting,” Chim pointed out.
“If it had been a real rescue,” Bobby continued, undeterred, “he still would have been rushing, and if you don’t learn that you can only go as fast as you can be careful—”
“Cut him a break, Bobby,” said Hen, also coming to his defense. “He was just trying to impress the guy from station 6.”
Possibly, Buck could have done without their help.
Bobby’s eyes flashed, and Buck knew he was in for it, now. “That was because of a guy?” His voice was incredulous. “We’ve had this talk before, Buck—you cannot let your love life interfere on the job, it’s dangerous for others and also for yourself, if you hadn’t had your harness on, you could have died, all because you were making eyes at—”
“Evan!”
Maddie finally passed the barrier of people around the engines, and her squeal cut through Bobby’s voice, breaking the tension. She jumped on him, with one of her patent big-sister hugs that made everything feel better, even the fact that Buck had was so down bad it’d nearly killed him.
For a guy he’d spoken to once.
And who may or may not be taken.
“You scared me!” Maddie yelled into his ear, still hugging tight around his neck. Buck squeezed her back in apology, waiting until she let go first.
“Sorry, Mads,” he said finally, when she pulled back. He glanced over her head to where Bobby was only looking slightly less aggrieved. “It won’t happen again,” he promised.
Bobby nodded, and then said, “so who is this guy from station 6?” Which, of course, caused Maddie to whip her head back towards him, and couldn’t anyone mind their own business?
“What guy?” she demanded.
“A guy who likes him back,” teased Chimney, in a sing-song voice, and—wait. What?
Hen elbowed Chimney, who stopped dragging out the word back and looked apologetic.
“What—what do you mean?” Buck asked, looking back and forth between him and Hen. “What do you mean he likes me back?”
“What guy?” Maddie tried again.
“We were sworn to secrecy,” said Hen, fixing Chim with a look. “But this morning, Bosko came over. Said she wanted to know if you were single, for a friend.”
“Did she say who?”
“Nope,” said Hen. “But I’ve seen her with your ladder man.”
“He’s not my—” Buck started, then broke off. Because he just remembered what he promised. Loser buys the winner a beer. “I gotta go,” he said; and then without waiting for anyone to reply, he started weaving his way to the refreshments area.
“What ladder man?” he heard Maddie ask behind him.
But—fine. Hen and Chim could fill her in. He had a beer to buy.
Eddie was nowhere to be found. Food trucks formed a big semi-circle around picnic tables, offering everything from ice cream to churros to bao buns, and Buck kind of wanted to try all of it, but he didn’t want to miss Eddie because he was waiting in line for a tofu dog; so instead, he found a table facing the entrance and leaned up against it, watching.
It was decidedly uncool behavior. When—if?—Eddie arrived, it would be immediately apparent that Buck was waiting for him, and that he had absolutely nowhere else to be.
But Buck had never played it cool in his life, and he certainly wasn’t going to start now. Eddie already knew about his shitty ex and his slutty reputation and his willingness to beg strangers to for help, even if it involved French kissing. Really, he had nowhere to go but up.
“Excuse me?”
Buck was so focused on the crowds filtering in through the entrance that he missed a kid appearing at his elbow.
“Me?” he asked, just to be sure.
“Yeah,” said the kid, glancing up at him through red framed glasses. He was adorable—curly hair and a button nose, and crutches covered in stickers. “Were you the one who fell off the ladder?”
He was so blunt, Buck almost laughed. Things like this were why he liked kids more than adults.
“Yep,” he said, cheerfully. “That was me.”
“That was really cool,” said the kid, and this, too, was why Buck loved kids so much. The things he did that made other adults roll their eyes always got a much warmer reception from them.
“You think?” he asked, because he was pretty sure he gave half the crowd a heart attack and deeply unimpressed the other.
“You were like Spiderman,” said the kid, quickly becoming his new favorite person. “Dad always says that just because you don’t do something like everyone else doesn’t mean you can’t do it. And that’s what you did, you climbed the wrong side of the ladder, but you still got second place.”
“Thanks, kid,” said Buck, feeling inordinately pleased. He was struck with the parental urge to ruffle his hair. “Are your parents around here?”
“I was here with Lisa, but she had to go,” the boy said, unbothered. “My dad knows where I am, and he’ll be here soon. He’s a firefighter, like you,” he added, dragging out the words, like Buck was supposed to get an inside joke.
