Archive of Our Own

Name my grief to let it sing

THE GREATER WINGS by JULIE BYRNE

And Morgan says, "Maybe love won’t let you down
All your failures are training grounds
And just as your back’s turned, you’ll be surprised…"
She says, "as your solitude subsides."

THE ABSENCE OF GOD by RILO KILEY

Helena Díaz had died earlier that morning.

Eddie Díaz received a call from his papá as he sat with Frank, recounting a tired, aimless argument he had had with his mother over his son's crutches. Sometimes Eddie found it funny that Helena knew how to push his buttons, and figured Frank might as well earn his copay's worth hearing about it. She had accused him (again) of being overworked and insensitive to Christopher's needs, as if his son's recent growth spurt hadn't caught him by surprise. It reminded Eddie of how he had spent junior year wearing high waters because he was five eleven and his parents couldn't replace his pants straight away, and of all the different reasons why: Adriana had started college; Sophia had cheerleading camp; Ramón's bonus had already been spent. Eddie needed to wait. But Helena hadn't been interested in extending him any grace during their hours-long conversation: the circumstances surrounding Christopher's preferred manufacturer's supply chain shortages didn't matter when compared to the opportunity to fire accusations at him. He had tried his best but his IAFF Local 12 insurance card had secured him only a sympathetic murmur from the customer service supervisor, even his veteran status couldn’t overcome a six month waiting list.

But Helena's opinions and his opinions on her opinions had become a recurring subject that filled his sessions. Eddie craved for understanding of why she made him feel like he was still atoning for disappointing her.

The first call had taken Eddie by surprise. Interruptions were uncommon. Sometimes Buck would send text messages with thoughts on dinner plans, date nights, or Jee-Yun’s latest antics with the expectation that Eddie would answer later. They served as silly, but necessary, reminders that love followed him everywhere, something he looked forward to after his appointments. But his family respected this time, giving him the space to decompress for an hour. His phone's vibration cut through the room. Frank stopped speaking midway through his advice. Eddie shrugged a wordless apology before leaning over the sofa arm for his phone, and sent his papá straight to voicemail before sliding it in his back pocket. But the calls did not stop. He swallowed without thinking. His nerves rose as his phone continued to ring. He lifted himself up from the slick leather sofa and removed his phone from his back pocket. There were two missed calls from his abuela. Five from his tía. Three from his sisters.

He looked up from his phone, face slack, eyes wide.

You should take those, Frank said, his tone concerned. I can pencil you in for next week if you need to leave.

Eddie nodded, offering his most sincere apology, and left the office with a reminder card in hand.

His mother had died at nine seventeen in the morning El Paso time. Eddie hadn’t been reached until twelve minutes after one in the afternoon Los Angeles time, having called his papá in a nondescript parking lot in the middle of the financial district. Now, he lay quietly in his shared bedroom, tangled beneath the crisp, freshly-laundered top sheet he had always argued was indulgent. But Buck liked them and had argued that they more than earned their keep. There were some warm, humid summer nights where his fiancé ran so hot that, needing something to cover himself from their son’s prying teenaged eyes, the duvet was too much, too heavy, too stifling. Buck had been right. The washed linens provided an unknown amount of comfort, though not for these reasons.

Eddie threw his arm over his eyes and sighed. The afternoon sunlight that filtered through their sheer curtains suddenly felt too bright but his body remained motionless. It was as if he were paralyzed. Not a single signal reached his legs. All he could do was lay still and wait for someone, Buck, Christopher, maybe Carla, to return to close the shutters. Eddie would be lying if he said he remembered how he got home without causing a five-car pileup. But he knew that, in the scheme of things, it did not matter. His mother was dead. His papá tried reaching him in the middle of his session, and soon he would have to book flights out to El Paso for an untimely, premature funeral.

He had left Christopher at school.

He hadn’t called Buck.

Helena was dead. And Eddie was in bed.

Eddie left the bedroom door ajar. Sound carried well in his home. You won’t find acoustics like this in the new builds, his realtor had repeated throughout the showing. When you prioritize speed, you sacrifice quality. This is all a lost art, really. The two men were on their fifth walkthrough while his son spent the day baking apple cinnamon empanadas with Isabel, and he had given up on finding a house that would not need an infinite amount of modifications for Christopher’s cerebral palsy. But his persistence had at last paid off as he admired the carefully manicured shrubbery that lined the perimeter and the large, open windows that kept every room bright with warm, natural light. He could build a life here. For his son, for himself. Maybe this house could be the missing piece that would show his parents that he was neither a failure nor a disappointment. He was better, healthy. Settled. Stable. Reached his potential. Maybe Shannon would answer his calls, visit Christopher and see his smiling face, then finally stay. Sophia helped him draft a heartfelt letter to the sellers, a warm Colombian couple seeking a retirement home closer to their children who moved East (Philadelphia, if he recalled), after his realtor hinted that it could increase his chances. Following his offer’s acceptance, he received a favorable closing date after Adriana paid for the couple’s moving costs. Think of it as a loan you don’t have to pay back, she insisted. At first, he declined her offer.

He showed the Zillow listing to his parents the weekend before they left El Paso permanently, a decision that was both cowardly and smart. Helena only needed a minute to create havoc. She closed his laptop and walked away. A hum of disapproval slipped past her lips.

Ramón said, Is this how you repay your mother, mijo?

But sound did carry well here.

From his bed, Eddie heard the steady creak of the front door, the jangle of keys hitting the console table. Buck was rarely quiet and could never just be. He could announce his presence without the need for words. Eddie was never envious of this ability. He preferred fading into the background. He had played a supporting role all his life, and he found contentment there. But, somewhere along their years of friendship, he had fallen for Buck's clamorous demeanor, his innate leadership abilities. If he were to list every attractive trait of his fiancé, he thinks these would be among the top.

"Eddie, you’ll never guess who Chim suggested for our wedding," Buck called out, his voice sweet. The front door shut with a creak. "I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want us to top his, but he doesn’t know Maddie already shared their list of approved vendors and Bobby still had his research, and I won’t be the one telling him."

Eddie said nothing. He had no real intention of ignoring him. He repeatedly learned his lesson with Shannon, Ana, and Fernando until it stuck. He had a trail of dead wives and girlfriends and boyfriends, all whom, in their own way, shined a light on this particular insecurity. He had said it once with Christopher. Talking makes things less scary. And Christopher still repeated it back as a reminder. But this felt bigger and threatened to consume him if he let it all out. His fingers brushed his lips, feather light in search of confirmation that they were indeed moving, but no sound came out, not even a murmur or a breathy Evan. His temperature rose, his skin flushed pink with quiet shame. So what if he retreated back to the familiarity of old habits, the ones that kept his pain silent and prevented him from knowing himself, while he tracked Buck's movements throughout their home, each step taking on a more serious beat? His mother was gone. It was deserved.

