Chapter Text
Buck (Evan Buckley)
Portrayed by: Oliver Stark
Summary: Buck is grappling with the aftermath of a moment he shared with Eddie, leaving him uncertain about their relationship. Though he tries to focus on Christopher’s birthday, his thoughts remain consumed by the unresolved tension with Eddie. He confides in Maddie and continues to navigate the complexities of his bond with Eddie while trying to be a steady presence for Christopher. His emotional journey is marked by confusion, hope, and a deep need for clarity.
Eddie Diaz
Portrayed by: Ryan Guzman
Summary: Eddie struggles with his emotions following the moment with Buck, trying to focus on making Christopher’s birthday special. Despite his best efforts, he can't ignore the lingering warmth of the the moment, creating a tension between him and Buck. Eddie is conflicted about his feelings and the uncertainty of their relationship, but his primary concern is his son, Christopher, whom he tries to protect from the emotional turbulence he's experiencing.
Christopher Diaz
Portrayed by: Gavin McHugh
Summary: Christopher is perceptive and sensitive, noticing the unease between Buck and Eddie during his birthday celebration. He senses the tension and asks Buck about it, seeking reassurance that everything will be okay. Despite the emotional turbulence surrounding him, Christopher remains a stabilizing force, offering support to Buck and navigating his own feelings about the changes in his family dynamic.
Chief Carmen Ruiz
Portrayed by: Patricia de León
Summary: Carmen is struggling with her own emotional turmoil, particularly after discovering that her son, Mateo, is grappling with his sexuality. She’s uncertain about how to support him and is filled with guilt and fear. Later, she faces her ex-husband, Javier, who tries to make amends, but Carmen rejects his attempts to re-enter their lives, deciding she must protect Mateo from further harm.
Mateo Ruiz
Portrayed by: Gabriel Sloyer
Summary: Mateo is dealing with the internal conflict of coming out to his mother, fearing her rejection. When he finally confesses to Carmen that he is gay, he finds reassurance in her love and support. This moment marks a shift in their relationship, as Mateo begins to believe that he doesn’t have to face his struggles alone.
Marisol
Portrayed by: Karla Souza
Summary: Marisol is a quiet and introspective presence in Christopher's life, offering him comfort and support without pushing him. Though she’s distant and somewhat aloof, her connection with Christopher is palpable. Marisol is a reminder of the complexities of human connection, as her past trauma and reluctance to get close to others contrast with the trust Christopher places in her.
Javier Ruiz
Portrayed by: Danny Trejo
Summary: Javier, Carmen’s ex-husband, tries to make amends for his past mistakes. He apologizes for his wrongdoings and asks for a chance to reconnect with Mateo, but Carmen rejects him, citing the damage he’s caused. Javier’s attempt to re-enter their lives highlights his self-destructive nature and the emotional burden he continues to carry.
Buck wakes up with a start, the remnants of a restless night clinging to him like a second skin. The early morning light seeps through the blinds, casting faint shadows across the room. His mind is foggy, but there's one thing that stands out—last week. The kiss. The touch. The way Eddie’s lips had felt against his, the way his heart had raced, and how everything had seemed to slow down in that moment.
He rubs a hand over his face, trying to shake the thoughts. It was just a moment of vulnerability. Or was it? He can’t stop wondering if it had changed things between them. Eddie’s warmth, his hesitation, the softness that had lingered between them before everything had returned to normal. Or had it?
His phone buzzes on the nightstand, pulling him from his thoughts. He picks it up, distracted, and glances at the screen. It's a text from Christopher.
"Happy Birthday to me, huh? Don’t forget my cake, old man."
Buck lets out a quiet laugh, the corners of his mouth tugging into a faint smile. Despite the heaviness in his chest, the reminder of Christopher’s excitement is enough to lighten the mood, if only for a moment. He types back a quick reply: "You bet, kid. I’ll make sure it’s extra special."
