Chapter Text
Eddie’s days blur together now.
Same things, same order.
They are repetitive.
That isn’t to say they’re empty or without value, his work remains as both physically and emotionally demanding as ever.
Every shift still asks something of him that no one outside the job could fully understand. The need to act decisively in moments of chaos, to face people in their most vulnerable, to bear witness to the rawest edges of human life.
Those moments are never the same; each one leaves its own mark.
Of course the emotions and thoughts that come from those encounters shift from day to day, but the structure that holds them is unchanging.
He wakes up, showers, gets dressed, heads to work.
On the days he’s off, the shape only slightly changes.
He wakes up, gets dressed, runs until his lungs burn or pushes himself at the gym, showers, buys groceries, folds laundry, maybe cleans the kitchen.
Tasks that fill the hours without really touching him.
He hadn’t noticed this before Christopher left.
A month ago, he never would have called his life repetitive—he would have called it routine.
A steady and completely intentional rhythm he had built for himself and for his son.
He still did all the same things, he’d get up and shower like usual, but mornings had the sound of Christopher’s sleepy voice, breakfast shared at the table, a joke or two before school drop off, and then Eddie would head to work knowing exactly why he was doing it all.
Now his structure feels hollow.
What he once saw as stability has become an endless cycle he moves through without direction.
Maybe it’s because the old version of his days was tied to something bigger than himself.
Before he met Kim.
Before Christopher moved to Texas to get away from him.
Before Eddie made decisions he can’t take back.
Before, before, before.
Before when there was purpose.
Now there’s only the weight of repetition, the ache of living the same day over and over, without the one thing that used to make it matter.
Eddie is halfway through changing into his uniform when the locker room door swings open and Buck comes striding in. His broad shoulders are set with purpose, a box tucked under his arm, his whole frame carrying an energy that’s magnetising, and there’s a grin on his face so open and bright that it makes Eddie feel himself relax before he even knows what Buck is excited about.
“You’re about to thank past me,” Buck announces, his voice full of self-satisfaction.
Eddie snorts, shuts his locker with a firm push, and turns fully towards him, his hands moving to work on the line of buttons on his shirt. “Why’s that?”
“Well, a couple of weeks back I bought us the kits to track our family trees,” Buck says. “I forgot about it, but they came this morning.” He lifts the cardboard box he’s carrying and gives it a shake.
It’s an ordinary brown box, Bucks address slapped on the front, but the contents rattles inside.
Eddie raises an eyebrow at him, not because the suggestion is wild or out of character, it’s actually so unmistakably Buck that it’s almost funny.
Eddie has always thought that Buck was the kind of kid who took apart lightbulbs just to see how they worked, realising only after the fact that to get to the inside he shattered the glass and the thing would never function again.
Buck likes to know things, he likes to get to the root of something and examine it from every angle, he likes peeling away layers to get to the truth at the centre.
So, Buck wanting to do this doesn’t shock him.
What is surprising is the assumption that Eddie would find it equally appealing.
“Why?” Eddie asks flatly.
Buck’s smile softens a fraction.
“It’s something to do,” he says, with the kind of fake casualness that tells Eddie he’s already thought this through far more than he’s letting on. “We could find out more about who we are.”
Eddie doesn’t point out that he’s doing a terrible job of hiding whatever’s underneath this suggestion. “Pepa did all that a couple years ago.”
“You’ve still got your mom’s side,” Buck counters easily. “And I doubt Pepa went digging through her family history just for fun. Don’t be such a fun sponge, this could be great.”
“I’m not being a fun sponge,” Eddie replies, rolling his eyes. “Why don’t you do it with Tommy? Nice little couple bonding exercise.”
The second the words leave his mouth, Eddie almost wants to reach out and snatch them back. Or just open the box in Buck’s arms and demand it’s his.
“If I wanted to do it with him, I would,” Buck says, shrugging as he drops onto the bench in front of Eddie. “But I want to do it with you. I bought the kits for us. It’s something to keep you busy, and then you can tell Chris all about it, I think he’d find it interesting to know where he comes from.”
The mention of Chris pulls Eddie’s thoughts somewhere quieter. Last week, he’d told Buck how conversations with Christopher were getting harder. How he never had anything new to share, and how Chris is simply uninterested in volunteering anything about his own life. In the end, every FaceTime is a rotation of the same few topics, each one worn out from overuse.
He wonders if it takes about a week for the kits to arrive once you purchase them.
Eddie leans back against the lockers, his shoulders dropping and head bowing for a moment before he looks up again. Buck is watching him with an expectant look that makes it hard for him to say no.
Not because of the request itself, but because it’s coming from Buck.
A faint smile tugs at Eddie’s mouth, and he stretches his leg out to bump his foot against Buck’s calf. “You’re a good friend, you know that?”
Buck ducks his head for a moment, smiling at the compliment he wasn’t expecting. When he looks back up, the corners of his eyes are crease and there’s this ridiculous golden retriever joy in his expression that makes Eddie’s chest feel too tight.
Stop it.
“Best friend,” Buck corrects, popping open the box and pulling out one of the kits—a bright blue package with Origin stamped across the front. “Is there a best friend line on a family tree?”
“I don’t think so,” Eddie says, amused. “It’s all about genetics, not feelings.”
“But you’d put me on yours, right?” Buck grins.
“Obviously,” Eddie deadpans.
“I want it on my tombstone.”
Eddie huffs, and pushes off the locker, “Here lies Evan Buckley—son, brother, uncle… best friend.”
“Nah,” Buck tosses the kit back into the box. “Buck. Best friend. Brother. Uncle. Firefighter.” He punctuates each word with a small motion of his hand, like it’s a list that matters in exactly that order.
