(Part I of an intended series, a collection of Buddie moments that we didn’t see onscreen)
Eddie stared at the steam rising from his mug of tea, trying to ignore the crawling anger in his throat, the gaping hole he could feel being carved with every breath, like someone had taken a shovel to his chest and was digging, pulling more and more of his good graces out with each pass.
He had boiled too much water, and the kettle was whistling, some dumb Keep Warm setting that Eddie didn’t know how to turn off. He hadn’t poured too much water, actually—too much for one, maybe. Not his fault the rest of it, perfectly portioned for another cup of tea, was beeping its displeasure at him with the persistence of a smoke alarm. You’ll get no sympathy from me, Eddie thought icily.
Got another viewing! Don’t wait for me for breakfast.
Eddie had been halfway back down with three plates when his eyes had found the scrawled note, and he had paused, chest clenching, as he’d skimmed over the words, and well, there had gone his Saturday morning, right out into the perfect eighty degree autumn weather and blown away in the breeze.
The pancake batter sitting on the counter looked both watery and congealed, the bacon condensing in its packet. Eddie put it all back and poured himself a cup of tea when the kettle clicked off, sitting in the seat that received none of that blanket of perfect LA morning sun, but the one with the clearest view of the driveway. His fingers tapped against the table. Since when was this house so damn quiet. Since when did teenagers sleep so late. Since when did this become a life so intolerable that the mere thought of an endless future stretching out just like this made Eddie want to rejoin an illegal crime ring.
The sound of a truck slowing pricked at his ears just before its nose slid through Eddie’s vision, parking itself neatly into the space in front of Eddie’s house. Eddie regained the decency to turn away just as the driver’s side door opened.
He heard the key turn in the lock, then the front door as it clicked open. One second. It closed. Another second. The scuffle of shoes as Buck shucked them off, then his jacket, the tuneless whistle as he hung it on its hook, two from the door. Footsteps approached, then paused as Buck forgot to take his keys out of his back pocket; the jacket he was wearing had the pocket in the wrong place to store them. The jog back, the jangle as they were tossed into the Important Things dish. Eddie continued to stare into his cup.
Buck frowned as he entered the kitchen, and he glanced down at the kettle before he flicked some switch that Eddie had forgotten existed, and the noise finally stopped.
“Jeez, was that not pissing you off?”
Eddie took a sip from his cup. “Yes. Couldn’t find the button.”
Buck swivelled the kettle around so that Eddie could see, cord pulling.
“It’s here,” he said, with his everlasting patience. “Right is Keep Warm, left turns it off.”
“Right,” Eddie grunted without looking up. “Guess I’ll just have to get used to it.” Along with a million other things that made Eddie want to crawl into that hole in his chest and die there.
Buck shook his head, the exasperated noise stuck halfway in his throat, and softened with his smile. He spied the other mug left on the countertop and pulled it towards him. “I thought you’d have eaten by now. Not hungry?”
“Waiting for Chris to wake up,” Eddie lied.
Buck’s brow furrowed. “Chris is at PT, remember? He had to switch his session from this afternoon, some group work project he needs to do. I dropped him and Carla off on my way to the viewing.”
Where the hell was Eddie’s head these days? With everything else going on, at least he’d been able to pride himself on being a decent, present father.
“You know what, he switched it himself last night, probably forgot to tell you.” Buck grinned. “And probably knew he could wrangle out a ride from me if he went that early.”
Buck had given Chris a ride, and most likely the gym wasn’t even remotely on Buck’s way. And now Buck had brought it up, so Eddie would be a right asshole if he didn’t ask, even when the idea made him want to take a sledgehammer to the wall in the living room that he’d already insisted he liked.
Ugly. Too small. Too new.
“Yeah. Big master bedroom with an ensuite, and the guest room isn’t half-bad either, plus the landlord had no trouble with me adding some bits and pieces, you know, railings, non-slip counters….” He broke off, suddenly sheepish for some reason, and hastily continued, “Floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, open floor plan, and they just repainted the kitchen. It’s nice,” he said again.
“Great. And in your price range?”
Buck pulled in the side of his mouth. “Well, it’s pushing it a bit, but with the amount I’ve saved over the past few months, I can afford it.”