A heart attack stole her away at age sixty-two.

He clung onto his pillow and stayed silent.

"Eddie?"

The bedroom door flung open with the force of someone unaware of their strength.

"There you are," Buck said, his eyes darting back and forth, as if he was studying him, like seeing Eddie whole surprised him. "I saw your truck out front, but oh, you don’t look so good. Didn't you have plans with Pepa today?" His voice softer. "Is something wrong?"

Buck and his vivid blue eyes became far too familiar. For a moment, he wondered if Buck saw right through him. Eddie rolled over, away from him, his body facing the window, a shrug of his shoulder. He could lay it all out with two simple words: Mom died. But instead, he folded his legs into his chest, his heart filled with raw anguish, and asked, "Can you touch me?"

"Hey, baby—"

"Please," he interrupted, his words tumbling out without volition, "I need you to remind me. Can you do that? Can you do that for me?"

He felt a light dip in their mattress, then warm fingertips moved gently across his back. "Hey, Eddie, look at me," Buck said. "What do you mean? What happened?"

With a slight turn of his head, Eddie watched Buck’s eyes soften, then feeling sheepish, closed his own. "Can you please just fuck me?" Maybe that’s what he needed: the relief that only an orgasm could bring. "I’m fine, I promise. I just—I just need you. Please."

"Baby—"

"I thought you liked it when I beg."

"You know I really do, but—"

Eddie shifted until he faced Buck again, the top sheet wrinkling as he moved. "Please," he said, wishing the concern would melt from his fiancé’s face. They grew silent. His tense, heavy breathing soon fell in time with Buck’s. In and out, in and out. He heard cars speed by with their casual disregard for the posted speed limit, and the laughter of the neighborhood children too boisterous for preschool, skipping rope in their driveways.

Meanwhile, Buck eyed him, suspect, slid his hand down his back, then leaned in, relenting. "Yeah, okay," he said.

Eddie met him halfway and sank into the sensation of being kissed.

Some nights when Eddie was younger, still a boy in all the ways that mattered, but a man in his parents’ eyes, Helena would beckon him over to her side in their modest kitchen with its cream walls, its electric stove that seen better days, and a small window over the sink, and task him with the responsibility of his sisters’ safety while she went out. Mama, but Adriana’s older, he argued once, eleven to Adriana’s fourteen. He had learned to hate those nights. They filled him with a profound sense of dread that struck straight to his bones and etched his very soul. But his mother was an uncompromising woman. She stuck to her guns and yielded for no one. Not for her parents: Helena had stopped speaking to both her siblings and parents after the Ceders voiced their disapproval of Ramón during their wedding ceremony. Not for their neighbors: she fought every fraudulent noise complaint lobbied their way during Díaz celebrations. And certainly not for her children. She would look at him over, unwavering, and explain in a cool, stern tone, One day you’ll be a husband, a father. You’ll understand what your dad and I prepared you for, and you’ll thank us.

In turn, he had learned how to shield himself and push away his anxieties.

Be a man, his papá's voice reminded him regularly.

Twenty-three and newly married, he had not felt prepared for Christopher. Paternity leave was not granted back then. It had only been through the grace of God, his commanding officer, that he was granted leave for his son’s birth. Like so many other new fathers in his troop, Eddie attended Shannon’s appointments virtually when there was downtime. Shannon’s mother had kept a steady hand on the computer recording. His feed was in low definition: the picture grainy and his connection unstable, but he had listened to every vital statement made by the OB-GYN with a singular focus that he never had in high school. Sometimes the calls would end positively with his wife’s warm pregnancy glow somehow radiating through the screen but most of the time they would end in an argument, with Shannon begging him to come home, be in El Paso, where she needed him more, and not in the Afghan deserts, as if she knew of some secret escape clause hidden in the contract he had signed. Helena hadn’t understood why he’d call immediately after, not in tears, but close to it, his voice frustrated and despondent. She would offer him cheap advice on parenthood that he could've easily read in any self-help book, like he hadn’t also attended Sophia’s basketball games or danced at her quinceañera in place of their overworked father, then stress how proud she was of him for fighting a war that he was uncertain he believed in.

But Eddie continued calling.

All he had ever wanted was his mom’s reassurance. It was the only thing she had ever denied him.

Time moved slowly. Eddie felt displaced from his body, as if he were floating, looking down at Buck and himself from above.

Buck drew him back into his skin with a soft stroke down his leg. They were undressed and had been trading kisses for what felt like hours. He was hard. It spoke to their familiarity that he still got it up in the midst of disassociation. "Hey, are you with me?" Buck asked, breaking away, saliva dangling from his lip, and gave him a warm smile. They liked sex wet, liked it filthy. The intimacy of sharing bodily fluids drove them over the edge and over the cliffs. "Not that I’m not enjoying this," Buck paused to cup his own erection, a short whimper escaping his lips, "but you feel miles away."

Eddie met Buck’s eyes, his own gaze a little hazy, but still present, then pressed his cock against Buck’s muscular thigh with a roll of his hips, savoring how both of their faint moans of pleasure reverberated across the room, vaulting off high ceilings, back down into their ears. It was the first act he had initiated since he pleaded for Buck’s touch. He did it again and again until he panted for more.

Without stopping, he said, "Yeah, of course I’m with you, Evan."

Despite his affirmation, Buck looked unconvinced. Eddie knew that Buck had a point—he was not all there—and he should do more to reassure him. But, before he could, Buck’s hands slid up until he reached his hips, holding tight, halting his movements. His tone was serious now: "And you’d tell me if there was something on your mind?"

Eddie licked his lips, undecided about the form his answer should take. "I just—Evan, I don’t—" Know. He didn’t know. His thoughts were already unbearably complicated. Noisy. Responding would muddle things even further and he still needed the distraction. He could ride Buck’s thigh to completion, make a mess all over their stomachs: it would be quick and easy, if not necessarily how he wanted it. But it would, for that fleeting moment in time, prevent Buck from asking further questions. "Buck, I need—"

"Need to be touched," Buck finished for him with solemn understanding. "I know, baby. We’ll get there."

"Then why’d you stop?" Eddie asked, burying his face between Buck’s pecs, dejected. Buck’s sparse chest hair rubbed against his cheeks, tickling his face. He did not smile. He did not laugh. "I want you so bad," he breathed out. "That's all I can think about."

He was lying and telling the truth.