Buck tilted his head, thinking. He wasn’t the best with kids’ ages, but this boy couldn’t have been over eight years old. “What station is he at?”
“Six,” said the kid. Like Eddie, Buck’s mind supplied. At least if Eddie showed up, he’d be able to help return this kid to whoever he belonged to. “I’m Chris,” he added.
“I’m Buck,” said Buck, scanning the crowd for a stressed-out father. He didn’t know who Lisa was, but he was pretty sure kids Chris’s age weren’t supposed to be left by themselves, even if it was an LAFD-sponsored event.
“What’s your dad’s name?” he tried, pulling out his phone and opening up the 118 group chat as he waited for Chris’s reply.
He scrunched up his tiny nose in thought and eventually said, “I forget.” He shrugged. “I just call him dad,” he explained.
“Makes sense.”
“Dad Diaz,” Chris offered. “That’s our last name.”
“Got it,” said Buck. “Let me just see if my team can tell him where you are.”
can u guys tell station 6 that someones son chris diaz is with me by the food trucks? kid’s here unattended.
Chim replied first with did you kidnap a child? I don’t want to be a party to this.
Followed by Hen’s more practical is he okay? And Bobby’s thumbs up emoji.
He looked up to find Chris watching him, intently. He turned his ringtone on loud and tucked his phone into his pocket. “Want some ice cream?”
Chris grinned, and Buck thought that he’d buy this kid several gallons of dessert if he kept looking that happy. He gestured for Chris to head towards the closest food truck, which had a big rotating ice cream cone on top.
They got on line, and Buck watched Chris as he studied the menu with a level of concentration he usually saw in the back of an ambulance. Chris’s hair looked just like Buck’s did, as a kid; and the wild thought crossed his mind—did people who saw them together think they were father and son?
He shook himself out of the train of thought and asked, “you are actually allowed to have ice cream, right? Your dad isn’t going to yell at me?”
Chris finally turned to look up at Buck, and he used a finger to push his glasses up his nose and said, earnestly, “dad doesn’t yell.”
“Oh,” said Buck. “Well, that’s good.”
“It is,” said Chris, still looking at him like this was very important information Buck needed to know. “He did a little bit, back when we lived in Texas. But only at abuelo and grandma.”
Buck pinched his lips together. “Mhm,” he said, diplomatically.
“Yeah, and he understands how, sometimes you just need ice cream.”
“A wise man,” said Buck. He stepped forward in line and Chris copied him.
“Is that good?”
“What?”
“Being wise? Is that good? Sometimes dad calls me a wise guy but I think he means I’m being silly.”
“It—yeah,” said Buck. “It means, like, you’re smart and make good decisions.”
“Oh, then yeah, definitely,” said Chris, nodding enthusiastically.
“Next?” The guy in the ice cream truck leaned out to take their order. Buck waited for Chris to order something that sounded very complicated—it had three different ice cream flavors and four toppings, including gummy worms—and Buck was so intrigued he just asked for two.
He paid, and then told Chris to grab the seat closest while he got their sundaes. He watched until Chris sat down, and then pulled out his phone to reply.
yeah were getting ice cream he wrote back, glancing up to make sure Chris had stayed put.
Chimney said, so you’re saying you made a friend.
And Buck didn’t have the heart to thumbs down it because honestly, he was having a good time talking to the kid. He put his phone away and and grabbed the ice creams from the man.
“So,” he said, sliding into the bench across from Chris and passing him the overloaded cup. Chris wasted no time digging in. “You came here to cheer your dad on?”
“Yeah,” he said, brightly. “He’s the best.”
Buck watched him, feeling his mouth pull up at the corners. For a kid who’d been abandoned at a food truck field, he seemed to be in very high spirits.
“It’s just us,” Chris went on, in between spoonfuls of rocky road. Buck should probably be eating his, too, before it melted. “My mom left when I was four and then she died last year.”
“Oh,” said Buck, frozen with his spoon midway to his mouth.
“Yeah, we miss her,” he went on, like he was chatting about the weather. “But dad is fine. He wants to date men now. And he doesn’t have luggage from it.”
“…luggage?”
