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“Jesus fucking Christ,” Buck said the moment he laid eyes on Tommy, black and blue and gingerly holding an ice pack to his bandaged face. Buck grimaced apologetically at the nurse who had led him through the ER, but she just pulled the curtain around the bed closed with a practiced jerk and left them alone.
“I’b so sorry,” Tommy choked out, though what was a spectacularly broken nose. “Dey said I can’t leave alone wid a concussion, and I couldn’t ask anyone else.”
Buck had questions—so many questions—but he started with the most obvious ones.
“Are you okay? What the hell happened?”
“Flibbed my goddamn trug on the I-5.” Tommy leaned his head back against the pillows with a sigh and closed his bruised eyes. “Might’a totalled it. No other vehicles involved, thang god.”
A cold weight dropped in Buck’s stomach, like a ship settling onto the ocean floor. Quietly he asked, “Were you drinking?”
“No,” Tommy answered emphatically. “I was going too fast and got… lost in my own head, I guess. Wasn’t paying attention.”
“Uh, rough day at work?”
“Didn’t have a shift today. I was just drivin’ around.” Tommy swallowed with difficulty before continuing. “I just need a ride home, and den you can get back to whatever you were doing.”
“It’s fine,” Buck said gently. “I’ll go see if they have your discharge paperwork ready.”
“I’b so sorry,” Tommy repeated miserably.
Buck ducked through the curtains and strode towards the nurses’ station. Halfway there, he had to stop and remind himself to breathe. Jesus, he said to himself again, running his hand over his mouth. He’d worked enough of those scenes that he could see this one perfectly in his mind—Tommy’s truck flipped over a guardrail, its cab mangled and its headlights still shining out uselessly into the dark. Tommy had always said the old beast made up for its terrible gas mileage by being built like a fucking tank. It had probably saved him tonight.
The nurse at the desk promised to bring the discharge papers soon, but she clammed up when Buck asked about Tommy’s injuries. You’re not his family or his partner, her stern expression said. Buck resented the reminder. He took the long way back through the maze-like ER to Tommy’s bed, just to give himself another minute.
This was not how Buck had imagined seeing Tommy for the first time since… that night.
After they’d broken up, he’d thought that getting sent to the same call was the most likely way for them to run into each other. It might not even be a conversation, maybe just a glimpse of his blue flight suit or his voice through the radio as the 118 worked. But that hadn’t happened—before or since their disastrous, post-breakup hookup three weeks ago—and Buck was almost able to hear the drone of a hovering LAFD helicopter these days without tensing up. Almost.
Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised that the universe was refusing to throw Tommy and him together in a predictable way. After all, they’d worked in the same department and had mutual friends for years, but it took an unauthorized flight to an upside-down cruise ship for them to finally meet. You couldn’t get much crazier than that.
Tommy was struggling to sip water through a straw when Buck returned to his bedside.
“Ever brogen your nose?” he asked Buck.
“When I was a kid. I went over the handlebars on my bike trying to ride down some stairs like a dumbass.”
“Dis is my first tibe, believe it or not. It sugs balls.”
Against his will, Buck laughed. “Keep that ice pack on it. Did they set it for you?”
“Yeah. Dat was fun. Next trug’s def’nitely gonna have airbags. Front airbags. Side airbags. All da airbags.”
“Good idea,” Buck said, amused. Tommy’s pain meds were obviously kicking in. “Hey, did you hurt anything besides your head?”
Tommy shook his head, then winced. “Just some bruises.”
Buck studied him for a moment, trying to gauge if he was telling the truth, then pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down.
“Tommy, why did you text me? Not that I mind, but why not someone from the 217?”
“Because… dey would ground me.”
“I hate to break it to you, but you’re not going to be flying anytime soon with a concussion. That’s gonna keep you off duty for at least a couple of weeks.”
“No, not dat,” Tommy said, turning his face away from Buck. “I mean if dey found out that I’m—”
He was cut off by the nurse stepping through the curtains with his paperwork. She went through the instructions briskly, then peeled the electrode pads off Tommy’s chest and unclipped the pulse oximeter from his finger. When she was gone, Tommy sat up with a groan and swung his legs over the edge of the bed carefully.
“Find my shoes?” he asked Buck. He plucked at the hospital gown he was wearing over his jeans. “I ding my shirt’s a total loss.”