Buck nodded patiently, then started to press delicate kisses down his body, stopping as he approached his cock. "Okay, I got you, I hear you." Buck wrapped his mouth around Eddie’s crown, applying light suction. Caught by surprise, Eddie keened his hips and a shaky sigh of relief fell from his lips, his grip on their sheets tightening. He remembered that sweltering summer when he had turned seventeen. He and Shannon were not quite friends, but not quite lovers. The comfort they had found in the ambiguity was anointed by teenage innocence. Helena had never liked Shannon. She found her haughty, cocky, and generally uncooperative: everything she believed his sisters weren’t. But it had all balanced out, as Shannon’s father, Frederik Miller, a respected corporate lawyer who’d built his firm from scratch, disliked him, too. Once he overheard Mr. Miller tell his wife that Eddie would flame out after high school, like all boys of his kind do, and instead their daughter should date his firm partner’s mature, Yale-bound son. Nathaniel had potential. To avoid their parents’ ire, they spent their vacation break hanging around El Paso, visiting museums or hiking the scenic trails, exploring their hometown through fresh, childlike eyes.

It was amid one hot, sticky July day that he had lost his virginity. Shannon had confidently taken his hand, whispering in his ear, My parents left town for the weekend, let’s hang at mine? A little naïve, Eddie hadn’t been prepared when Shannon had closed her bedroom door and immediately started to strip out of her bright yellow Abercrombie sundress and white panties. Wait, Shan, he had said, I don’t think I’m ready. But she had covered his mouth with her hand, laughing, and said, I bought condoms last night, then pulled him into a kiss, fully prepared to take the lead. It had been quick. It had been unsatisfying. It had nothing on the way Buck touched him now, with an immense sense of dedication, as if fucking him was his benediction. Buck licked his way up Eddie’s cock before dribbling his saliva over the head. Eddie shivered and shook under Buck’s tutelage, his fingers tangled in Buck’s rich honey brown hair, listening to himself, his own wonton moans as he gave himself over. Buck’s hand wrapped around his base, stroking tightly, brushing past his coarse, dark pubic hairs. Buck’s lips were puffy and deep pink, sucking hard, taking him in deep.

"Buck, Buck, Buck," he panted, "Please don’t you stop."

Eddie was a far cry now from his adolescent misapprehensions.

When Eddie had left Shannon, alone in her room, sleeping peacefully, he knew he owed her more than an apology. But he couldn’t have stayed. It wouldn’t have been right. He didn’t know how to explain why sex with her felt so wrong and left him feeling outside his body. Now, at this crossroad, the idea of being her boyfriend had suddenly overwhelmed him. He needed, if not answers, some understanding that she could never provide. In the crowded, secluded corners of the boys’ locker room, his teammates had always described sex as an electrifying and gratifying act, often in perpetual competition with each other over who could bag the hottest, sluttiest girl. But the deed hadn’t been like that for him. He had ejaculated inside the Trojan condom, his body responsive. Shannon had seemed satisfied after having instructed him on how to properly get her off. But, afterwards, once they caught their breaths, he had rolled off Shannon and wanted his mother. He had craved her comfort. He had wondered why his stomach ached. Could sex be something he grew into liking, wanting, desiring? Was practice all that he needed? He needed a reason for why hanging out with Shannon didn’t light him up like that, and why the only time his world felt right was after baseball games, driving down empty streets with Javier, music loud enough to overload their senses, the car windows rolled down so the wind could further ruin Javier’s wavy hair, just them together and no one else.

But, after unlocking the front door, Eddie had found Helena waiting in their living room, a frown set on her face.

He had known then that it was better not to ask.

Eddie came in Buck's mouth.

"Was I that good, baby?" Buck chuckled, his arms wrapped around Eddie’s midriff, and for a brief, shining moment, time passed like an average Tuesday.

In their first two years of dating, Eddie brought Buck to El Paso three times. He had stopped calling Texas home the night after they made their relationship official. Home meant the ocean breeze and the bustling highways, arguments with his growing son and apologies that took the shape of breakfast at Canter's, crowded marketplaces and Dodger Stadium, and Firehouse 118 and Evan Buckley. It had also led to the most frustrating conversations with or about Helena. She did not take his coming out with as much zeal or tenderness as Ramón. At the time, he has chalked it up to the work he and his papá did to repair their fractured relationship. Ramón did not stop at just wishing him happiness. He asked about his dates with men with the same, if not greater, amount of curiosity as he had done with the women. Ramón even interrogated him to a concerning degree over why Buck was not an option. He takes care of you and Christopher, mijo. It’s clear you two could build something together that’ll outlast the stars. Ramón shook with laughter whenever Eddie suggested that their friendship was only that: a friendship. (And, anyway, Buck’s never talked about dating men. Ramon had retorted, Neither did you.) Thankfully, his papá had been courteous enough to not brag when he brought Buck to El Paso for Thanksgiving. He had merely smiled, his eyes dancing, hinting that their family must be present for the proposal. Yes, Maddie and her partner and their lovely child, too.

But from the kitchen window, his mother had observed his life with silence for the first time.

He had approached Hen during a sleepless shift, yearning for her composed guidance. He could not reconcile his mother’s restrained behavior, her passive hums and dismissive sighs, with the woman of his youth, who, months after they broke up, had scrutinized Ana Flores for inviting Eddie to her niece’s christening before he’d taken her to El Paso. He knew that not everyone would grasp how a widower at his age with a teenage son could later come out as gay. He had even had pleasant calls on the subject with Michael Grant after Bobby forwarded him his contact information (You don't have to reach out, but if you ever need a listening ear, he could help…). But Helena had blindsided him like only a mother could. Under the fluorescent streetlights, on the station rooftop, he and Hen sitting alone and huddled together, he had cried. For the first time, he had allowed someone else, someone other than Buck, to see his tears. It took your mother some time, he said, after you told her. Maybe she’ll come around, too. Hen had pulled him into her arms, into the fiercest, most protective of hugs, and replied, Yeah, Eddie, I hope so, too.

"You’re always good to me, Evan," he replied, looking down at the mess he had made of his fiancé’s neatly styled hair, his fingers teasing out the remaining hold of his pomade, curls returning. Maybe he could convince Buck to go without product at his mother’s wake. "Can you fuck me now?"

Buck looked up at him, softly. "How do you want it?"

Eddie had felt selfish when he and Buck first started sleeping together. So much of his identity was tied into being a provider that it spilled over into how he perceived sex. It hadn’t mattered that intercourse with Shannon left him a little hollow, a little unfulfilled, when he cared for her with the fervor of a new convert. He gave in penance, and she received without ever knowing. He spent years studying how to satisfy Shannon. Every touch and kiss and thrust was calibrated for her singular enjoyment. If he had quietly jacked off after, under the cover of showering, the hot steamy water hitting his body, where he carefully avoided thoughts of hard, lean bodies, pecs instead of tits, that was his business alone. There hadn’t been anything to confess. They were merely fantasies. But actually sleeping with men was enlightening. In an instant, sex stopped being an act Eddie put on for the stage, where he played a role he never auditioned for. The first night he had been fucked, he came so hard he whited out. His body became pliant. His thoughts stopped. It was unlike anything he experienced before. It felt right. He realized he was placed on this Earth to be more than a father, husband, or first responder. His date, oh, he’ll never forget that baritone voice or those sturdy hands even if they hadn’t worked out, chuckled in his ear after disposing of the used, knotted condom.