“Yeah,” said Chris, unbothered. “Like when adults have suitcases and stuff that mean other adults don’t want to date them. He doesn’t have any of that.”
Baggage, Buck thought, and then he wondered if it would be better or worse if he corrected him.
“Well . . . that’s good,” he landed on.
“He also makes really good s’mores,” Chris went on, unprompted. “And boxed mac ‘n cheese. Do you like boxed mac ‘n cheese?”
Buck was, honestly, a little soured on it after living off it for most of his twenties, but he didn’t want to ruin this kid’s fun. “Oh yeah, I love it.”
Chris beamed. “I bet he’d make you some,” he said. “He’s also really good at doing the voices in stories, and he can play basketball.”
“Wow,” said Buck. Even though he was a little confused about why this kid was giving him his dad’s dating profile, it was kind of warming his heart, seeing how clearly he loved his father. If you’d asked seven-year-old Buck to describe his own dad, he’d probably have been hard pressed to say anything beyond he wears glasses. “Your dad sounds pretty great.”
“He is,” said Chris. “He can even dance,” he added. “I mean, I’ve never seen him dance, but Tía Sophia said he’s really good. She said he could be pulling guapos at the club every night.”
Buck snorted and the ice cream burned in the back of his sinuses. He tried to swallow back a coughing fit.
“I don’t really know what that means,” Chris went on, undeterred. “He’s not in any clubs. I’m in a science and robotics club, but it only meets once a week.”
“Right,” said Buck, which was all he could trust himself to get out without his voice cracking. He shoved a gummy worm in his mouth and chewed it until he could be sure he wasn’t going to laugh.
“Maybe if he was in a club, he’d meet a boyfriend,” Chris said, looking up at Buck with sincerity. “But he’s not, so I need to help him.”
“You’re a very good wingman,” Buck concurred.
“What’s a wingman?” Chris asked, and Buck probably should have seen that coming.
“Oh, uh,” he paused, trying to think of a PG way to describe it. “Like, a person who helps someone else . . . get a date.”
Chris nodded solemnly, as if he was aware of this responsibility. “Like Cinderella’s fairy godmother,” he said. “Or the Genie in Aladdin.”
Buck couldn’t remember the last time, if ever, he’d watched either of those movies, so he just nodded in agreement. But then he started getting that prickly feeling he got when he was being watched; he turned to scan the crowd and saw—Eddie.
Eddie was standing by the entrance, watching him, and Buck felt like the gummy worms were alive and wriggling in his stomach. A guy who likes you back.
“Hey, buddy,” he said to Chris, standing up before he’d even fully thought about it. “Can you wait here one sec? I just have to talk to someone, super quick.”
“Sure,” said Chris, looking very focused on digging out a chunk of cookie dough from the bottom of his sundae.
He jogged over to where Eddie was standing, looking unreasonably good for someone who’d spent the hot summer day competing in physical activities. His hair was windswept and his eyes were such a warm shade of brown and Buck really had to stop thinking about the fact that they’d been kissing less than an hour ago.
“Hey,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound as breathless as he felt. Eddie had come. Eddie had shown up so that Buck could buy him a beer and—and Buck couldn’t actually buy him a drink, because he had to make sure Chris didn’t get kidnapped on his watch. “Nice job on the ladder climb,” he said, instead.
“Thanks,” said Eddie.
“I’m sorry,” said Buck, “I know I owe you that beer, but—”
“That’s okay, man,” Eddie interrupted, and—man? “I get it.”
“Get—?” Something was off in Eddie’s tone, but unfortunately he couldn’t give it his full attention, because he had to turn back to make sure Chris was still where he’d left him.
“Yeah,” said Eddie. “You don’t owe me anything. It was like, a joke.” His voice sounded gruffer than it did earlier, when it had just been the two of them. In fact, it sounded more like the deeper tone he’d put on when he was lying in front of Tommy.
“A joke?” He couldn’t tell what had changed; why Eddie was sounding like that.
“Yeah, like, I know it’s just a thing you say,” he went on. “I’ll buy you a beer. It’s not—I mean, no sweat, man.”
There was that man again, and it irked something in Buck, the worms twisting unpleasantly, now. Buck had kissed this man and then asked him out for a drink, and Eddie had agreed. Enthusiastically. And now he was calling him man? What was next, bro?