Buck’s downtown loft had been small and overpriced, and cold and dressed like a house stager had done it, but he’d called it his bachelor pad and said it was the first place that had actually been his. Eddie’s rent was lower — despite the house being bigger, and fit with actual walls and doors that closed — and given that they’d been splitting it over the past three months Buck had probably saved up a fine little nest egg just ready to be leaked right out again to a house with an ensuite bathroom and a freshly painted kitchen that probably still gave off paint fumes. Eddie abruptly had another, better, idea of where he could land his sledgehammer.
“Great.” Eddie stared at the little crack on the lip of his cup, rubbing his thumb across it before he asked, “Is there a move-in date?”
Buck blinked. “Oh. Yeah, I think she said uh, twenty-fifth? So that would be what, two weeks from now?”
Thirteen days, but who was counting.
“Wow, that’s. Yeah.” Eddie thought of all the different ways that this morning could have gone. There could’ve been pancakes sizzling on the pan, the smell of bacon wafting through the air. There was a game on, wasn’t there? Buck didn’t care for sports, but if Eddie asked him right now he would know what team was playing.
“Do you…” Buck was fiddling with his phone, and something sparked in Eddie’s chest, hope lifting its head, barely daring to breathe. The screen lit up in his fingers and Buck pressed his thumb to the touch button, unlocking it. “Do you wanna see it? I took some pictures for you.”
Frankly, Eddie would have rather taken a steak knife to the eye.
Buck inched closer and deposited his phone on the table before sliding it over. Eddie picked it up.
Floor-to-ceiling windows. Eddie swiped to the next picture. Floor-to-ceiling windows from a slightly different angle. Eddie kept swiping. Gleaming kitchen. New washer and dryer. State-of-the-art air-conditioning, the type that had its own little screen with a picture of a dolphin, the company’s logo: Sleek. Master bedroom. Much better than a couch. Ensuite bathroom, big enough not to knock shoulders in the morning when two grown men were fighting for space. It was big full stop, with two sinks, one on each side, plenty of space for Buck to put his curl enhancer and conditioner and whatever else he put in his hair to make it so damn soft. Eddie would get his countertop back, be able to see all of his stuff all at once instead of having bits and pieces stuffed in various drawers, wherever he could make space.
Why did Buck need two sinks? In a flash, Eddie had a vision of the other countertop filled with products he didn’t recognise: razors, cologne, shaving cream. Another flash, this time bottles of perfume and make up. Either would cleave him in two.
He handed Buck his phone back. “It’s nice.” He cleared his throat. “So, is it…” He coughed and tried again. “Is it a done deal? You say yes?”
“Not yet. I have a few days to decide.” Buck paused. “Do you—do you actually like it? You know, does it say…me?”
Eddie stared at him, standing in a house that held his paintings on the wall, that mounted his eyesore of a bike, that had his things stuffed in drawers, his key in the dish, his kitchenware in the cupboards, his clothes hanging in the wardrobe, his ungodly collection of jackets on the hooks. Eddie thought of untangling every piece of Buck from every piece of himself and wondered if he would ever be able to trace that string back to where Buck ended and Eddie began.
So Eddie opened his mouth, working up the courage to say the words that had been on the tip of his tongue, clawing at his throat, all week, all month—ever since Eddie had carried the first of his cardboard boxes through the doorway and Buck had ruffled Chris’ hair and volunteered in a quiet, overly cheerful voice that he would start house-hunting right away.
“Buck, why don’t you just—”
Buzzz. Buck’s phone lit up again, and Eddie’s eyes instantly went to “Christie landlord” as it flashed onto the screen. Buck snatched his phone up.
“Christie? Hi, yes.” His brow furrowed in concentration as she spoke, voice too garbled over the line for Eddie to make out. “Oh, they did? Okay. Fine. Yes, that’s fine.” Eddie’s heart leapt. No champagne in the fridge, but he had beer, and ten-thirty wasn’t too early for beer, was it? “Sure, I’ll get back to you by seven tonight. Yes, that would be great. Okay, thanks so much, Christie.”
Buck hung up, smacking the phone a few times against his palm before he said, “The people who viewed the place after me just made an offer.”
Fuck the beer, he would go out and buy champagne himself.
“Oh, sorry to hear that, Buck.”