Damn, fireman, I should take a picture. You’re beautiful like this.

His euphoria had lasted through the morning after. Seated for breakfast, at the start of a new shift, surrounded by his team, Chim said, Okay, spill, Díaz, what’s her name? And what has she done with our stoic Edmundo? his mouth stuffed with Bobby’s scrambled eggs. At last, he was ready. The comments, the commotion, being open with his truth.

Eddie responded with an easy smile: His name’s Anthony. And, Chim, you know I don’t kiss and tell.

But Buck was entirely something different—something Eddie hadn’t known he needed until he was willingly caught under his spell. It might sound cliché, but if Buck was a potter, then he was his steady supply of soft, malleable clay. He would be kneaded and shaped by his fiancé’s skilled hands, and take on whatever form he desired. With Buck, he hardly ever needed words. Buck always could decipher what Eddie needed before the idea ever took form in his own head, as if the trust and security they spent years cultivating out on the field—the silent gestures, the wordless communication, the implicit trust—laid the foundation for their lovemaking. In search of an answer, Eddie rolled over onto his stomach. Within seconds, as if Buck read his mind, he felt Buck’s hand travel down his back, tracing his spine, making sure to touch each individual vertebrae in a move that left him undone, until Buck reached his ass. Then, without ceremony, Buck spread Eddie’s cheeks, pressing a finger softly against his rim.

"I’m so fucking lucky, baby," Buck said. "You got such a gorgeous hole."

"Buck—" Eddie sighed into his pillow. But he was the lucky one. For being keeper of Buck’s attention. For being Buck’s fiancé. From this angle, he could only see his nightstand covered with clutter—the half-finished paperback Athena recommended, an alarm clock, and his favorite tuberose candle—but he knew Buck looked mesmerized, his eyes staring intensely at how easy Eddie opened for him. He trembled as Buck pressed his thick finger a little deeper. He wanted to be fucked. He needed his thoughts tamed. There was no place safer than Buck’s hands. Eddie melted further into their bed. "Buck, Buck—"

"I’ll give you what you want, Eds. I just want a taste first," Buck said, his tongue slipping inside.

Eddie wanted to scream. He feared if he were any louder, his neighbors next door would start banging on their front door. Buck worked him open with precision and skill, had him quivering with every lick and every bite, knowing that marks would be left behind. Buck lavished his hole with wet, filthy kisses. Fingers dug into his hips, holding him down. Eddie grew hard again, his erect cock smeared precum all over their linen sheets. He clutched the black powder-coated steel rods of their bed. His gasps took on a pleasurable sound. Buck stopped to press a brief, sweet kiss on his lower back. He loved being used this way. Forced to take whatever Buck dotted out. Eddie still felt the burning desire to have Buck’s cock inside him to mute the grief that threatened to spill out, but when Buck's tongue brushed against his hole, he bit back his moan.

"Evan, Evan, Evan," he began chanting, like reciting a holy scripture, his voice an octave higher.

Some nights, when his depression overwhelmed him and the Wellbutrin stored in his medicine cabinet couldn’t quell his thoughts, he wondered what people would think if they knew how well he took it. Those were always particularly bad nights, because he thought he’d moved past the fear, the doubt. He had a wonderful fiancé. He and Buck were raising a teenager together. But then Eddie would find himself talking through his intrusive thoughts over with Frank, asking if he had a message written all over his face that read I LIKE BEING FUCKED!!!

It was Helena he had feared most. She had moved through life under the cover of brutal honesty. Her words were sharp, never dulling with age. Throughout his childhood, her demeanor had often been misconstrued as hostility by his friends’ parents, his school teachers, and even his tumultuous little league coach, a man so intransigent he had spent the entire season getting ejected by volunteer umpires worn out by his conduct. But after Eddie had introduced her to Buck, my boyfriend that Thanksgiving weekend, she had just slowly pulled away from him. If Helena wasn’t speaking on, about, or even to Christopher, she had little to say. He had difficulties explaining to his ordinarily compassionate sisters why this distressed him. I mean, you got what you wanted, no? Learn how to take the win, Eddie, Adriana said dismissively. Not out of malice, but ignorance. His sisters had lives that better suited Helena’s sensibilities. They lived close to home, married two perfect fine, caring men, picked careers that allowed them to tend their children while earning decent money. His sisters had happy, if not a little traditional, lives. He, on the other hand, she felt had rebelled every step of the way. Despite Helena’s perspective, he had not rebelled in any sense of the way. After he got Shannon pregnant, he had asked for her hand. He had earned a Silver Star after two tours in Afghanistan. He had balanced three jobs to keep a roof over his and Christopher’s heads while successfully completing his term in the fire academy with impressive marks. Despite all this he still somehow ended up a gay widower, in a relationship with his best friend and colleague, working a job his mother disagreed with from her position states away. Eddie had not won Helena’s silence from respect; it had been granted through her disapproval, and his sisters couldn’t discern the difference. They didn’t know his phone calls with Ramón often ended with, And I’ll talk to your mother again, give Buck and Chris my love, and it never felt right to tell them.

Now Helena’s body sat cold in an El Paso mortuary while his fiancé pressed his body against their mattress, eating him out. Now these matters no longer seem worth mentioning.

His drive home had passed in a blur. Eddie had turned off his phone shortly after ending his call with Ramón and that was the last thing he could recollect. He had inserted his truck key into the ignition, turned the engine over, his shaky hands clutching the steering wheel, and then made a right turn out of the public parking lot into the busy streets. Hours later, his phone still was off, and his family were all in El Paso dealing with the aftermath. He imagined Sophia and Adriana had left work as soon as they heard the news and met their father at the hospital. The attending ER physician must’ve explained the excruciating details of how the EMTs failed to restart Helena's heart (I’m sorry for your loss) before leaving to assist in a more urgent crisis. All while, Eddie lied in bed, trying his best to temper his pleasure. Buck caressing his thighs. Buck’s spit slick fingers opening him up. The wet heat of Buck’s tongue kept him full. Evan, Evan, Evan, like Buck’s name was the only lucid thought allowed to take occupancy in his brain. Buck was making him feel good, instead of powerless.