“No,” disagreed Buck. “I definitely want to buy you a beer. It’s just—it’s complicated—I have a kid—”
“Oh,” said Eddie, his posture finally relaxing. His eyebrows did this cute thing where they went up in the middle, and Buck finally understood what people meant when they said doe-eyed. “You have a kid?” He asked, his tone warm again.
“Yeah,” said Buck, relieved that they were back on track. Good thing he explained—oh wait. “I mean, he’s not my kid. I’m not a—I don’t have a—you know, kid,” he finished, lamely.
Eddie scrunched up his face in confusion, which. Fair.
“You have a kid, or you don’t have a kid?”
“There is a kid I am watching right now,” Buck explained, hoping this made him sound helpful and responsible and not creepy. “But he is not mine.” He winced—not his best phrasing. “He’s—actually, I think he belongs to someone at your station? Chris Diaz. He said his dad is from station 6?”
“Diaz—wait, what?” Eddie asked, darting past him, towards where Buck was pointing. Buck hurried to follow, and within a few steps he saw Eddie freeze and say, “Chris?”
“Hey dad!” said Chris, happily. And oh—oh. Buck’s brain glitched. Chris just called Eddie dad. Which probably meant that Eddie was Chris’s dad and well. Clearly, charm ran in the family.
“What are you doing here?” asked Eddie, sounding flustered. “Where’s Lisa?”
“She had to go,” Chris said, ignoring his dad’s panic and going back to his ice cream.
“She had to go?” Eddie repeated, voice going up in pitch. He dug around in his pockets and pulled out his phone—going off how quickly he looked at it and put it back, Buck was guessing he didn’t have any messages from Lisa. “What do you mean she had to go? She just left you by yourself?” His eyes cut over to Buck, and Buck could see the flush rising up his neck, though he couldn’t tell if it was from anger or something else.
“Not really,” said Chris. “I told her I knew Buck and he’d watch me.”
“You did?” asked Buck.
“What?” asked Eddie. He was now looking back and forth between Chris and Buck, and Buck had to remind himself that he didn’t need to feel guilty because he hadn’t actually done anything wrong here. “Christopher,” he said, and Buck was definitely not thinking about how hot his stern-dad voice was. “Why would you do that?”
Chris just looked at him and raised his eyebrows. Dad doesn’t yell, he’d said—well, that much was apparent. Any kid demonstrating that level of sass to a father as outraged as Eddie had clearly never wound up on his actual bad side before. Buck felt his lips twitch up and he swallowed back his smile in case Eddie looked at him.
Unbelievably, instead of snapping, Eddie’s flush grew even deeper. He rubbed his hand over his face, but it was too late—Buck had already seen what he looked like when his cheeks were glowing with red. God, he was cute.
“Jesus,” Buck heard him mutter under his breath. “What has Lena been telling you?”
“Nothing,” answered Chris, in a sing-songy tone that wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he was lying. Buck had no idea what they were talking about, but he felt like he could watch them interact all day. Their father-son dynamic was—
Wait. Chris was Eddie’s son. Which meant Eddie was a widow who wanted to date men. And he was raising the cutest kid in the world. And he could dance.
Maybe Buck had fallen off the ladder after all, and he was in a coma right now—it would explain why Eddie seemed like he’d been cooked up in a lab dedicated to bringing Buck’s wildest dreams to life.
“I’m so sorry,” Eddie said, finally turning to face him, and Buck couldn’t imagine what he was apologizing for. He rubbed his hand over his face again, this time where his five o’clock shadow was growing, and Buck felt inexplicably jealous of Eddie’s hand. “I don’t know what he’s been saying to you—?”
He’s the best. He doesn’t have any luggage. He makes good s’mores and does funny voices and he can’t find a boyfriend, so Chris wanted to help.
“Nothing,” Buck said, and he didn’t even mean to, but his voice sounded just like Chris’s had.
Eddie narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Behind him, Chris gave him a thumbs up, and oh yeah, he thought, definitely already in love. It was honestly unfair that one family could contain so much cuteness. How was Buck supposed to cope with that?
Eddie opened his mouth, closed it, huffed out a breath. His glanced back and forth between Buck and Chris like he was trying to decide his next move, and Buck had an idea for what it could be.
“I know I owe you a beer,” he said, lightly. “But how about an ice cream?”