“What? No, I mean, it just makes things a bit more time-sensitive. Christie said there might be other offers, but it’s still first come first serve. It’s just…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I need to confirm with her by tonight. You know, if I want it.”
Eddie felt like a bottle of champagne that had gone flat. Actually, he felt like a bottle of champagne that had been thrown at a wall and shattered into a million pieces. He stood, walking his half-filled cup of tea to the sink, flushing the rest of it down.
“You want to help me decide over a stack of pancakes?” came a hopeful voice from the kitchen table. “I’ll make ‘em, I bought chocolate chips last night, and we still have all that whipped cream to use up—”
“It’s your house, Buck,” Eddie said quietly. “You don’t need me to tell you whether to get it or not.” Eddie’s mind had already zoomed past a Yes or No. It was currently debating the merits between setting it on fire versus driving a bulldozer through it.
The sound of the chair as it scraped back felt like a shiver down Eddie’s spine.
“Is this where we’re at now, Eddie?” He didn’t know if the confusion or hurt in Buck’s voice was worse. “You know, I chalked up the weird energy here to Chris coming back and teenage hormones, and my TV here instead of yours, and too—too many shoes by the door, and I know you hate my bike rack, and it’s weird that I have to pay you and then you pay someone else, and that one time my new jumper ran and it turned your socks blue—”
Eddie could feel his eyes narrowing as he stared at Buck, frown deepening, because did Buck think all of those things were weird? Had Eddie been the only one who had slipped their new shared life on like a soft, worn jumper and never taken it off again? If the person who had thought up the phrase You can never have too much of a good thing had met Eddie before he’d gone and philosophised about it, it would have never seen the light of day.
If Eddie could’ve crawled into Buck’s skin by now he would have.
“And I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried not to get in your way too much. I mean, come on. I’m the one sleeping on the couch, the one whose truck is parked on the pavement—”
“I offered you the bed!” was all Eddie could think to argue.
“Yes, but then you’d be on the couch.” Because the thought of Buck lying beside him in the dark, a breath and an ocean away all at once, basically guaranteed that Eddie wouldn’t get a wink of sleep for at least six months and would probably end up in one of those psychiatrist offices where some doctor looked at him over his spectacles and asked, “Have there been any changes in your life that might be contributing to your lack of sleep?” And Eddie would have to sigh and ask if someone could just take him out back and shoot him.
“It’s not going to be a problem for much longer.” Buck had straightened. “I’m gonna—I gotta call Christie back, I’m gonna tell her that I’ll take it.”
He should’ve said yes to the pancakes. At some point between the batter sizzling in the pan, or the warm chocolate melting over the stove, or through the mouthfuls of blueberries that Buck scarfed down by the handful, Eddie would have closed the screen on the pictures of a stranger’s house and he would have asked if this wasn’t better, and maybe Buck would have said yes, it was.
Instead, all Eddie did was nod.
“I was the first to view it, so hopefully with that first come first serve thing she said…” Buck mumbled as he edged past, and Eddie instinctively moved out of his way, intending to grab his phone from the coffee table so that Buck could have free reign of the living room—
“Don’t worry, I’m heading out, I promised I’d drop in on Maddie today.”
“Will you be back for lunch?” Eddie asked unthinkingly.
Buck hesitated, and Eddie felt each new crack as it appeared in his heart for every second that Buck thought about whether or not he was intruding.
“Yes,” Buck said finally. “We have those pork chops to use up.”
“Great. I’ll uh…put them on the grill.”
Buck nodded. He played with his phone before slipping it into his back pocket, not quite meeting Eddie’s eyes as he made his way to the door. “See you later, then.”
He fished his keys back out of the dish, retaking his jacket from its hook, and Eddie wondered how it would feel to watch Buck systematically remove every single piece of himself from this household in thirteen days because he thought that Eddie wanted him to.
“I never minded any of those things, Buck.” His voice was a near croak.
Buck’s hand hesitated on the door handle.
“I didn’t—I didn’t even…” Notice.
The understanding of how disingenuous it would be to release that last word out into the world stopped it from leaving his lips. Because he had.