His family must’ve been concerned that he has been unresponsive for hours. But it was not as if they had tried to contact Buck. He and Buck would have heard Buck's phone left on the console table ringing. Though, Eddie knew he should’ve already told him. The moment Buck stepped into their bedroom would’ve been right. Even earlier, immediately after he had hung up with his papá. Frankly, Eddie should’ve already called Bobby to request their bereavement leave. He should’ve already pulled Chris out of school and made arrangements for the prolonged absence with his son’s teachers. He should’ve already bought three plane tickets: two weeks roundtrip with a flexible cancellation policy for himself in case Ramón needed him longer and Buck could go back home with Christopher, avoiding further missed school days. There was a whole slew of tasks Eddie had failed to complete. If he knew his papá, Ramon had allowed himself a brief moment to break in Isabel’s arms before flipping the switch, refusing to let his emotions dictate his response when there was a funeral that needed planning, and accounts that needed closing. It was pathetic, really, Eddie was behaving pathetically, but he’d always been weak for Buck’s touch.

Maybe Helena was right. Maybe Eddie did drag his family down.

Eddie whined when Buck sat up, canting his hips in desperation. "Just grabbing some lube," Buck reassured him, brushing the inside of his thigh, then moved off their bed. "I got you pretty wet, but something tells me rough—"

Eddie turned to face him. "Don’t go. Buck, please," he interrupted, his voice desolate, "I need you."

"—Isn’t the mood you’re going for." Buck looked at him with a wrinkle of concern. He had gotten the bedroom door, but he swiftly returned, settling on the edge of their bed, grabbing Eddie’s hand. "I’m not leaving, Eds. I don’t know what’s going on, but I wouldn’t do that to you. Not today, not ever," Buck added delicately. "We just never replaced the bottle we kept in our nightstand last week. But you know you can share whatever you’re hiding, right? I’ll listen, okay, I’ll listen to anything you have to say."

Eddie eyed him carefully, pulling his hand back, but Buck held on tighter. "Buck, don’t."

"Humor me, Eddie."

"Please don’t ever leave me. Can you promise that?"

"You know better than to ask me that when we’re firefighters. But I’ll always try my hardest to love you, and to be with you, and do whatever it takes to make you feel better."

"I don’t know why this is so hard."

Eddie was trying. He was trying so hard. He was no longer that person. Withholding. Standoffish. Numb to his own pain. Eddie thought he knew all the tricks to get his words out, but all it took was one afternoon to dissolve everything he had learned in therapy. Buck moved closer. Their bed creaked; their sheets wrinkled. Buck cupped Eddie’s face in his hands. His fingers brushed away his tears. When did he start crying?

"Eddie, baby—"

"Evan, please. I need you so much," Eddie said, blinking away the remaining tears. That had to be enough. He would hoard Buck’s affection until he stopped feeling bereft.

"I know. I'll be right back," Buck said. "I promise, I can at least promise you that."

When Ramón had informed Eddie of Helena’s and his upcoming visit, Bobby had taken it upon himself to throw Eddie and Buck an engagement party. The weather had finally cooled after weeks-long record breaking temperatures. There were clear blue skies for miles and a crisp, gentle breeze. Bobby must have figured a celebration was long overdue. He had emailed invitations for a Thursday whenever everyone was off-shift. He had fired up his charcoal grill and smoker the day of and loaded it with burgers, steaks, and a brisket. Athena had spent that morning whipping up her famous macaroni salad, collard greens, and peach cobbler. Hen and Karen had brought over corn on the cobs, baked potatoes and jalapeño corn bread so good that it humbled the hosts. Bobby had only requested Chim’s presence, but he, Maddie and Jee still showed up with two blueberry pies baked freshly by Mrs. Lee. Buck had invited his parents the week prior, but his father declined with an air of resignation: Sorry, Evan, with the way airlines are, and this being so last minute, your mother and I can’t see how a visit makes financial sense right now. Buck had hid his disappointment well, instead focusing on being surrounded by the family he handcrafted through his sheer force of will, but Eddie had watched the way his shoulders fell and the way his eyes watered when he said, No, I get it, I knew you coming was a long shot. Eddie had promised Buck they would have a great time regardless. They had the 118, Isabel, and Pepa, but they also had each other. Everything had been accounted for, if only he had factored in his own mother.

Buck left their room for a couple minutes, but with the way Eddie felt like he was swimming against an ocean current, a couple of minutes passed like a couple of hours. He started toying with the top sheet to keep his hands busy, his mind occupied. When Buck came through the door, holding a bottle of lubricant, the mail-ordered all-natural, aloe-based kind Eddie always felt absurd buying, he breathed a sigh of relief. Buck was back, he kept his promise, he always keeps his promises raced through his head.

"I love you," Eddie said.

"I love you, too," Buck replied.

"Please kiss me."

Buck huffed a laugh. "I didn’t brush my teeth."

"I don’t care."

And he didn’t care. They’ve kissed in far worse conditions. Buck had gotten trapped in a rapidly flooding sewer during a rescue once, and Eddie had been terrified enough that when they got back to the station, Bobby had benched him for the rest of their shift. Eddie had refused to go home. Being the man down was the compromise. But, at the scene, he couldn’t hold back after seeing Buck alive, wet and covered in filth. He had pulled Buck in and kissed him there for the very first time, stormy gray clouds be damned. That was two years ago. Now, Buck climbed back into bed, draping his fit body over him like a weighted blanket. Buck began a string of kisses at his clavicle, slowly making his way up his neck until he reached his lips. He paused then. Eddie closed his eyes in anticipation and took in Buck’s caressing touch down his leg. For a time, they breathed the same air. Buck’s soft, plump lips brushed his. Eddie’s mouth opened slightly. He sighed as Buck slowly kissed him. Buck took his time, indulging his need for touch.

When Eddie tried deepening the kiss, Buck pulled back in soft laughter. "Was that what you wanted?" Buck asked.

"Yes," Eddie whispered. "Please."

He gasped when Buck flipped him. In an instant, he was flat on his stomach.

"And is this how you want it?"

"Yes," Eddie answered.

"I promised I’ll take care of you."

"You did."

"Let me take care of you," Buck said, his lubed fingers breaching his rim.

With Michael’s help, Bobby had reconfigured his stereo system so that music could be heard outdoors. David Ruffin’s smooth tenor began playing in the background after Athena had commandeered Bobby’s iPad. I’ve had enough, Bobby, she had laughed, walking past them. Enough with this white boy nonsense. It’s time for some real soul music. Buck and Chim had sat at the maple picnic table with Isabel and Pepa, sharing a carafe of lemonade. Eddie had heard them trade stories about their most daring, memorable saves: impressing Isabel would be no easy feat, she was his abuela after all. Chris and Denny had run straight inside, cocooning themselves away in one of the Grant-Nash bedrooms. Sophomores in high school, Eddie had imagined the boys were inside gossiping about which schoolgirls made them blush and trading insight about which of their teachers assigned too much homework. Maybe they had been preparing their argument about why they should attend the same school next year.