Eddie doesn’t even know where to start with unpacking that. Whether Buck even realises what it says about the weight he places on their friendship, whether he knows he’s saying that their relationship is the most important connection in his life.
It makes Eddie think about his own grave.
Would Christopher want it to say father?
Of course he would.
The thought of dying now and leaving his son with all that unresolved anger and hurt at only fourteen, is enough to make his stomach knot.
It’s exactly why Eddie knows he needs to keep working on the pieces of himself he hasn’t quite put back together yet.
It’s why he needs to fix everything he broke between him and his son.
Maybe this could help.
“Okay,” he says after a moment, “I’ll do it.”
“Do what?” Buck asks, like the conversation hasn’t been about anything else.
“That thing,” Eddie says, gesturing at the box.
“Oh, you didn’t really have a choice,” Buck says with a smirk. “Not only did I drop two hundred bucks per kit, I’m making you do this. I would’ve just swabbed your mouth while you were sleeping.”
Eddie shakes his head, but his smile stays put. “I think that’s illegal.”
”So put me in jail,” Buck shrugs.
Eddie honestly forgets about the whole thing almost as soon as Buck had swabbed his cheek and made a production out of sealing the sample in its little plastic envelope.
He tells him that he’ll sort everything else and Eddie moves on with his life.
It’s not like the results were going to arrive the next day.
It’s nearly six weeks later when there’s a knock at the door and Eddie opens it to find Buck standing there with the expression of someone who’s been waiting all day to share news. There’s a six pack of beer in one hand, a takeout bag hanging from the other, and a brightness in his voice before he’s even fully stepped inside.
“The results are in, and I’m completely European, which is not at all surprising, but exciting to know,” Buck says in a rush, grinning wide. “Did you get yours?”
“What?”
“Our ancestry thing,” Buck beams, shifting the weight of the takeout bag. “Did you check yours yet?”
Eddie doesn’t even get the chance to answer before Buck’s already heading for the kitchen.
Eddie closes the door and follows, accepting the open beer Buck presses into his hand without question.
He checks out the food as Buck begins to pull containers out of the bag. Burgers and fries, the smell wafting through the air makes him realise that he’s starving.
“I haven’t checked,” Eddie says, taking a slow sip of his beer.
“Well, go get your iPad,” Buck says immediately, pointing a fry at him in mock command. “I want to see if you were lying about the Swedish thing. I mean, you hate IKEA, so I’ve always been suspicious. You’ll have to make an account, it should’ve been emailed to you.”
Eddie doesn’t bother arguing, because really there’s no point. If he resists, Buck will just do it himself, and then Eddie will be the guy who doesn’t even know the password to his own family tree.
By the time he returns with the iPad, Buck’s unwrapped his burger and is already halfway through it, but there’s a plate set out for Eddie, his own burger and fries waiting.
He drops into the seat opposite, steals a fry, and starts scrolling through his inbox. Sure enough, there an email from Origin with the subject line: Eddie, your results are in!
“Got it,” he says, turning the screen so Buck can see.
“You’ve gotta make an account,” Buck says around a mouthful of food, then gestures toward Eddie’s plate. “But eat first. Before it gets cold.”
Eddie sets the tablet aside and reaches for another fry. “So, only European?” he asks casually. “Nothing else?”
“British and Irish, mostly,” Buck says with a shrug. “A little German, which I didn’t expect, but kind of cool, right? Who knows. As far as I know, my family’s been in Pennsylvania for at least the last hundred years, so… I’m curious when they actually came over.”
Eddie listens quietly, the pace of Buck’s words picking up in a way that makes it impossible to miss how much this excites him, each detail tumbling out as if he can’t get it out fast enough.
It’s not that Eddie isn’t curious about his own results, but the truth settles in quickly that his attention is far more fixed on hearing about Buck’s ancestry than thinking about his own.
What holds him isn’t the subject itself so much as the sight of Buck so animated, his eyes are bright with the rush of learning something new. Eddie finds himself just wanting to keep watching, to let him talk as long as he wants.
Buck wipes his mouth with a napkin and leans back slightly, “Also, the family tree bit, they connected me with some distant cousin on my mom’s side. Her name’s Helen. I already messaged her.” He takes a pull from his beer. “A brand new family member I didn’t even know existed.”
“What did you say?” Eddie asks sceptically.
“Nothing over eager,” Buck says, rolling his eyes.
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You were implying it,” Buck says, tipping his beer toward him.
Eddie grins. “So you didn’t ask if she wanted to meet up and plot a real paper tree together?”
“No, asshole.” Buck glares, but only for a second before he’s smiling again. “I just said hello and asked if she’d be interested in talking about what she’s found out.”
“Very mature.”
“Thank you,” Buck bows his head.
After they’ve eaten and cleared the table, they end up on the couch. Eddie balancing the iPad on his knee while Buck opens his laptop that he had to retrieve from his car, pulling up his tree with excitement.
“My great-aunt was named Margaret,” Buck says after a moment. “I wonder if that’s who my mom was named after.”
“Makes sense,” Eddie says. “Family names stick, I’m named after my abuelo.”
“No Evan’s anywhere on here,” Buck says, scanning his screen.
“Of course not,” Eddie says easily. “You’re one of a kind.”
“You said that nicely, but it still felt pointed.”
Eddie laughs, hitting enter on the final setup step. The site loads with a little animation of a book opening and decorative sparks leaping off the screen.
Buck is immediately in his space, leaning in until his temple rests against Eddie’s, the warmth of him bleeding through the small point of contact. He’s so close that Eddie can hear his breathing in the narrow space between them, the sound alone is enough to send a trail of goosebumps up his arms.
It’s an intimacy Buck probably doesn’t even think about, he’s always been like this, unconsciously closing the distance. Normally, Eddie wouldn’t even notice but suddenly it’s impossible not to feel every inch of him.