But as he sets the phone down and pushes himself out of bed, a gnawing unease creeps back in. What had started as a small shift between him and Eddie now feels like a rift, one that Buck can’t quite bridge. He thought they had been close before, but now everything feels… different. The easy banter, the casual closeness, the way Eddie always seemed to have his back—has it all changed because of that one moment? And what does it mean for them, for their friendship, for the future?
As Buck showers and gets dressed for work, the questions swirl in his mind, louder now, as if they’ve taken on a life of their own. The steam from the shower clings to his skin, but it doesn’t ease the tension building in his chest. He wonders if Eddie feels it too—the unspoken tension that seems to hang in the air whenever they’re near each other. He wonders if they’ll ever be able to go back to how things were, or if the bond between them has shifted permanently, like the tide pulling them in different directions.
He pulls on his usual uniform, the dark blue shirt snug against his shoulders as he buttons it up. The fabric is familiar, comforting in its routine, but it feels almost foreign today. The black pants, the boots, the gear—all part of the day-to-day. Yet today, everything feels different. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, adjusting the collar of his shirt, and he wonders if Eddie is thinking about the same thing. If the weight of that one moment, that kiss, is pressing down on him too.
Buck grabs his jacket and throws it over his shoulder, taking a deep breath before he heads out the door. The questions are still there, still gnawing at him, but he pushes them aside, focusing on the task at hand. He’s learned to compartmentalize, to focus on the job. But today, it feels harder than ever to leave the thoughts of Eddie behind.
****
Eddie is up early, the familiar rhythm of his morning routine grounding him as he moves through the motions. The coffee machine hums softly, filling the kitchen with the scent of brewing coffee, but today, even that simple comfort feels off. He stands at the counter, staring at the dark liquid slowly filling the pot, his thoughts scattered in a thousand different directions.
Today is Christopher's birthday. His son is turning 15, and Eddie knows he should be focused on making the day special for him. He’s already made a mental list of everything they’ll do—cake, presents, a trip to the park—but something is nagging at him, a pull that refuses to be ignored. The kiss. The moment with Buck.
Eddie hasn’t fully processed what happened, hasn’t had the chance to think through the weight of it all. But it’s there, lurking in the back of his mind, that soft pressure, the warmth of Buck’s lips against his, the way their hearts seemed to beat in sync. The way that Buck’s hand had felt on his cock. The incredible sensation of Buck bringing him to orgasm. It felt... right in a way that Eddie didn’t know how to explain. But now, in the harsh light of morning, it feels like a secret he’s not sure he’s ready to face.
His phone rings, a reminder from Christopher’s school flashing across the screen: “Reminder: Christopher’s 15th birthday today!” Eddie stares at the message for a moment, then exhales sharply, rubbing his hand over his face. The guilt tugs at him again, a knot in his stomach, but he pushes it aside.
"Just get through the day," Eddie mutters to himself, the words a weak attempt to calm the storm inside. His gaze drifts to the kitchen window, where the early sunlight filters through the blinds. He tries to center himself, to focus on the one thing that matters right now—Christopher. His son deserves his full attention, not the mess Eddie’s mind keeps drifting to.
But even as he forces himself to think about the party, the cake that Buck was bringing, the way he’ll make sure Christopher has a day to remember, his thoughts slip back to Buck. To the way they’d looked at each other after, to the way their friendship felt like it had changed in an instant. The internal conflict is real, and Eddie knows he can’t keep pushing it down forever. But today, at least, he’ll try.
Eddie grabs his coffee cup and takes a long sip, letting the warmth settle in his chest. Today is about Christopher. He reminds himself of that again, the mantra grounding him in the present. He’ll deal with everything else later. Right now, his son needs him. That’s the only thing that matters.
****
Carmen walked through the firehouse, her steps steady but her mind a million miles away. The familiar clatter of boots, the smell of coffee brewing in the break room, and the low hum of conversation from the other firefighters all faded into the background as her thoughts consumed her. She had caught Mateo sneaking out the night before, and the argument that had followed felt like a crack in the foundation of everything she thought she understood about him.