Buck found the white t-shirt on the other chair. It was, in fact, stained with blood down the front. He wadded it back up and tossed it into the garbage, very much wishing he hadn’t looked at the damn thing at all. God. Before he could dwell on it too long, he slipped Tommy’s sneakers back onto his feet and helped him to stand.
“Ready?”
“Let’s go,” Tommy said. He gently tried to pull his arm out of Buck’s grip, but Buck held firm. “I’b not dizzy.”
“It’s a long walk to the parking garage. So either let me hold onto you or I’m going to get a wheelchair.”
Tommy grunted, acquiescing, and allowed Buck to lead him out. All through their slow trek through the cool April evening to the garage, Tommy’s words echoed through Buck’s head: If they found out… if they found out… Found out what? His relief at finding Tommy not-too-badly injured darkened into dread.
“Oh, my god,” Tommy murmured after he’d settled into the passenger seat of Buck’s truck and flipped the sun visor down to look in the mirror. He gave a horrified little laugh. “I loog awful. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Well that would be rude,” Buck answered. “Hey, don’t poke at those bandages.”
“It won’t matter if I do. Dey packed by nose so full of gauze dat I can’t even wiggle it. See? Ow.”
“Tommy.”
“Okay, fine.”
“Do you have Tylenol at home, or do we need to stop for some?”
“I have sub.”
“Good. Let’s get you home.” Buck started the engine, but Tommy put a hand on his arm before he could put it into gear.
“I’b sure you didn’t want to do dis. I appreciate it.”
“I really don’t mind, Tommy. I’m glad you texted me.”
In the dark, Tommy made an embarrassed sound. “Uh… Full disclosure, I tried Howie and Hen first.”
“We’re they busy or something?” Buck asked, frowning.
“No, dey… dey blogged my number. Blogged. Ugh.”
“Blocked,” Buck supplied absently. He sat with Tommy’s disclosure—and the obvious grief with which it was made—for a moment before saying, “I didn’t ask them to do that.”
“I know,” Tommy sighed. “I shouldn’t be surprised, after Eddie ghosted me. I deserve it.”
“Hey. No you don’t.”
Tommy didn’t try to argue, but Buck could tell he wasn’t convinced. He remained silent for the entire ride home, and when they were stopped at a red light, Buck glanced over and saw that he had propped his elbow on the door in order to cover his eyes with one hand. Light sensitivity, Buck told himself. A common concussion symptom. Tommy definitely wouldn’t be crying in Buck’s truck right now. Not unflappable, confident Tommy.
There was something going on with him—something more than being shaken up by an accident.
*
It was almost eleven when they pulled into Tommy’s driveway. Buck pushed through a wave of sadness as he went around to the passenger side. How many evenings together had ended here, with a leisurely drive back from wherever they’d gone out that night, followed by a more urgent walk to the front door and then right into Tommy’s bedroom? Dozens? And never once had it occurred to Buck that it might be the last time. He’d been so besotted, so damn sure that everything was going great.
On the doorstep, Tommy dug his keys out of the pocket of his jeans and let them into the house. Buck heard him sigh as he reached for the lightswitch.
“Don’t judge, alright?”
Buck couldn’t hold back a sad “oh” when he saw it—the living room of a man who normally wouldn’t leave so much as a sock lying on the floor. This looked like the kind of pathetic scene you saw in movies, right down to the debris field of empty glasses, takeout containers, and wadded-up tissues on the coffee table. Tommy had made a nest of blankets on the sofa, where he’d apparently been spending a lot of time, and the room smelled like fried rice and burnt popcorn.
Further proof that Tommy was really not doing well.
Buck didn’t comment, though; it didn’t feel like the right moment, with Tommy starting to sway on his feet beside him. So Buck steered him towards the bedroom and wordlessly began to straighten out the bedding and find him something to sleep in.
“Do you want to have a quick shower first? From the neck down, I mean?” Buck asked as he stood behind Tommy and untied the hospital gown.
Tommy shook his head. “Jus’ wanna get to bed. I’ll wash up in the morning. You prob’ly want to get going.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be out on the couch so you can call me if you need anything.”
“You really don’t have to—”
“Well, I’m going to,” Buck said firmly, reaching for a clean tank top from the dresser. “You shouldn’t be alone, and unless there’s someone else you’d like me to call, I’m staying.”
Tommy’s shoulders sagged, and Buck knew he’d won. He helped Tommy change, averting his eyes at times when the impulse to press his lips against a favorite place—the curve of Tommy’s shoulder after he pulled the tank top over his head, the soft hollow of his hip as he slid Tommy’s jeans off —became nearly too strong to resist. This could have been yours, a voice whispered in Buck’s head, if you hadn’t put your goddamn foot in your stupid mouth.