He swallows hard, eyes fixed on the shifting images on the screen, trying to keep his focus there and not on the way heat is rising steadily through his chest and into his face.
A second later, the results appear, predictable and unsurprising.
65% Indigenous Mexican, 15% Spanish, 20% Swedish.
“If I say snooze, will you be offended?” Buck asks, laughing lightly.
Eddie licks his lips, shifts back slightly so he can see him properly. “Sorry I’m not exciting enough for you,” he says, trying for a joke that doesn’t quite land.
“I just wanted something surprising, or…” Buck replies, his tone still casual until it trails off, the last word flattening as his eyes widen at the screen.
“Or what?” Eddie snorts. “You wanted me to uncover some deep dark family secret? Sorry to break it to you, Bud… but us Diazes are boring.”
But Buck doesn’t answer, doesn’t even smile. He’s gone still in a way that makes Eddie tilt his head.
“Buck?”
Buck’s gaze stays locked on the iPad, and before Eddie can see what’s spooked him, it’s being pulled from his hands and Buck is on his feet, the device clutched tight to his chest.
“What are you doing?” Eddie asks confused, slowly rising to his feet.
“I just—” Buck’s voice cuts off. He glances around the room like he’s looking for an escape route, and his colour has drained so fast it makes Eddie’s stomach twist.
“Buck.”
“What?”
“What the hell is going on right now?” Eddie’s voice edges upwards, confusion bleeding into frustration. “Are you messing with me? Because I’m seriously lost here.”
Buck’s fingers tighten around the iPad, and there’s something in his eyes that Eddie can’t yet name, but whatever it is, it’s clear that this is not a joke.
Oh.
“Buck, give me the iPad.” Eddie steps forward.
Buck takes a step back.
He bites down on his lower lip, swallows hard, and then shakes his head.
No.
“Buck—”
“Eddie.” The way he says his name is so quiet, so weighed down with something that makes Eddie’s entire body turn to ice. His eyes are glassy, on the verge of spilling over, and Eddie’s heartbeat kicks hard enough to make him feel a little sick.
“Buck, I need…” Eddie stops, because he doesn’t know how to finish that.
He doesn’t know what he needs.
He just knows this is bad.
He just knows Buck.
Eddie knows Buck.
And this isn’t a look he’s seen before, except maybe it is, in a far away part of his mind, when Buck’s trembling voice in a field hospital told him a truth he didn’t want to hear.
But that had been okay.
Christopher had been okay.
Buck had been okay.
So Eddie was okay.
“It could be wrong,” Buck says suddenly.
“What could be?”
“There-there has to have been a mistake,” Buck says quickly, the words tripping over each other now. “I’ll-I’ll call the company, and I’ll tell them they’ve screwed it up, that it’s wrong, okay? I’ll call them.”
“Give me the iPad,” Eddie says again, his own voice sounding strange to his ears.
He holds out his hand.
Buck’s mouth trembles, and he closes his eyes like he’s gathering himself, a shaky breath leaving him before he finally nods. When he opens them again, a tear escapes, slipping down his cheek as he extends the tablet towards him. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
Eddie takes it, his fingers brushing Buck’s before Buck pulls back fast, like even that contact might make this worse.
He looks down at the black screen, his own faint reflection staring back.
“You don’t have to,” Buck says quickly. “You could just leave it. Don’t look.”
Eddie glances up at him, and they both know without saying it that he isn’t going to let this go.
There’s no way he can look away now—not after seeing the way Buck reacted.
Buck might be impulsive, stubborn, even reckless at times, but he isn’t cruel. Everything he does comes from a place of wanting to help, of meaning well, of carrying a heart Eddie has never seen matched in anyone else.
“Or maybe just not now,” Buck says softly, stepping closer, his hand settling gently over the screen like he can shield Eddie from what’s on it. “Maybe leave it for now. You’re not… Eddie, you’re not doing well right now. I’ve been so worried about you and this—” his voice catches, “—you… Eddie, please don’t. Just leave it.”
It stings to hear the worry out loud, even if he’s always known it was there.
Eddie’s been worried about himself too, some days it feels like the pressure in his head might split him open, like the thoughts have been circling endlessly for far longer than Christopher’s been gone, will finally take him out.
It’s not new, it’s a shadow he’s lived with for years and he knows with a quiet certainty that it might never fully leave.
This heaviness. This rot that is buried so deep he doubts it can ever be scraped out completely.
He wants to do what Buck says, he wants to trust his friend and give him what he’s asking.
Buck never asks for anything.
Eddie moves Buck’s hand aside gently, giving it a brief squeeze. “Can’t do that, Buck.”
He unlocks the screen, his eyes already burning before they’ve even landed on the words.
The page loads with a list of genetic matches, names tied to people who have taken the same test, submitted the same kind of sample, their DNA now linked to his in a way that can’t be argued with.
And there, at the very top, in stark, unmissable type:
- Julian Cruz (Father)
- Emilia Hampton-Cruz (Paternal Half-Sister)
At first, the names barely register.
They appear one after the other, black text on a white screen, and for a moment his mind refuses to connect them to anything solid.
Julian’s name sits there bold, absolute, inarguable. As if it has any right to be attached to him. It feels unfamiliar and wrong in a way that makes his stomach hurt.
A stranger’s name where his father’s should be.
Beneath it, Emilia stares back at him with the same certainty, a combination of letters that should mean nothing but somehow carries the weight of something unshakable.
In the seconds that follow, the understanding settles into his bone with a cold inevitability that this isn’t a glitch in the system, it isn’t an administrative error to be brushed off or explained away.
This is fact.