Her heart still ached from the confrontation. She wanted to ground him, to impose consequences, but something in her gut told her there was more to it. Something deeper.
It wasn’t until a conversation with a friend, someone she trusted, that she learned the truth: Mateo was struggling with his sexuality. The revelation hit her like a freight train. She never expected to have to navigate this conversation with her son, never thought she’d find herself in this position, questioning everything she thought she knew about him. About herself.
She paused in the hallway, just outside the engine bay, the weight of it all pressing down on her chest. Mateo had always been so open with her—at least, she thought he had been. But this? This was different. She didn’t know how to process it. The flood of emotions that came with the discovery—fear, confusion, guilt—were overwhelming. She had never wanted him to feel like he couldn’t come to her, and yet, here she was, feeling like the one who had failed him.
Her fingers brushed against the cold metal of the firehouse door as she exhaled slowly, trying to steady herself. She couldn’t keep pretending like everything was fine. She needed to talk to him, to really talk to him. But where to even start? How could she make him understand that her concern, her frustration, came from a place of love?
She turned back toward the kitchen, trying to push the spiraling thoughts aside. The last thing she wanted was for Mateo to think she was angry with him. She wasn’t. But this—whatever was going on with him—it was bigger than either of them. And if she was going to be the mother he needed, she had to figure out how to support him, even when she didn’t have all the answers.
As Carmen walked toward the break room, her phone buzzed in her pocket, a small distraction that she welcomed. But even as she pulled it out, the worry over Mateo didn’t fade. It lingered, a quiet ache in her chest. She had to figure this out, for both their sakes.
****
Mateo walked through the school hallway, his steps slow and deliberate, the weight of his backpack pulling at his shoulder. The chatter of students fades into the background as his mind drifts elsewhere. He doesn’t hear the excited voices of his friends discussing their weekend plans, the plans that don’t include him. His face is a mask of cynicism, a practiced expression he wears to keep the world at arm’s length.
His friends, oblivious to the turmoil simmering beneath his calm exterior, talk about hanging out at the movies or playing video games, but Mateo barely registers their words. His eyes flicker to the lockers, the walls, anything to avoid the conversations he knows are coming. His thoughts are a mess, tangled in knots he doesn’t know how to untangle.
At home, things have been off lately. Carmen has been distant, quieter than usual, and Mateo can feel the pressure building. He knows that conversation is looming, the one that he’s been dreading for weeks now. And the thought of it makes his stomach churn.
He can’t pinpoint exactly when things shifted—when he went from being her “little boy” to the son she no longer recognized—but he feels it. Every glance, every pause in her voice when they talk, it’s all been building up to this moment. The moment when she’ll sit him down, ask the questions he’s not ready to answer. The moment when she’ll confront him about the truth he’s been hiding for so long.
He grips the straps of his backpack tighter, trying to shake off the feeling of impending doom. He’s not ready for it. Not ready to explain to his mother the things he’s still trying to understand about himself. Not ready to have his entire world shift again, not when he’s already so tired of pretending. But deep down, he knows that day is coming, and no amount of pretending or avoidance will change that.
His friends continue talking, oblivious to his internal struggle, and for a moment, Mateo almost wishes he could join in, pretend like everything was fine. But he can’t. Not anymore. His mind is too heavy with the weight of secrets, with the fear of rejection, with the looming question of what happens when the truth finally comes to light.
The bell rings, signaling the end of the period, and Mateo snaps back to reality. He forces a small, dismissive smile at his friends, but it’s hollow, the smile of someone who knows he’s about to lose something he can’t get back. As they head to their next class, Mateo lingers for a moment, watching them walk away, feeling more alone than ever.