Tommy, too, seemed to be holding his breath through the whole operation. They were flying dangerously close to each other, a risky but necessary maneuver. But they stayed on-course. And then it was done and Buck was helping Tommy into bed, safe on solid ground again.
“I didn’t want you to see me like dis,” Tommy mumbled as Buck pulled the covers over him.
Buck wasn’t sure if he was referring to his messed-up face or messed-up house, so he shrugged and said, “You know I’ve seen worse. I see worse almost every shift.”
“But not me,” Tommy insisted.
“You think you’re special or something?” Buck tried to say it playfully, but it had come more harshly than he’d meant it to.
“I know you’re probably… not doing great right now, either.” Tommy reached up and groped around clumsily until he found Buck’s hand. “With Eddie gone.”
“I’m doing okay, actually,” Buck said tersely. He pulled his fingers out of Tommy’s grasp and stepped back from the bed. “Get some rest now. Give a shout if you need me.”
Without waiting for Tommy to answer, Buck strode out, leaving the bedroom door open a few inches. He found the kitchen in a better state than the rest of the house, presumably because Tommy hadn’t been doing much cooking lately. With an empty garbage bag he grabbed from under the sink, Buck went to the living room and started shoving takeout containers into it, more aggressively than was necessary.
It was better than what he really wanted to do, which was to march back to Tommy and say, Not this bullshit again.
Buck had never called Tommy, despite telling Maddie that he would. Every time he’d thought about apologizing, he had gotten tripped up by the way that Tommy had seemed a little glad that Eddie had left. Glad that Eddie had damaged his relationship with his son, and glad that Buck had lost them both. They’d been friends once, with their Muay Thai and classic cars, their Army days to reminisce about. Apparently that was all forgotten now.
Then again, Eddie had dropped Tommy like a hot potato after he dumped Buck, so maybe their friendship hadn’t run very deep in the other direction, either.
When the living room was habitable again, Buck carried the nest of blankets to Tommy’s washing machine and then got to work on the kitchen. There wasn’t much to do there besides load the dishwasher and wipe down the surfaces. The refrigerator was nearly empty, but there were an alarming number of Trader Joe’s macaroni and cheeses in the freezer. Huh. That was Tommy’s breakup comfort food discovered. Buck would have guessed something sweeter. His fingers practically itched to open his grocery app, fill his cart with fresh produce and that pricey multigrain bread that Tommy liked, maybe some things to make a couple simple meals.
Buck’s hand was halfway to his phone when he stopped himself. No, let Tommy order his own groceries. Buck was just here to keep an eye on him through the night. But it was hard—so hard—not to throw himself back into the role of the doting boyfriend. Tommy had already tried that, hadn’t he, when he presented that lavish breakfast spread to Buck after they’d hooked up? And it had ended up with Buck putting most of it down the garbage disposal—which was a pretty decent metaphor for the way their night together ended, actually.
No matter how sorry a state Tommy was in, Buck wasn’t in the mood to return the favor anymore. He sat down at the kitchen table and texted Eddie instead: You’ll never guess where I am rn.
But after a few minutes of watching for a reply, Buck put his phone face down on the table. Eddie was probably at work, and his new captain was much stricter about phone use than Bobby was. Maybe it was better if Eddie didn’t text back because, honestly, Buck wasn’t sure how he felt about this fucked-up situation. He’d found himself tugged in one direction by the horrifying sight of Tommy’s bandaged and miserable face, then in the other by his frustration with their recent night together, all while knee deep in regret and grief and the surrealness of being in Tommy’s house again.
It had been an hour, Buck realized. He should probably check on Tommy. He found him asleep, breathing noisily through his mouth with the covers kicked off. His hair was a mess, like he’d run both hands through out of frustration while he tried to get comfortable. Buck smiled. He couldn’t help it. Is this how Tommy felt when Buck’s face was covered in boils?
Oh, so I am gross?
That’s not what I said!
With a sigh, Buck picked up a spare pillow from the bed for himself. It felt like a year had gone by since they had teased each other across Buck’s kitchen table. A really shitty year, as a matter of fact. Tommy. Eddie. Christopher. Goodbyes and goodbyes and goodbyes.