This is the truth that’s been sitting untouched for years while he’s been living inside a version of his life that was never real.
His family tree doesn’t have Diaz at the top.
The man he’s called Dad his entire life is not his father.
The man Christopher calls Abuelo is not his sons grandfather.
Eddie’s Abuelo, his Abuela… aren’t his.
He licks his lips, his mouth dry, his whole body rigid as if locked in place.
“Eddie,” Buck says quietly, his hand settling on Eddie’s shoulder with careful pressure, and the sudden contact makes Eddie jolt. He looks up, meeting Buck’s eyes for a brief second before Buck reaches to take the iPad from him.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
“It could be a mistake,” Buck says.
“Hell of a fucking mistake, Buck,” Eddie manages.
“It’s not unheard of. We should—”
“We’re not doing anything,” Eddie cuts in sharply, snatching the iPad back. “You need to leave.”
“Eddie, I can’t do that,” Buck says, shaking his head.
“Haven’t you done enough? I’m not asking you,” Eddie snaps, his voice rising. “Leave.”
Please go. Please go. Please go.
“Eddie—”
“Please,” Eddie says softer now, but the words hit harder. “Can you just go? Leave me alone. Go find Tommy. Just… go do something that isn’t being here.”
Buck hesitates, his gaze flicking around the room like he’s searching for the right move, his expression so openly sad and uncertain that Eddie almost breaks.
He almost asks him to stay.
But he can’t.
He can’t cry on Buck’s shoulder like this is something they share, like it’s Buck’s burden to carry.
This is his life. His problem. His mess.
Buck has Tommy, and he should be putting his effort in there, instead of here. Tommy could be something good, something that might last. He can offer so much more than Eddie ever could.
Buck should aim for a life where husband is the first title on his headstone, instead of settling for best friend.
“You’re not okay,” Buck says softly.
“That’s my problem,” Eddie answers, trying to keep his voice steady. “And I want to be alone.”
Buck stares at him for a moment and then he sighs loudly. “Okay,” he concedes, because really what else can he do. Eddie’s a grown man that’s asked him to leave, he can’t just say no. “But I’m a phone call away. And I’m always here, Eddie. I want to be here with you.”
Please don’t go. Please don’t go. Please don’t go.
Eddie nods once, and fixes his eyes on the floor.
He can’t look at him. He can’t risk the tears that would begin to fall.
He can’t say anything. He can’t risk the crack in his voice that would come with it.
“I’m so sorry, Eddie,” Buck whispers.
It’s not your fault. You never have to apologise to me.
Eddie doesn’t say it. He just keeps staring at the floor until the sound of the door closing tells him Buck is gone.
And immediately, he wishes he hadn’t asked him to leave, that Buck had fought him and refused to go, stayed to hold him and tell him they’d find a way through this together.
Tell him it doesn’t change anything and that he’s still the same man, even though it feels like none of that is true anymore.
He’s never been entirely sure who he is, but he never imagined having the answer handed to him so brutally, so undeniably.
He doesn’t know what to say, what to think, how to feel… but the one thought that seems to winning is that at thirty-two years old, for the first time in his entire life, Eddie really wants his dad.
Eddie sits on the couch, the glow of the iPad lighting his face, staring at the same webpage for far too long. His eyes keep moving back to the names, reading them again and again as if repetition might rearrange them into something that makes sense.
Who is this man? How does he fit into his life, into the version of his history he’s always believed was true?
His mother and father were married for four years before he was born. Was there an affair? Did they separate and then reconcile when she discovered she was pregnant?
Does his mother know the truth? Does his father? Or does his entire family know, every single one of them silently holding this knowledge while smiling at him, pretending he is one of them, when in reality he belongs to someone else entirely?
Has Julian Cruz known all this time that he has a son, in addition to the daughter he raised?
Eddie remembers visiting his grandparents in California when he was young. His Abuela would cup his cheek, smiling at him fondly, telling him that every time she sees him, he looks more and more like his father.
Was that all one big lie?
When she looks at him, does she not see her son’s features at all, but the face of a stranger?
Eddie closes his eyes, pressing back the heat building behind them. He refuses to cry. He refuses to give this discovery that kind of victory.
He’s not a child. He’s a man.
He’s someone.
He’s Eddie Diaz.
But he’s not.
He’s lived his whole life believing he was part of a family that’s not truly his.
Even if no one else knew for certain, his mother must have suspected. She must have had moments of doubt, moments of fear that he wasn’t his father’s child.
Maybe she told herself it didn’t matter. Maybe she hoped it would never come out. But she had to have thought it. The possibility alone makes his stomach turn, leaves him feeling unmoored and unsettled and furious.
And then there’s the girl.
Someone out there who is as biologically connected to him as Sophia or Adriana. Does she have his eyes? Do they share the same quirks, the same preferences, the same laugh? Would she recognise something of herself in his face?
Does she know he exists?
Does she know his name?
He taps hers on the screen, there no profile picture, just a pink silhouette. The barebones of a profile, just like his must look.
Name: Emilia Maria Hampton-Cruz
Date of birth: 22nd November 1999
Location: Dallas, Texas
Last Active: Six months ago
Predicted Relationship: Half-Sister
You and Emilia likely share one parent, Julian Cruz, who passed on a combination of his DNA to each of you.
You share 23.67% of your DNA.
1924 cM
A graph shows the breakdown in sharp, undeniable bars of colour.
Below it is their family tree, not only confirming Emilia, but adding another name.
Max Julian Hampton-Cruz.
A brother.
Emilia is named after their paternal grandmother, Emilia Cruz. Both she and Max share the same mother, Elizabeth Hampton, who is listed as deceased.
Eddie clicks on Max’s profile. It’s almost empty, he clearly doesn’t have an account, but his date of birth is the same as Emilia’s.