Ramón and Helena had arrived an hour later. Earlier Pepa had explained Ramón had gotten a car for the duration of their stay. Eddie, I have a serviceable sedan in the garage, but he wants to pay those prices for a rental. Mi hermano es tonto, she had scoffed. But he could tell his parents had been arguing by the deep set scowl on his papá’s face. Ramón had walked into Bobby’s backyard stiff and uncomfortable. Eddie had patted Bobby’s shoulder, leaving him to man the grill alone, and met his papá near the sliding glass doors. Hey, you made it, he had greeted, then after searching for Helena, added, Where’s mom?

Ramón had sighed, pulling Eddie into a warm, brief hug. Don’t worry about your mother, mijo, Ramón had said with a hint of annoyance before catching himself. He had cleared his throat. She’s somewhere inside admiring the house. She’ll be out in a moment. Please reintroduce me to Captain Nash and his wife. I must thank them for taking great care of you, Christopher, and Evan.

Things had gone well after that. Hen and Karen had made themselves busy teaching Maddie and Buck how to play spades. Eddie had helped Chim keep Jee occupied, the two of them taking turns spinning her around, lifting her high. Uncle Eddie, Uncle Eddie, I’m getting sick. Put me down. And Bobby and Ramón had taken a real shine to each other. His papá had mastered the smoker at a young age; being an avid studier of Texas barbecue, Bobby had his own perspective on the marination process. They had hardly strayed from the grill, laughing and exchanging tips and insults like long lost friends rediscovering each other at their class reunion. Eddie had also noticed how Athena kept drinks in their hands, how she eventually offered Ramón a beer instead of another rose lemonade soda. Thank you, Athena, but I’ll pass, Ramón replied in kind. Your husband is a convincing man. These are quite good.

The party had been going splendidly. Then, surveying the entire yard Eddie had noticed his mother was still seated inside, surrounded by his tía and abuela, having animated conversation. He could not hear their voices, but he had watched as Pepa held herself in a defensive stance, waving her arms. She had gestured towards the front door before storming off in the opposite direction with Isabel closely following. All the while his mother remained eerily still.

Eddie had frowned, putting Jee down, who immediately stumbled towards her father. He had caught Buck’s attention with a tilt of his head, then watched how Buck excused himself from the table, saying, This game isn’t over, Henrietta. I know you’re cheating, to keep the mood light.

Hen had merely crackled in that affable tone of hers. Prove it, Buckley.

Buck had walked him towards a secluded area near the Grant-Nash garage where mature trees provided shade from the high sun. His heart had started racing. The Earth had tilted on its axis. Buck had placed a hand on his face. The warmth had helped calm him. Hey, what’s that face for? Buck had asked. Let me in.

Eddie had pieced everything together: he had considered Pepa’s indignation over the rental car and how his parents’ vacation had been organized by Ramón when it had always been Helena’s task; he had reflected on the way his mother had taken on a more passive attitude towards this visit. During days leading up to their flight, she had not verbalized any delight in seeing him or Buck and instead kept all her focus isolated on Christopher. On its own, her behavior was ultimately predictable: after all, their relationship was strained, buckling under the weight of his relationship with Buck. But, throughout Eddie’s childhood, Helena had loved the planning process more so than the vacations themselves. She would spend weeks compiling an array of travel guides and created detailed itineraries to make sure they covered everything. Vacation was the only time Helena had let loose and relaxed. And Eddie had naïvely believed her lively demeanor would make an appearance in Los Angeles. She loved Isabel and Pepa. She hadn't seen Christopher in months. Even if she didn't acknowledge him, he had thought she and Athena would get along.

Eddie had breathed in, closing his eyes, and tucked his head in the crook of Buck’s neck. I don’t think mom wants to be here, he said, voice cracking.

Buck had stayed quiet, his eyes downcast, and wrapped his arms around Eddie’s waist. They had stood there together, swaying and listening to the songbirds sing merrily. Then, in an instant, it was as if his walls just came crashing down. He had begun to cry at an alarming rate, his tears leaving a dark stain on Buck's maroon shirt. Buck had slid his hand under Eddie’s henley, his fingers tracing soothing circles down his back. Eddie no longer wanted excuses or justifications for Helena’s behavior. He had given her years to adjust to him being gay. Their family was around the corner, laughing and smiling and chatting among themselves, mostly strangers to his mother’s apprehensions, and she couldn't find the strength to act happy for him. She had even gone so far as refusing to get to know her son's captain. Eddie sunk farther into Buck’s arms and sobbed.

Eddie should not need more preparation. Buck had spent the better part of an hour making him shake and quiver beneath him. Buck’s hands spread him out. Buck’s tongue pried him open. Buck’s fingers teased his prostate until he bit his lip and pleaded for more. He needed Buck to fuck him until nothing but bliss was left inside him. Eddie lied face down and whined with dissatisfaction, as he listened to Buck’s stifled moans, the sound muffled by his cloud-like pillows.

Suddenly Buck’s bright blue eyes met his. Buck was lying beside him, teasing his fingers through his hair. Eddie hadn’t even registered his movements. "I know, baby," Buck said in a subdued tone, as if he saw right through his grief, as if he had somehow gained a better understanding of his delicate state. "I’m getting myself ready now. Can you handle that? I want this to be as good for you as it always is for me."

"You’re always good to me," Eddie said softly, reiterating. "Please stop making me wait."

"Hey no, that’s not what I’m doing."

"That’s what it feels like."

Buck fisted his erect dick. He noticed the slickness of Buck’s shaft: his short, quick strokes offered no resistance. Excessive lubricant dripped all down Buck’s hand. He thirsted for Buck like a parched man stranded in the Mojave Desert. Buck, Buck, Buck.

"I always want to be inside you," Buck admitted to him unequivocally, their eyes locked on each other. "Have I ever told you that?"

Eddie closed his eyes, a little breathless. "No," he lied.

"Then let me remind you," Buck said, draping his body over Eddie’s once more.

Eddie wanted to laugh. God. He wanted to find some humor in this situation. When he was a kid, he had imagined his adult life with much less sophistication. He had dreamed of reaching the Majors, playing outfield for the Texas Rangers, meeting Ryan Nolan and Iván Rodríguez, being inducted into the Hall of Fame, his portrait immortalized in Cooperstown. But there were times he had wondered if being a parent was as rewarding as Helena insisted. With him. With his sisters. During PTA meetings. Whenever her friends overtook their living room for girls’ night, nursing a few wine coolers and snacking on cheesecake bites. Eddie could hardly see himself with a wife. Not then, not at thirteen, and especially not now as he groaned while Buck pressed his cock against his hole, slowly easing the crown in, gradually. He had spent too many nights trying to figure out his celebrity crush so that his friends wouldn’t tease him when the subject inevitably came up: practicing Jessica Alba over and over again until her name naturally rolled off his tongue and the acute panic in his chest waned. Helena must’ve sniffed out the homosexuality in him early on. Maybe that’s why, despite disliking Shannon, she had indulged their relationship for so long.