Eddie had noticed that he had never been a morning person but how every day he’d started to come down the steps with a little spring in his step, eyes already on that one spot where the sun slanted in over the couch, turning a sleeping Buck’s hair the colour of golden corn. He’d noticed that sometimes his laundry would get mixed up with Buck’s and he’d slip on socks or underwear that weren’t his (but it wasn’t as if he could take them off again, they’d just have to go right back in the machine), and how sometimes he’d seen his own underwear thrown back into the hamper that he distinctly did not remember wearing. He’d noticed the little spiked buzz in his chest when Buck’s rent came through on his banking app because that meant they had one more month of this. He’d noticed when that day had come and gone last week.
“You’re a good landlord, Eddie.” Buck’s voice was soft, even, and he gave Eddie a small smile before he pressed down on the door and stepped outside, right back out into the Saturday that Eddie had already lost.
Eddie was scrabbling for Frank’s number before the door had even fully closed.
“Maybe one bottle was enough.”
Carla held the other insistently out for Eddie to hold while she attempted to Tetris his fridge, sticking her head far enough in that her voice came out slightly muffled. “Buck showed me pictures of the new place. I like it. He’s come a long way, hasn’t he?”
Eddie grunted, the champagne sweating in his hands and dripping through his fingers. “Already talking about how to make it accessible for Chris, and I don’t know how he managed it but I’m almost positive it’s on the school route—”
“It’s a great place,” Eddie interrupted before his ears could start bleeding. Do-Gooding, Selfless Buck had plummeted down about eight slots on his list, higher only than: Self-Destructive Buck, Dating Tommy Buck, and Dating Taylor Buck.
Carla’s head popped up from behind the fridge door, a frown on her face. “It is a great place.”
“That’s what I said. What’s not to like?” He deposited the bottle on the kitchen island, wiping his hands against his chinos, grimacing. He folded his empty arms across his chest, feeling the hard press of the counter against his back. Outside, silverware clinked quietly as Buck and Chris set the table, at Carla’s insistence, with the nicest stuff that Eddie owned. Why everyone was making this out to be such a celebration Eddie did not understand. It was enough that he hadn’t worn black.
“What’s all this?” Carla demanded quietly, circling a finger through the air that seemed to gesture to all of him. “You don’t sound very happy for him.”
“He’s had his own place before, why are we acting like this is some big new thing? I’m showing the adequate amount of happy that you should be for someone who has simply found another place to live.”
His explanation clearly hadn’t had its intended effect, because Carla continued to shoot him increasingly suspicious looks over dinner as he pushed his food around his plate and answered only when asked a direct question, keeping his eyes cast down into his dauphinoise potatoes.
“Thirteen days?” Chris echoed, jaw falling open. “Buck, that’s so soon. That’s like, a week.”
“Almost two,” Buck corrected gently.
“What are we even gonna use the sofa for now?”
Buck laughed quietly, and Eddie felt his son’s eyes seek him out the minute Eddie hadn’t also chuckled at his joke. When Eddie kept his eyes fixed on his plate, Chris blinked and then turned his attention back to his other side.
“I’m sad that you’re going, Buck.” In the silence that followed, that mop of curls turned again and Eddie felt the dread blossom in his stomach. “Dad, aren’t you sad that Buck’s going?”
“Mm,” Eddie answered noncommittally, pushing around a particularly thick stringbean.
“Did you tell him that he could just stay?”
Well, maybe he would have, if he’d known it was that easy. And it was, wasn’t it? Chris was only fifteen and he had just said it, without even thinking about it. What was wrong with Eddie? Oh right, he was gay, and totally in denial about it. Even Frank had said as much, and therapists — especially three hundred dollar an hour ones — were paid to not have opinions.
“This was never supposed to be permanent, Chris,” Buck reminded him, bringing out the voice he used when he was trying to calm a patient who’d accidentally stabbed a knife through their own leg. “It was only until I could find a new place. This is you and your dad’s house.”
It did little to abate the pout of Chris’ lips, the confusion in his eyes.
“I’ll still come over all the time, we’ll do dinners just like this,” Buck promised, and his eyes suddenly flicked over towards Eddie, just a touch uncertain, and Eddie felt as though he had been shot again.
“There’s more meat on the stove,” he said abruptly, standing. “I’ll bring it out before it goes cold.”
Another chair scraped delicately against the floor as he rounded back inside the kitchen, and he was unsurprised to see that Carla had followed him out. She had left any remaining subtlety at the dining table; overwhelming disapproval was now being emitted at him without quarter.