Twins.
His chest tightens.
Then, because Lord knows, he just can’t help himself, he clicks on Julian’s page.
Name: Julian Cruz
Date of birth: 6th July 1972
Location: Dallas, Texas
Last Active: Six months ago
The date of birth stares back at him. He does the math quickly in his head, then again, then a third time. The number doesn’t change.
Nineteen.
Julian was only nineteen when Eddie was born.
His mother was born in 1965. He knows this because she turned sixty this spring, and he sent her flowers. She was twenty-seven when he was born.
A nineteen-year-old and a twenty-seven-year-old.
He knows it’s not illegal, but he still feels a little queasy thinking about it. He was nineteen when Christopher was born, but Shannon had been the same age.
This is different.
What was his married, twenty-seven-year-old mother doing with a nineteen-year-old kid?
Eddie doesn’t know what to say to Buck. He can’t find the words to explain what he’s feeling, and he can’t quite bring himself to meet his eyes without risking everything spilling out in a way he isn’t ready for.
So, when their next shift comes two days later, he takes the simplest route he can think of and he avoids him entirely.
He doesn’t just keep his distance, he sidesteps him, pretends to be occupied.
It’s a near impossible task when you work so slowly together, but Eddie gives it his best shot.
The only problem is, that Buck refuses to be ignored.
Eddie has years of friendship with the man under his belt, he knew that before he even tried that it would be hard.
Buck just doesn’t give up, he never knows when to let something go.
Twelve hours into the shift, he reaches his limit. He’s lasted longer than he thought he would before Buck corners him—except it turns out Eddie is the one doing the cornering.
After a call, when everyone is finding a spot to relax before dinner, Eddie grabs Buck’s arm and pulls him aside. He pushes him gently but firmly against the side of the truck and waits till it’s completely clear.
“What was that?” Eddie asks, his voice edged with anger.
Buck blinks down at him, their chests are touching. Eddie might be shorter, but with Buck leaning back against the truck, he gains a little leverage. “Oh,” Buck says slowly, “that worked way better than I thought.”
“Better than you thought?” Eddie gives his arm a quick tap. “You completely ignored me out there. That was fucking dangerous, Buck.”
“Yeah,” Buck replies without missing a beat, “sucks to be ignored, doesn’t it?” He raises an eyebrow. “I’ve been texting you. I even called you this morning, and I know you red buttoned me… if you want to be sneaky you have to let it ring out, not hang up after two rings. And then all day you’ve been like sand through my fingers, everywhere one second, gone the next.” His hand lands on Eddie’s shoulder, he can feel the warmth even through the thin fabric of his T-shirt. “I’m worried.”
“I’m fine,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “Just… don’t put yourself in danger to make a point.” He starts to step back, but Buck doesn’t let go.
“Your dad isn’t your dad, Eddie. That’s… that’s a really big deal.” Buck’s voice is quiet, but firm. “You’re not fine.”
“Please don’t tell me how I feel,” Eddie sighs, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, eyes dropping to the floor. The concrete was mopped this morning, but it’s already marked with scuffs and dirt. “I don’t want to argue or be mad, so just don’t.”
“I feel like this is my fault,” Buck admits, “and Tommy told me not to apologise again because it might make it worse. But I’m so sorry, Eddie.”
If Eddie had to choose between hearing that sentence again or being waterboarded, he’d strip and take the latter without hesitation.
“You told Tommy?”
“What? No, of course not,” Buck says almost offended. “I just told him I messed up and didn’t know how to help you. He’s terrible at advice. Honestly, I’d get better answers from Jee-Yun.” Buck’s frown deepens. “I’d never break your trust. You know that.”
“It wouldn’t be all that shocking if you did tell him, Tommy’s your boyfriend.”
“Why does everyone keep throwing that back at me? We’re dating, it’s not even serious. I see my barista more.” Buck rolls his eyes. “Do you really think a guy I’ve been seeing for a couple of months comes before you?”
“Maybe he should,” Eddie says quietly.
Buck stares at him for a moment, squints slightly, then lets out a laugh. “Sorry, I just imagined it and that’s ridiculous.”
Eddie doesn’t know how to respond. It’s not a conversation he wants to have, and it’s not like he wants to fight the matter.
It’s Buck’s life, and it’s Bucks choice how he lives it.
Even so, maybe it’s selfish, but hearing him say that makes something in him feel lighter.
“Buck.”
“That’s me,” Buck says with a grin.
“This isn’t your problem. You don’t have to apologise, and you don’t have to worry. I’m a big boy, I can handle it.”
Buck tilts his head, purses his lips, then shrugs. “No.”
Eddie blinks. “What?”
“No,” Buck repeats.
“No?”
“Yep.” Buck smirks. “You’re right, it’s not my problem, and you are perfectly capable of handling yourself. But you’re lying when you say you’re fine, and that’s okay. No one would expect you to be fine. Just don’t insult me with bullshit excuses. I’m a big boy too.”
Eddie’s expression twists.
“That sounded better in my head,” Buck adds, “but you know what I mean.”
Eddie’s mouth betrays him with the faintest smile. “You’re also an idiot.”
“An idiot who’s worried,” Buck says easily.
Eddie exhales, leaning back against the truck before pulling himself up to sit on the side. “Honestly? Right now, I’m just trying to get through each day. I don’t have the energy to figure this out yet.”
It’s not the whole truth, but it’s not a lie. He doesn’t have the energy, but he also hasn’t thought about much else in the last forty-eight hours. He’s run through every possibility, every version of events that could be true.
And every single one hurts.