Buck told himself that he should sleep. Letting these gloomy, late-night thoughts get their claws into him wouldn’t do him any good. He shifted the wet blankets into the dryer, then found a clean one to take with him to the couch. In the morning, he would make sure Tommy could look after himself and then go back to his own life.
A life that probably wouldn’t include Tommy.
The dryer rumbled down the hall. A car blaring music drove by and set the living room windows buzzling with its subwoofers. Buck rolled over onto his side, tugged the blanket back into place, and counted his breaths until he drifted off.
*
The sound of the bathroom door closing woke Buck. It was still pretty early, judging by the light outside. His phone, retrieved from the now-cleared coffee table, told him exactly how early. He really ought to have peeked in on Tommy at least once during the night, Buck thought guiltily—and now he’d have to make up for it somehow, otherwise it would be on his conscience all day. He waited for Tommy to come out, then followed him into the bedroom.
“How are you feeling?”
“Lige I was run over by my trug a few times instead of trapped inside it,” Tommy moaned as he got back under the covers. “I just toog some Tylenol.”
“Good. A hot shower will probably help, too,” Buck said from the doorway.
“What tibe is it?”
“A little after six. Do you want to sleep a while longer, and then I’ll find something for breakfast?”
Tommy curled in on himself a little, no doubt reminded of the embarrassing lengths he’d gone to for Buck not so long ago. That too-optimistic bottle of champagne that was still sitting, unopened, in Buck’s fridge. “You don’t need to do dat.”
“I know, but I couldn’t help but notice that there’s fuck-all to eat in your kitchen.” Buck paused to make sure Tommy caught the full force of his disapproval. “So I’d like to make sure you have one decent meal in you before I leave you to your macaroni and cheese-and-takeout diet again. Not that the restaurants of greater Los Angeles are complaining, I'm sure.”
“Ouch. Don’t I get a little bit of sy’pathy?”
“For the injuries, yes. But not for your sad meal choices.” Buck started to leave, but the mention of Eddie and then the demand for sympathy had stirred up some of his irritation from last night again, and he couldn’t resist turning back with a jab. “I promise that your breakfast won’t come with any accusations about being secretly in love with someone else.”
Buck was halfway down the hall before Tommy called to him.
“Please don’t call me that,” Buck said as he returned to the bedroom. “First of all, you never called me Buck before, so it’s kind of a dick move. And secondly, it sounds like you’re saying ‘Bug’ when your nose is packed like that.”
“I’b sorry,” Tommy mumbled. “I’b sorry for everyding. I know I fugged up. Fugged. Goddabbit!”
He looked so wretched and absurd with the bandages and his wild cap of curls that Buck couldn’t sustain the last tiny ember of his annoyance any longer.
“No, I shouldn’t have brought that up. Now’s not the time to talk about it,” Buck said contritely, once he’d steadied himself. “You were in a car accident less than twelve hours ago. You need to rest—and shower and eat. I don’t have a shift today, so I can stick around.”
Tommy took a deep breath and let it out again, defeated. “Alright. You’re right. Dank you… Evan.”
Even though Buck had asked Tommy to do it, hearing his name was the last straw. His heart couldn’t take it any more, this boomeranging of his emotions. So he retreated back to the couch, wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, and turned on the television with the volume muted.
6:21 AM, Buck’s lockscreen said.
Christ, it was going to be a long morning.
*
So where were you? Eddie finally texted back. His shift must have ended.
Buck stretched out on the couch with his phone. In the bedroom, Tommy was snoring away like Buck had never heard him snore before.
At Tommy’s. He was in a car accident last night.
Shit. Was he hurt?
Nothing serious. I’m just keeping an eye on him for a bit.
Why you?
Buck could almost hear the edge Eddie’s voice would take if he’d asked that out loud.
Because I want to. Buck backspaced over that, then typed, No one else was around to get him home from the hospital. And I couldn’t just dump him in the driveway and drive off, especially after I saw the inside of the house.
What happened to his house?
A big mess. I don’t think he’s doing well, mentally.
What does he expect YOU to do about it?
He doesn’t expect anything!
He watched the bubbles flash on the screen for what felt like five full minutes and braced himself for a rant. But when Eddie’s reply finally came, it was more understanding than Buck expected.
Ok, I know you’d never turn your back on someone in need. Just promise you won’t sleep with him. Sex with your ex is a terrible idea, trust me.
Buck grinned at his phone as he typed. Too late.
!!!! Fuck’s sake, Buck.