At least wild, selfish, reckless Shannon had been a woman.

"Buck, fuck—" he grasped, adjusting to the girth of Buck’s cock as he fully penetrated him.

Would Helena have liked Buck more if he had stayed his friend? If Helena hadn’t perceived Buck as the leading symptom of her only son’s chronic disease? Helena would eventually have come around if he stuck it out with Ana instead, instead of coming out at age thirty-five, shattering all remaining illusions that he was a traditional Hispanic Texan. He had never found the courage to ask her what changed. Call it instinct, but Eddie had always known the answer. He had argued with himself, with Frank, and, at times, with Buck over that reading between the lines. Hearing what she inferred had been confirmation enough: Helena didn’t have to be forthright for him to know she didn’t approve. His mother was homophobic in that safe liberal way. She had supported the gay community, always muttered under her breath, a half-disparaging expression that was casually cruel, as if she believed the division and the confusion and the isolation gay men and women felt originated from them, not us. She supported equal rights, but she had done so from a distance. She had appreciated the distance. All her friends had been straight. She had cut ties with her family in her early twenties, so she didn’t have to involve herself in any of those affairs. His handful of gay cousins had all moved to more progressive coastal cities.

Then Eddie took an eraser to that distance one ordinary autumn day for his own sake. Hi, mom, dad. I’m ready to tell you what I’ve been working towards these past few months. Abuela already knows, but yeah, I think it’s time now.

He had acted selfishly and made it far too close.

"More, Buck, please," Eddie breathed out as he met Buck’s thrusts with enthusiasm. He felt the light scratch of Buck’s stubble along his back. Buck’s lips were on his shoulder, sucking kisses that would later bruise.

Buck grunted in response. "How are you still so tight, baby?"

Buck placed his large hands on Eddie's hips, lifting him in search for a better position. As Eddie's body shifted, Buck’s cock brushed against his prostate, eliciting a deep moan.

"I don’t know."

"I think you do know, Eds. You were built for this, weren’t you? Born to take dick."

"Yes," Eddie agreed readily. Maybe too easily. Buck could get him to sign his life over to him if he stayed fucking him like this, treating him as if he were his whore.

Eddie learned early into their relationship that Buck had a proclivity for words. They had fallen into bed together after their first date, Buck having treated him to a wonderful three course meal at a renowned Italian restaurant, then a walk along the ocean shore. Scattered stars and moonlit night sky had soothed his fears that somehow Eddie would mess up the most perfect night of his life. When the date ended, Buck had walked Eddie to his porch with the full intention of heading home after their goodbyes, but then he had pressed Eddie against his door, cradling his jaw in hands, pulling him in, his tongue slipping past his lips, and everything else drifted away. He had seen no reason to delay the inevitable, as he relinquished control. Eddie had needed Buck badly that night, and as he felt Buck’s rapidly hardening cock against his thigh, he had known Buck needed him, too. So Eddie had dragged him inside, where he learned how much Buck liked running his mouth, his fingers carding through Eddie's hair while he was on his knees, and telling Eddie how good he looked sucking dick.

Eddie hissed and arched his back as Buck continued his steadfast pace.

"You take me so well, Eds. I love fucking you. I love how sweet and pliant you get when a cock’s inside you. Tell me you love it, too."

Eddie clutched his pillow, biting his lips. "Please, Buck, please—" Take me, have me. I need this so bad. You don't know how much I always need you.

"Were you like this with every man you slept with?" Buck teased. "Did you save this all for me?"

Oblivious was not a word you could ever use to describe Eddie. He might not be an open book, but his body language revealed enough. Eddie stood in parade rest when he was uncomfortable and restless, more willing to cling to Buck when relaxed. Helena’s consternations weren’t even all about him being gay. He had often turned it over in his mind. What about it could’ve made Helena so disappointed? He had been so concerned about what he thought she might have known that he looked past the truth. She could have accepted having a gay son if he liked doing the penetrating more so than being penetrated. He liked getting fucked a little too much and Helena must have known from their very first trip. She was not a fly on their wall, but she always had a way of knowing. Considering, he had slept with Buck in his childhood bedroom, chasing the high of fulfilling the classic, clichéd teenage fantasy of sneaking in your boyfriend during their weeklong stay. Eddie had taken Buck like a champ that night. He liked nights where Buck drilled him so deep and hard that he walked with a limp the following day. He liked mornings where they could fit a slow, languid lovemaking that was more for their comfort than finishing. That night they had kept themselves quiet by breathing into each other’s mouths, cutting off every gasp and every moan and cry with a heady kiss. Buck had teased him with whispered words that made him shiver and plead. Eddie had cleaned up their dried semen from their chests with a bowl of warm water and waffle hand towel. They had stripped his old bed of its sheets, giggling intermittently as they made out against the washer.

At breakfast, she had briefly glared at him in disgust as he sat down, handing Buck a cup of coffee. No sugar, a dash of sweet cream. Helena must've known then.

"Not every man," Eddie whimpered. "Only one ever came close."

Buck stifled a laugh. "Close?" Buck asked rhetorically. "I’m lucky then. I’m glad you chose me."

"I love you, Evan. I love that you give me this," Eddie said, and his mother hated him for fixing his morning coffee, for taking his cock, for being most comfortable around him. "I never loved Brandon."

Helena had hated him to her dying breath.

She had left the Earth with an unjustifiable belief that Eddie was incapable of raising his son. To her, Eddie could never be a great father because he didn’t settle down with a woman who had his mother’s approval. He could have remained a good father if he’d remained single, choosing a life of solitude and not flaunting his proclivities in her face. But he had instead moved so far from her sphere of influence that she found silence favorable, and that made him unsuitable for her love or affection. With Eddie clinched around Buck’s cock, his breaths laborious, he had never been more conflicted. His temperature was rising, his orgasm approaching. He felt so, so good. Eddie wanted Buck inside him at all times, but all he ever wished for was his parents’ love. Helena had left him without saying goodbye. He will never see her again or hear her voice or wonder if she will actually attend his wedding. He’ll have to debate his sisters on whether it’s worth contacting the Ceders. Hi, I’m the nephew you never met, because your father called mine an ethnic slur, but I drew the unlucky straw. I have some news. Your sister died this past Tuesday. Then assist his papá in the administration work. The death notifications, cancellations of services, cremation or burial. Eddie closed his eyes for a brief moment and listened to the sounds of Buck and his bodies coming together, flesh on flesh, perpetually in sync, then a harsh, hiccuping sob escaped his lips. If there was truly a Divine, an everlasting paradise that they knew as Heaven, Helena must be looking down at him with a devastating opinion.