“I know it’s not the same,” Buck says, his voice softer now, “but when I found out about Daniel, all I could think about was how it was affecting me in that moment. I didn’t think about who I was when it happened, just about how no one told me until it was too late. But I was a baby, and it was easier for everyone to lie because they were all grieving. After that, well… It’s hard to face the truth once everything’s settled, it’s even harder to hold your self accountable, no matter how brave or honourable you are.”
“There’s nothing brave or honourable about having an affair, Buck.”
“You don’t know if that’s what happened,” Buck replies.
“My parents were married.”
“You could be a sperm donor baby,” Buck says quickly.
The thought has crossed Eddie’s mind.
But if that were the case, surely his parents would have told him, there’s no shame in it. And even if they were ashamed, he’d like to think that after Christopher was born and everything he went through in those early years, they’d have mentioned his family history isn’t exactly what he thought it was.
No, Eddie just knows that’s not it.
“Buck, if I’m going to talk about this with you, I need you to listen to me. That’s not what this is.”
Buck nods, shifting to sit beside him on the truck, knocking their knees together. “Sorry.”
“It might not have been an affair,” Eddie says slowly, “but my dad was never around when I was growing up, he was always away on business. And… This isn’t the first time I’ve suspected my mom cheated on him. That part isn’t a surprise for me.” He sighs. “But for all I know, they had some kind of arrangement. Maybe they both knew and decided not to tell anyone. They’re not exactly warm or open people.”
“Yeah, I know,” Buck says, then adds seriously, “and for the record, I’ve hated your parents for a long time. I mean I’m not wishing them harm or anything, but I just… I really don’t like them.”
Eddie lets out a short laugh and nudges his arm. “Is now a good time to tell you I feel the same way about Philip and Margaret?”
“Oh, I already knew that. I at least try to get on your parent’s good side. You just glare at my mom every time she opens her mouth.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I’d glare at your dad too, but I don’t think he’s ever spoken to me.”
They lapse into a quiet thats surrounded by the faint noise of the loft above them. Buck’s steady breathing beside him is grounding, his body warm beside him.
“You’re still you,” Buck says after a moment. “This doesn’t change who you are.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t,” Buck says simply. “But I’ll keep telling you until you believe it.”
Despite Buck’s persistent attempts to convince him to join him for breakfast after their shift ends the next morning, Eddie turns him down.
He’s had a headache since they were woken for a call at two in the morning, and it has only grown more intense since, a tension beginning to creep down his neck and into his shoulder.
All Eddie wants to is to crawl into bed, but he knows he’s out of Advil at home. So, he makes a quick stop at the store on the way back.
His intention is simple, get in, grab the painkillers, and get out.
When he reaches the aisle and spots the medication he needs, his attention catches on a man standing a few feet away, rocking a crying baby in a car seat gently. The man is scanning the shelves, quietly shushing the baby in a steady rhythm. “It’s okay, it’s okay, we’re going to fix it, we can do it, Bud. Just let me figure out what you need.”
The baby is crying hard, little cheeks flushed red, tiny fists balled tight. Eddie takes a couple of steps closer, and before he can stop himself, he’s speaking. “You need some help?”
The man startles at the sound of his voice, glancing over with a quick shake of his head. “Oh, uh… no, it’s fine.”
Eddie knows he could just leave it there, walk away and mind his own business, but the truth is he needs a win today, something to make him feel useful, and helping this guy seems like a small way to get there.
He knows how hard it is to ask for help, especially when you feel like you’re failing your kid.
So, even though the crying isn’t doing his headache any favours, he doesn’t leave.
“Hey, man. I’m a medic,” he says, keeping his tone calm. “I know how rough teething can be. I’ve got a son myself.”
The man looks down at the baby, still wailing, runs a hand over his face, and meets Eddie’s eyes. “Right,” he says, voice rough. “Sure. Yeah. He’s got a temperature, and he’s been crying since five this morning. I don’t know what he needs. His mom just walked out, and we’ve been doing okay, but now this and I’ve never done this before. And, look, I know what you’re thinking, I know I’m a shit dad, but I don’t know how to help him.”
Eddie shakes his head and responds without hesitation, “Nothing you’ve said makes me think you’re a bad parent. Struggling doesn’t mean you’re failing, it’s normal. He’s a baby, you’ve never done this before, how are you supposed to know if no one helps you. How old is he?”
“Four months and sixteen days.”
Eddie reaches over to grab a box of children’s paracetamol from the shelf. “He can’t have ibuprofen until he’s six months, so this is the one you want. The instructions on the box will tell you exactly how much to give.”
“Right. No ibuprofen,” the man repeats, crouching down to gently set the baby on the floor so he can try to coax the pacifier back into his mouth.
“If his fever gets over 104, take him straight to the ER,” Eddie continues. “If it stays over 100 after you’ve given him this, I’d still go in… better to be wrong and safe.”
“That… yeah, that makes sense.”
“Teething gels are fine,” Eddie adds, “but there are also teething rings you can keep in the freezer that help a lot. Even gently massaging his gums with a clean finger can make a difference.” He crouches too, noticing that the baby is starting to settle now that his dad’s a little calmer. “What’s his name?”
“Oscar.”
“Well, hi, Oscar, I’m Eddie. You’re pretty adorable,” Eddie says softly, before handing the medication over to the dad. “Er… a little unsolicited advice that I probably wouldn’t have wanted to hear but needed anyway—don’t be so hard on yourself, man. To him, you’re his whole world. He doesn’t need you to be perfect, he just needs you to try your best.” He smiles faintly. “And for the record, bad parents don’t know the exact number of days their baby’s been alive.”
“I love him,” The man says, smiling softly at his son.
“I’m sure he loves you too.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem. It gets easier, and it’s so worth it,” Eddie pats his shoulder lightly before looking down at Oscar again. “Feel better soon, little man.”