It wasn’t last night. We ran into each other at a bar about three weeks ago. Yes it probably was a mistake. But also pretty fun. And then we had a fight and he left.
Buck figured that Eddie wouldn’t ask for the details, and he was right.
I need to get some sleep before I can unpack all that. Call you when I wake up?
Sounds good.
Buck turned back to the morning news, but he may as well have had his eyes closed for all it registered. What was he going to do about it, as Eddie had asked—about Tommy pitching himself into this dark state of mind? It had apparently gotten so bad that he was worried about being grounded, for fuck’s sake. He’d seemed fine three weeks ago. Funny, self-assured—same as always. Well, until the next morning.
Until Buck accidentally implied that he didn’t care about Tommy. And Tommy left.
Yeah, okay. Buck really needed to apologize for that—today.
*
“Please stop staring at my face,” Tommy pleaded between small bites of breakfast burrito. “It prob’ly looks even worse dis morning.”
“Nope, I’d say it’s about the same level of hideous as last night,” Buck said with an easy grin.
“Greeeaat.”
The takeout burritos were a perfect compromise, in Buck’s mind. He wasn’t cooking for Tommy, which would have felt too much like their last morning together, but they were substantial enough to assure Buck that Tommy would be good until his groceries arrived later.
When they were done eating and their plates and coffee mugs were loaded in the dishwasher, Tommy shuffled over to the sofa. Buck saw the moment he registered that the living room was cleaned up. He accepted Tommy’s nod of appreciation with a shrug. After pulling the curtains closed to block out the morning sun, he sat down on the far end of the couch and looked Tommy over. He seemed… okay. Definitely less out of it than last night, but almost as miserable.
“You’re staring again, Evan. I’b fine now.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Buck said. “Because I was hoping you’d be up for a conversation. An overdue conversation. And we’re going to finish it this time.”
Tommy stiffened. “Well. I’d say you’ve got me cornered. No car, and I sure can’t outrun you in dis state.”
“I’m not trying to corner you,” Buck said with exasperation, then more gently, “I really want to talk about something that happened the, uh, the last time we saw each other.”
“Alright, fine. Which part?”
“The part when I said that I don’t have to have feelings for everyone I sleep with.” Buck waited until Tommy met his eyes. “I didn’t mean you, Tommy. I wasn’t talking about you.”
“Okay.” Tommy didn’t relax in the slightest as he said it.
“Look, the whole thing just caught me off guard,” Buck explained urgently. “I didn’t expect to run into you that night, or sleep with you. And I definitely didn’t expect you to want to try again. I’d kind of… given up hope by then, you know? It had been months without hearing a word from you, so I figured you’d moved on.”
Tommy shook his head slightly. “I didn’t. I haven’t.”
“I haven’t either, Tommy.” Buck gave him a small, helpless smile. “Everyone kept telling me to get back out there, date other people. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t imagine meeting someone who made me feel like you did, who fit as well as you did.”
“Evan,” Tommy started to interrupt.
“Let me finish please,” Buck said, holding up a hand. “All that’s to say: I do have feelings for you. A lot of them. And I was over the moon when you said you wanted to try again. I was going to say yes.”
“Oh. Oh, no.” Tommy curled forward to put his face in his hands, but thought better of it when they touched the bandages. He gripped his knees instead. “And den I had to go and say someding ridiculous about Eddie. I’b such an idiot.”
“Yes, it was a ridiculous thing to say,” Buck agreed. “Because I truly don’t feel that way about Eddie and never have. I don’t know what I did to give you that impression.”
“Nothing. You did nothing, Evan. It was just me finding someding to torment myself with. Your extremely handsome best friend, who you’re incredibly close with. Whose son adores you. I didn’t know if I couldn’t compete with dat in the long run.”
“Wait,” Buck said, taken aback. “The whole time we were together, you actually thought you were going to lose me to Eddie?”
“No— A little tiny bit, maybe. I… It’s not often that I have someding as good as you come into my life,” Tommy said with difficulty. “And when I do, it’s hard for me to believe it’s going to last.”
“So you go looking for reasons they might not?”
“Yeah, I guess dat’s it.”
“I get it. I do!” Buck insisted when Tommy looked doubtful. “It took me a lot of years and a lot of therapy before I stopped fucking up my life and my relationships because I had a hard time trusting anything—trusting myself, mostly. If we’re going to do this, then you’re going to need to trust me, too.”
“I do trust you,” Tommy said, a bit reproachfully.