Eddie stood at the stove, awaiting a verbal thrashing, and when it didn’t come he sighed and began, “Carla—”
“If it were the other way around, Buck would have brought a cooler of champagne, and balloons, and a card that he would’ve gotten everyone to sign.” She paused. “Even if he was as unhappy as you are, he would hide it. For you. You’re not being a good friend, Eddie.”
“I don’t want to be his friend.” It came out as a whisper, barely a sound. Eddie counted five full seconds before he looked up.
Carla’s eyes were soft, her mouth relaxed into a little smile, and she laid a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “He’s not gone yet.”
There was so much comfort in her voice, so much assurance, that it freaked Eddie out even more, if that were possible. Oh my god, he had admitted it out loud, and this didn’t feel good, this didn’t feel good at all. Where was the relief he was supposed to be flooded with right now? Why he was still crushed with the weight that should have been lifted from his shoulders?
Oh god, why had he said it? Was this…coming out? Had he just come out to Carla? Why had she not reacted? Did she know?
Eddie spent the rest of dinner in a dissociative daze, rendered nearly catatonic by his kitchen admittance, so much so that he nearly missed the pointed, Just Talk To Him look that Carla sent him right before she smiled and said, “Chris, come on, help me pick out a movie. Your dad and Buck can ready the snacks.”
No, his brain whimpered pathetically as he watched them leave. He fumbled for the ice cream bowls in the cupboard, setting them down on the counter with a threatening rattle. Spoons, where were the spoons? He pried open drawers and shut them again, assembling the cutlery and crockery without seeing any of it while his brain continued to blare curses at him.
It was only after he realised that there was nothing to put in any of the bowls he had acquired that he looked up and saw that Buck had not moved from his spot, had not made any attempt to ready any snacks whatsoever. He had been simply staring at Eddie, wordless.
Buck raised a single eyebrow.
“Do you want chocolate or vanilla?” The words tumbled out lamely, and really, Eddie should have just added Buck’s name to the lease and then handed him a glass of champagne and congratulated him after the fact. It had worked out so well with the will. What was a house compared to a son?
“What I want, Eddie,” Buck said slowly, “is for you tell me what the hell is going on here. This might be one of the last times the four of us get to hang out like this, and you want to spend it this way? Not even talking to me?” He stepped closer and Eddie gripped the bowl in his fingers like a lifeline. “Seriously, you’ve been pissy all night. What is your deal? I don’t get it, Eddie. I thought I was crowding you, so I tried giving you space, started apartment hunting as soon as I could, and the minute I told you I basically got a place locked down you went all weird on me, and then you told me all the weirdness was in my head and you didn’t mind any of those things, and I thought, good, we’re good, and now suddenly you’re mad at me again?? Seriously, what is your deal?”
“I’m not mad at you, Buck—” Eddie managed out—
“I don’t care what word you want to use. You won’t even look at me, you keep talking around me — you haven’t spoken directly to me since this morning — and Carla keeps giving you these looks, don’t think I missed those, so what are you hiding? I…I don’t get what I’ve done wrong.”
Buck had never shied away from showing the hurt in his voice, on his face. He had never been too scared to show people how he felt. He always said what he meant, and what he was saying was that Eddie had made him feel wretched. Eddie was white-knuckling the bowl so hard that tiny cracks had fissured out between his fingers. One more crack and it would shatter.
Buck took his silence and gave a half-nod, as if in acceptance. “I thought I’d given you space, but clearly not enough, so—”
“I never asked you for space!”
There was a small crash from the living room, as if Carla had dropped something, and without thinking Eddie pulled Buck towards him, drawing them both away from the door. He lowered his voice. “Buck, that’s—that’s the last thing I want.”
If Buck noticed the grip Eddie still had on his arm, he didn’t show it. “Okay, so what do you want, Eddie? Because this is the first I’m hearing about it.”
This was not the plan. There was no plan; there had only been the space crawling up between them that Eddie had suddenly not been able to take a second longer.
Eddie had never been the sort of person who could articulate what he wanted, maybe because he had never been asked. People just assumed that he had whatever it was already, that if Eddie wanted something he was the kind of man to go out and get it. But they were wrong. Eddie had been denying himself what he wanted all his life.