When Eddie checks out a few minutes later, his headache is still there, but he feels lighter somehow.
Eddie has always liked the beach.
He likes the texture of the sand against his feet, the steady rhythm of the waves lapping against the shore, the faint sharpness of salt carried in the wind.
By the time he wakes it’s already late and he drives without much thought. Before he knows it, he’s sitting on the sand with the day sliding toward evening. There are people scattered along the shore, some standing in the water, others sitting and watching as the sun sinks lower, but despite the quiet movement around him, it feels muted and almost easy to tune out.
When Christopher was younger, and Eddie’s schedule allowed it, Friday afternoons often meant picking him up from school and driving straight to the beach.
They would stay until the light faded and the air turned cool, eating snacks that Eddie had packed and talking about nothing important while building sandcastles and splashing in the slowly cooling water.
After the tsunami, Eddie had made a point of bringing him to the water as often as he could, hoping to face both their fears together. Christopher had once told him that the ocean wasn’t scary, that it was just having a bad day, giving the water a kind of personality and patience that made Eddie want to keep him like that forever.
He misses him so much.
Eddie’s own childhood held a different set of memories tied to this place. Visiting his extended family in the summer always meant beach days—sandwiches eaten on towels, games of catch in the sand, long hours in the water.
He remembers playing football with his cousins, and how sometimes his father and uncle would join in, the game turning competitive in a way that made everyone laugh.
It is one of the rare images he has of his father looking unguarded, a little windblown, a little lighter, as though the beach allowed him to step out of his own rigid expectations for a while.
Eddie won’t pretend the rest of it was like that. His childhood wasn’t easy. He was expected to be older than he was, more responsible, less soft.
His parents placed more on his shoulders than they should have and seemed almost surprised when he stumbled under the weight.
But there were moments, when it was better, and he holds onto them because they’re worth keeping.
Sitting here now, he can admit that more than anything, he wants nothing more than to just be his father’s son.
Not in the complicated way that is true now, but in the simple way he believed it as a boy.
Ramon Diaz raised him.
Ramon Diaz has loved him in the only way he knew how, and in recent years they’ve made progress. But it doesn’t erase the feeling that his life has been shaped by a truth he never asked for, didn’t know and can’t change.
He wonders if his father knows, and if he doesn’t, whether it would matter.
Would he look at Eddie differently?
Would the love fade?
Would it hurt him to realise that Christopher is no more biologically his grandson than a stranger’s child passing by on the street?
He has so many questions, and if he asks them; will he once again be blowing up his own life for the sake of clarity and closure?
Eddie’s phone buzzes in his pocket, but he doesn’t reach for it.
He knows it’s Buck.
He knows Buck’s probably checking his location, probably seeing that he’s at the beach, probably worried he’s sitting on the sand waiting to be washed away with the tide.
Buck worries about him more than Eddie deserves.
Buck is the only person Eddie has ever known who has never asked him to be anything other than what he is, who has always given him everything without holding anything back.
There was a moment months ago, that he hasn’t been able to let go of. It replays in his head more often than he’d like to admit.
Yet another part of his life that is repetitive.
Christopher was already in the air heading to El Paso, and Eddie was sitting with Buck on the couch in the sort of silence that comes when there’s nothing left to say.
He could feel how much Buck was hurting too, even while he tried to be strong and reassure him.
And then Eddie broke.
He didn’t mean to—not in front of Buck, maybe especially not in front of him—but the tears came anyway, followed by the kind of sobs you can’t swallow down, the kind that pull everything out of you all at once. Buck pulled him in until he was practically in his lap, holding him with arms that felt impossibly strong.
The whole time, Buck’s voice stayed softer than Eddie had ever heard it.
“I’ve got you, Eddie. I’ve got you.”
No empty promises, no lies about things being okay when they weren’t.
Just that… I’ve got you.
He didn’t try to make the hurt smaller. He just stayed, letting Eddie cry and letting him be seen.
Letting him feel safe.
Truly safe, in a way he didn’t have to earn or defend. Seen so clearly it was almost unbearable. Loved in a way that stripped him bare.
He’s been trying to forget that feeling ever since.
Trying to ignore the way Buck’s presence wakes something in him, makes every nerve stand at attention, like his whole body knows before his mind can catch up.
But there’s no pretending anymore.
Because he knows now.
He’s in love with him.
He’s so in love with him it feels physical, like a weight in his chest he can’t shift, like something he’s been holding down for years without even knowing it. It’s the kind of love that has grown slow and steady over years of care and patience, a love that’s never asked for anything in return.
A love built on nothing but good intentions.
But Eddie knows that good intentions don’t make something good. And he knows how undeserving he is of wanting this, how it feels almost dishonorable to his best friend to want him in this way.
Buck doesn’t need the kind of love that comes tangled up in a lifetime of damage and failure.
He doesn’t need the weight of Eddie’s history.
Eddie wasn’t a prize before any of this, and he definitely isn’t one now.
Since he was nineteen, his life has been built entirely on being a father and doing his job, and without those things, he isn’t sure there’s anything left.
And now, his son is gone and he’s not even the son he thought he was.
Buck wants love. He deserves it. He deserves someone steady, someone who knows themselves, someone who can give without hesitating, without all the baggage Eddie can’t seem to put down.
He deserves the kind of person that Eddie has spent his whole life pretending to be.
The sun sinks lower and Eddie sits still, watching it disappear. His life feels broken into pieces he doesn’t have the will to gather, scattered too far across the sand to ever put back together.
He lets himself cry quietly, because here, no one is asking him to explain.
He doesn’t feel cared for.
He doesn’t feel loved.
He doesn’t feel safe.
But at least here, he isn’t dragging anyone down with him, he isn’t hurting anyone else.