“No, I mean you have to trust what I say to you. And what I feel for you.” Buck paused, bracing himself, because he wasn’t sure how Tommy was going to react to the next thing he said. “It was… hurtful to me when you said that I was just getting carried away by a new and exciting relationship when I asked you to move in. And that I was still figuring myself out. None of those things were true.”
“Evan, we don’t need to rehash all dat now,” Tommy said, squirming toward the edge of the cushions.
“Stop,” Buck said firmly. He slid closer and laid a hand on Tommy’s knee before he could stand up. “Stop. You can’t head for the door every time we hit a bump. If we’re going to try this again—and I want that more than anything—you need to learn not to run from me. And to listen.”
Tommy gave one, slow nod and leaned back again. “Yeah. Okay, I’b listening.”
“Good.” Buck looked around the room blankly for a moment. “Actually, I think that’s all I had to say. Oh! Except that I really wanted to call you, too. I should have told you that at the bar.”
“You did?” Tommy asked, his lips curling upward.
“I did. It was like torture not to call you. You have no idea the lengths I had to go to to stop myself. And I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’b glad you told me.” Tommy blinked at him for a moment, seeming a bit dazzled. “So… that’s it? We’re good now?”
“We’re good,” Buck confirmed. He caught Tommy’s chin gently with his fingertips and pretended to examine his face. Tommy’s blue eyes fluttered closed under the touch. “But we might have to postpone that date for a few Saturdays.”
Tommy chuckled. “Yeah, I’b not going out like dis.”
Almost shyly, Tommy laced their fingers together. Buck could tell he was letting it sink in, convincing himself that they’d flown through the squall and had come out the other side. He looked tired now, so Buck arranged himself so that Tommy could lay back with his back against Buck’s chest.
“I’b bound to do it again,” Tommy sighed. “Find made-up reasons why you’re inevitably going to dump me.”
“Just let me know before they take hold too deeply,” Buck murmured into his ear, “and I’ll convince you that you’re wrong. As long as you do your best to believe me, we’ll be fine. ‘Cause I’m sure as hell going to put my foot in my mouth again at some point.”
“We’ll have to try’n take turns being idiots.”
“Sounds fair. D’you want to watch a movie?”
“I’ll prob’ly fall asleep.”
“That’s okay.”
It felt so good to have his arms around Tommy again that Buck honestly didn’t care what they did. He’d be happy to stare at the walls. He pressed a kiss into Tommy’s hair and wriggled himself into a more comfortable position against the arm of the couch. This was all he wanted, all he’d been wanting since the night Tommy walked out of his loft.
Tommy made a sad hum, and then huffed, as if he was laughing at himself.
“What?” Buck asked.
“Just thinking about my trug. My poor trug!”
“Your poor truck.” Buck shivered, thinking again about the broken windows, the crumpled cab, the headlights. “Last night— What were you thinking about that distracted you, when you crashed?”
Tommy was quiet for a moment, then said in a barely-audible whisper, “Dat I’d never be able to be happy. Dat you were right not to care anymore, because I always poison whatever I touch and kill it.”
“Jesus, Tommy. How long have you been spiraling like this?”
“Oh,” Tommy said, then stalled for a few seconds until Buck gave him a little squeeze to prod him. “Since we hooked up, I guess.”
“God, I’m so sorry. I should have reached out to you to clear things up. And I’m sorry about your truck, too. I know you loved that thing.”
“Small price to pay, I suppose,” Tommy said mournfully. He caught one of Buck’s hands and kissed the inside of his wrist. “I’d rather have you.”
“You could have had both, if I had just called you. Hey, thank you for, um, being open like this. I get the impression that it’s not easy for you.”
Tommy scoffed. “It’s lige setting myself on fire, actually. You just caught me in a vulnerable moment. Put on that movie now, before I go hurl myself into traffic, would you?”
“Sure.”
Buck searched the menu until he found something suitable—some early 2000s Drew Barrymore romcom that Tommy must have seen and liked, judging by the way he happily relaxed against Buck’s chest. Buck flicked the blanket over their legs and started the movie.
“Hey,” he said, not too long after the opening credits, before Tommy could doze off.
“Mmm?”
“That bottle of champagne you left in my fridge,” Buck said quietly.
“What about it? Did you drink it?”
“No, I’ve decided to save it.” Buck tucked his chin down to get close to Tommy’s ear, and breathed, “For our second six-month anniversary.”
Tommy let out a rumbling laugh and tipped his head back for a kiss, bandages and all.