Good, he hates me, too.

Tears spilt down his face. "Oh god, fuck," Eddie choked out. "Please don’t ever leave."

Buck paused, halting his thrusts, his dick halfway out. "Eddie, what’s going on?" Buck asked cautiously. "You’re not making sense."

"No, no, no. Evan, don’t stop," Eddie said, body trembling. He was close, he was right at the edge. He was still crying. "I’m fine—I’m fine, I swear. I need this, I need you inside me. Please not right now. Please stay inside me. I promise, I’m fine."

"I don’t know if I should believe you."

"Can you trust me instead?"

"You know there’s no one I trust more than you."

"Then please make me come," Eddie begged, his voice cracking. "I’m not fragile."

Buck dropped a faint kiss on his shoulder. "Okay, Eds," Buck replied patiently, resuming at a slower, more tender pace. "I got you. You won’t break."

Eddie gasped, dropping his head in relief, readjusting to Buck’s swift strokes. He reached out for Buck’s hand, lacing their fingers together, and gave himself over to their handmade rapture. If his mother believed he was weak for receiving, he might as well take and take and take. It was not enough to stop his sorrow, but his pleasure mixed so well with his pain, as if just from being inside him, Buck unknowingly prevented Eddie from diving off the sandstone cliffs.

"You’re withholding something huge, and it’s been making you sad," Buck whispered into his ear after a particularly intense thrust, his cock pressing right against his prostate. "But you’re safe with me. I hope you know that you can come to me with anything." Buck wrapped his large, skilled hand around Eddie’s cock, his fingers teasing the crown, his palm working the shaft. "I love you, baby, I’ll always take care of you."

Eddie rocked into Buck’s hand. He didn't have to look to know his cock was a straining dark pink, coated with his precum. He was so close to the feeling that he was chasing. Just needed one last push. "Evan, Evan, Evan," Eddie chanted, his tears unrelenting.

Eddie spilt all over their sheets with a final flick of Buck’s wrist, despondent.

Nestled in Buck’s arms, Eddie timed his taut breaths with his. Buck had moved them to an upright position, carding his fingers through his sweat logged hair as Eddie lied against his chest. Eddie, baby, you’re having a panic attack, Buck had reassured him. Stay with me, Can you open your eyes? You’re at home, you’re with me, and you’re safe. He had helped people trapped in similar crises before. There was nothing unique about a middle aged woman flatlining in her husband’s arms. Untimely deaths happen. His family weren’t the only victims of circumstance.

Buck dropped a timid kiss on his shoulder. "Are you back with me?"

Eddie hummed his assent. "I don’t panic," he said, triggering a kind chuckle from his fiancé.

"I wish you’d stop saying that. Your medical history states otherwise." Eddie felt the squeeze as Buck held him tighter, as if he was afraid Eddie would run away. But he wouldn’t, even if situations got hard. Eddie was safest in Buck’s arms. "You know it’s okay to have them, right?" Buck asked. "Panic is nothing to be ashamed of."

"I know, Evan," Eddie said defensively, "I had an appointment earlier today."

Buck hummed right back. "Will you explain what that was, then?" he asked kindly.

"It was nothing, I'm fine."

"It's not nothing," Buck countered. "I enjoy working you up, I like seeing you beg and cry and all sorts of stuff, but the way you’ve been acting…I didn’t put a pin in it because I love you and I trust that you know your limits, and if you really didn’t want it, you’d tell me, but you gotta know that was really concerning for me."

"I don’t know what you want me to say," Eddie replied, dispirited.

Eddie could’ve let this spiral out of control, let the conversation escalate into a fight. He and Buck had had their fair share of disagreements, but they had never allowed them to fester and develop into full-fledged arguments. He hated arguing, disliked how wretched he felt after. Eddie had spent too much of his previous life fighting, he was ready for rest now.

"You can start with the truth," Buck said in equal measure, tracing light spirals along his arm. "Sometimes you still act like you gotta go through life alone, but you don’t. We’re partners in every way, we’re getting married in eight months. And I would do anything to relieve your pain. So, please, let me in, let me have your back. Let me help you."

"Mom died."

"Jesus, Eddie, Helena—"

"It was a heart attack. She died early this morning while you were at work and Christopher was in class and while I was in therapy complaining about her. She called me out of the blue two days ago when the last time we talked was at our engagement party. We spent hours arguing over Christopher’s crutches. He must’ve told her without thinking, because I mean, he didn’t have a reason not to. He still deserved a relationship with his grandmother, even if."

"Eddie, baby—"

"And he’s getting taller and more grown up every minute and you know how she gets when she can latch onto anything to criticize me. Christopher isn't upset. His physical therapist got him a loaner, you know? God, I told her that before suggesting we talk later after we both cooled down. But Evan, later’s never coming. Mom didn’t say I love you back."

Eddie’s breathing quickened, his heart rapidly beating. Suddenly he wished he was already in El Paso, instead of hiding in Buck’s arms. He needed Ramón. He needed his papá. He started crying again, softer this time. He would do anything for the ability to rewind this cursed day to tell his mother you need a fucking hospital, not a goddamn nap.

"She died hating literally everything about me, and I still—I still fucking love her, you know?"

Buck hummed quietly. "Helena might've been a bigot, but she was still your mom."

"When you put it like that," Eddie said lightly, a small smile blooming across his face. It was the first time he’d laughed since Ramón had called.

"It doesn’t feel right to dance around the facts," Buck added, nonchalantly. "I wish you’d told me earlier. What do you need from me?"

"Can you accept my apology? I placed you in an awkward position. I shouldn’t have done that."

Buck grew silent and readjusted their positions until they were facing each other, Eddie seated properly on his lap. "Your mom died not even twelve hours ago. I don’t expect you to handle things perfectly or at all. You could’ve said something sooner, sure, but I trust you. There’s no apology for me to accept," Buck said, drawing him into an aimless kiss. It was a good kiss, a light kiss for Eddie’s comfort. "I don’t even need your answer. I’m going to replace these sheets while you shower so that you can take a nap, and while you’re sleeping I’ll call Bobby to hash out the details of our leave. Then we’ll tell Christopher together once his friend drops him home from science club."

Eddie dropped his head into the dip of Buck’s chest, shaking. "Buck, you don’t have to—"

"Yes, I do," Buck interrupted. "I love you."

"Thanks for always taking care of me," Eddie said, his voice muffled. "I love you too."

Helena Díaz died Tuesday morning. Eddie Díaz found out later early that afternoon, sitting in the front seat of his truck. He had showered and slipped into a pair of gray cotton sweats left on his soft, clean bed. Now he drifted, listening to the sound of his fiancé's voice.

Hey, Bobby. Are you in your office? Something came up…

*