When Eddie gets home, he sends Buck a quick message, tells him he’s home, that he’s fine, that he’s going to bed.
He doesn’t bother with dinner. He doesn’t bother with a shower. He just strips down and slides into bed, the sheets cool against his skin, the silence in the room both welcome and suffocating.
He lies there staring at the ceiling, eyes adjusting to the darkness, trying to push away the thoughts that have been circling since he sat on the sand.
They don’t quiet.
They keep moving, and no matter where they land, he feels like he’s being pulled under, trapped in a cycle that won’t let him breathe.
His mind catches on the Cruzes.
Emilia and Max.
Younger siblings he’s never met.
He’s never had a brother before.
He wonders what they’re like, if they’re good people, if they’d like him, if they’d even want to know him.
Did they go to college?
What did they choose to do with their lives?
There were no children listed on the family tree, so maybe they’re not ready for that yet. They’re only twenty-five, they have time.
He rolls over and reaches for his iPad, fingers bringing up the site before he’s even thought about it.
He pulls up their profiles again, searching for something new, something he might have missed.
There’s nothing.
No updates. No more information to learn.
He sighs.
It’s ridiculous, because he’s not even the kind of brother he should be to the sisters he already has.
They talk a couple of times a week, sometimes an actual phone call, but mostly texts, memes, the occasional shared complaint about their mom.
Since Christopher moved to El Paso, they’ve been checking in more. Sophia sends pictures from lake days with Chris or messages about how his kid is using her generosity to its limits. Adriana doesn’t live nearby, but she calls more often now.
Another set of people he’s managed to make worry about him.
He’s about to close the tab when he notices the small red notification on the message icon.
His pulse jumps and his chest suddenly feels to tight.
He takes a deep breath and presses the icon before he can talk himself out of it.
One message.
From Emilia Hampton-Cruz.
“Shit,” he mutters under his breath.
She knows.
Which means someone other than just him and Buck knows.
Which means this isn’t just an abstract fact anymore, it’s real and out there in the world, and it’s in his hands.
His fingers feel unsteady as he opens the message. He feels his breath catch when the words fill the screen.
To: Edmundo Diaz
From: Emilia Hampton-CruzWow.
You’ve caused quite the stir in our family.
I’ve had to take a couple of days to work up the courage to message you, and even now I have no idea what to say.
Wow sort of feels like the only appropriate response.
I got an email saying I had a new family member and I was expecting some great aunt or a cousin, not a whole entire BROTHER!?!
I don’t know what you know, so I think the best thing for me to do is tell you what I know.
I didn’t know about you, and I really hope that doesn’t hurt you. I think it hurts me a little bit, knowing you’ve been out there without this part of your family. Not that you have to think of us that way if you don’t want to, there’s no pressure!!
My (our?) dad has been quiet since I asked him about you. If I’m honest, I think he may have known, but I can’t speak for him. There’s a story there he isn’t willing to tell me, but if you’re interested, I think he would share it with you. It’s your story, not mine.
I want you to know that he’s a good man. He’s kind, funny, smart. Not one of those boring old dads, he’s cool, he loves music and art, and lets himself enjoy life. He’s a chef, and a good one, though I’ll never say it to his face. He probably already knows, he’s pretty well respected, but we don’t need his head getting any bigger.
We have a little brother, his name is Max. We’re twins, but I’m six minutes older, so he’s technically the youngest.
He hates when I remind him.
He’s a dick most of the time, but I love him. He’s studying to be a doctor, and he lives in Florida of all places, because he fell in love and followed her there.
If being in love means living in Florida, count me out.
I’m a teacher in an elementary school. Not glamorous, but I love it.
I have a cat named Bob. He’s a dick like his uncle Max, but he’ll let me scratch his ears if I move slowly enough. He’s a rescue and still figuring things out, so we let him be.
I don’t really know what else to say except that I hope this finds you well, Edmundo. You don’t have to reply, but I thought maybe this could answer a few questions if you had them. I’m making a list of our family medical history to send you so you don’t have to ask if you don’t want to respond.
If you do respond, I’d love to talk. I’d love to get to know you, maybe even meet you one day.
If this is the only time I write to you, I hope you’re happy. I hope you have a good life and good people around you.
I really hope you knew.
Sending so much love,
Emilia :)
P.S. kind of wish you were a sister btw.
P.P.S. I really hope you’ve got a decent sense of humour, otherwise that last part’s going to land terribly.
Eddie reads it twice, slowly the second time, making sure he hasn’t imagined the parts that feel almost too kind.
He doesn’t know what he expected, maybe something cold or formal, maybe nothing at all… but not this.
Not someone taking days to find the right words, not someone offering parts of themselves without knowing if he’ll ever respond.
She doesn’t sound angry. She doesn’t sound like she’s holding him responsible for anything.
If anything, she sounds… open.
Like she’s ready to make space for him without even knowing if he wants it.
The P.S. makes him huff out a laugh he didn’t expect to have in him tonight, and it’s strange how even a throwaway line like that makes her feel a little more real to him, less like a name on a website and more like a person who could be on the other end of a phone call.
He tries not to imagine her voice, but he does anyway. He tries not to picture her sending the message and wondering if she’s overstepping, if she’s made a mistake, but he can’t help it.
He feels the heaviness in his chest shift a little; not gone, not even lighter exactly, but different.
This isn’t just about his parents anymore, or about the truth he’s still trying to get his head around.
This is about someone else now.
Someone who has her own questions, her own feelings about him, someone who might actually want to know him for who he is now and not who he thought he was supposed to be.
And he doesn’t know if that’s terrifying or if it’s the first bit of hope he’s let himself have since he read her name three days ago.
Either way, he knows that this is only the beginning.