Buck glanced over at the door, the living room down the corridor feeling utterly silent, like people playing at games, and continued, “Come on, tell me what you want.”
He wasn’t letting up. He was still pinning Eddie with those big blue eyes and oh god, Eddie had been to war and this was worse—
Buck wet his lips. “I think I already know, so you might as well say it.”
Eddie stared at him, uncomprehending, because there was absolutely no way that Buck did know, and then, amazingly, he saw a smile lift the corner of Buck’s mouth.
“You’re not slick, Eddie. You’ve been glaring daggers at my phone every time the screen lights up, you almost broke a dish washing it when I was showing Carla pictures of the place, you start sulking every time the topic even gets brought up—”
“If you knew it, then why were you going to go?” Eddie blurted out.
“It took me a while to put it together,” Buck admitted. “It was only today that Maddie kind of…confirmed my suspicions.” He met Eddie’s gaze, unflinching, even as the red seeped into his cheeks. “You look at the pictures of that apartment the same way you looked at Tommy.”
If Eddie’s heart were any higher he would be choking on it. Buck stepped closer again, and Eddie suddenly realised that Buck had never deliberately stepped this close to him, not like this, and Eddie wondered if he was about to have a heart attack because now he really didn’t know what was going on, only what felt like what was going on was an awful lot like what that tiny little voice in his head was daring to think—
“Come on,” Buck commanded gently. “Say it.”
“Because I want to hear it.”
Eddie stared into his eyes, eyes he had stared into enough times that he had lost count, but never this bright, never this desperate. Eddie focused every piece of his will on that dazzling blue.
He had said it, he had said it out loud, and he hadn’t fallen apart. The world was still spinning, and no one had come to smite him. Not yet anyway.
Buck nodded slowly. Eddie’s heart continued to jackhammer in his chest, still not really believing that any of this was actually happening, so reality strong-armed its way in and he blustered, “But you’ve already signed the lease, you’ve—”
Buck shushed him. Eddie had never seen him so focused, his attention absolute, like they were out on a call and this was life or death. “Forget about that. How would it work, Eddie?”
Eddie’s brain wasn’t working quite so well. “What?”
Buck looked so calm, so in control, which just seemed unfair to Eddie — this seemed like a key moment to not have their dynamic completely reversed on him — and his tone was deliberate when he elaborated, “I’m not sleeping on a couch forever.”
He was impossibly close now. Eddie could see every one of his gorgeous eyelashes, the freckles on his nose, underneath his eyes, and he’d felt each word as they’d rolled out of Buck’s mouth and against Eddie’s lips. Oh god, had Eddie been gaping?
“Twin beds,” Eddie blurted out, and Buck’s expression blanched. “No, wait, I didn’t—”
Eddie took a deep breath. He swallowed, summoning up every single ounce of military training and said, voice barely above a whisper, “You can sleep with—”
He made the mistake of looking down in an attempt to gain just a moment of respite from Buck’s piercing gaze, and his eyes suddenly landed on Buck’s jeans, noticeably tented. And Eddie began to spiral. This was all happening too fast—what was he doing, talking about sharing a bed with Buck, or even sharing a bed with any man at all, but especially Buck who had an erection even just talking about sharing a bed with Eddie, and Eddie realised that the man in front of him wanted to fuck him before Eddie had even told him that he liked men too.
Buck was blushing, clearly realising what Eddie had seen. He opened his mouth—
“DAD. BUCK. We’re starting, where are you?”
Chris’ voice echoed from the living room and oh god, Chris. Eddie could hear Carla shushing him, but it was too late. The moment had stretched too far and snapped away, and it was all too much, Eddie couldn’t take it, his brain already shrunken away from the mere possibility of what they had been speaking of.
“No, sorry, I—I don’t think we—”
He felt Buck brush the skin at his wrist, his touch like stinging nettles. “Eddie, don’t—”
Eddie was already rooting through the fridge, blindly pulling out every single ice cream flavour they had and piling them into his arms, and he mumbled, “You gotta deal with that before my son sees, please—”
He didn’t look at Buck as he sidestepped him on his way to the door, already knowing what he’d see if he did.
“Coming!” he managed out, and as he left Buck standing in the kitchen, it suddenly hit him that there was every possibility that he’d just made everything unfathomably worse.
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