****
At the Diaz household, the morning light filters softly through the windows, casting a warm glow over the living room. The house is alive with the sounds of preparation—baking, laughter, the occasional clink of dishes—but Christopher can’t shake the feeling that something is off. His 15th birthday should feel like a celebration, but his father’s emotional distance has cast a shadow over the day. Eddie is here, physically present, but his mind seems miles away.
Christopher is sitting at the kitchen table, carefully adjusting the arm brace on his right arm. The brace is something he’s grown used to over the years, a constant companion that helps support his muscles as they work to compensate for his cerebral palsy. His hands tremble slightly as he tightens the straps, but he’s done this enough times to know the routine. His left hand holds his walking stick steady, the metal gleaming in the light. His movements are slow, deliberate, as he gets himself ready for the day.
He’s wearing a navy blue shirt with a subtle design on it, a pair of well-worn jeans that are a little too big for him, but he doesn’t mind. His favorite sneakers, scuffed from years of use, are securely on his feet, and he’s feeling a small sense of pride at how he’s managed to get himself dressed with minimal help today. It’s a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
As he stands up, carefully leaning on his walking sticks, he notices Eddie in the corner of the room, fumbling with the decorations. Eddie’s smile is there, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. His father is distracted, his movements sharp and a little too quick, as though he’s trying to hurry through something. Christopher can’t help but feel the distance between them today. It’s more noticeable than ever. The silence that hangs in the air feels heavier, like a weight neither of them knows how to lift.
"Hey, Dad," Christopher says, his voice soft but clear, his gaze catching Eddie’s as he walks toward him. "Thanks for the birthday wishes."
Eddie looks up, his smile faltering for just a moment before he forces it back into place. "Of course, kid. Happy birthday."
Christopher nods, but he can’t shake the feeling that his father isn’t fully here. He’s not angry—he never is—but the disconnect stings. His father has always been his rock, but today, he feels like he’s standing on his own, just a little bit further away than usual.
"You okay?" Christopher asks, the words coming out before he can stop them. He knows his dad is always busy, always caught up in his work, but today it’s different. There’s something more to it, something Christopher can’t quite put his finger on.
Eddie hesitates, looking at his son for a long moment, and then he forces a nod. "Yeah, I’m fine. Just… a lot on my mind."
Christopher tilts his head, sensing the lie, but he doesn’t press. He knows better than to push his dad when he’s in one of these moods. Instead, he takes a deep breath, trying to make the best of the day. His birthday is important to him, and he doesn’t want anything—especially his dad’s distance—to ruin it.
He smiles, a real smile this time, the one that reaches his eyes. "Well, I’m still looking forward to the cake."
Eddie’s expression softens for a moment, and he chuckles, though it’s a little forced. "You’ve got that right. Chocolate cake, just like you like it."
Christopher grins, his face lighting up despite the lingering tension. "Perfect."
But as Eddie walks past him, clapping him lightly on the shoulder, Christopher can’t help but notice the subtle way his father pulls away, the way his smile slips back into something more guarded. Christopher doesn’t know what’s going on, but he can feel it—the shift between them. And even though he’s determined to enjoy his birthday, the weight of the unspoken words hangs heavy in the room.
****
Buck stands in the bakery, staring at the rows of cakes behind the glass display. His mind is still swirling, a little distracted as he debates between a simple chocolate cake and something a bit more extravagant. It’s for Christopher’s birthday, after all, and he wants to get it right. He picks up a small card with "Happy Birthday" written in fancy script, imagining Christopher’s face when he sees it, but then the weight of everything else creeps back in—everything with Eddie.
His phone vibrates in his pocket, pulling him from his thoughts. It’s a call from Maddie.
“Hey, sis,” Buck answers, his voice a little distracted as he moves down the bakery aisle, still not sure which cake to choose.
"Hey, you! You sound like you're in the middle of something," Maddie’s voice is warm, but there’s an undercurrent of concern in it.
Buck glances at the cake selection again. "Yeah, just picking up a cake for Christopher’s birthday. But, uh, I think I’m overthinking it. Chocolate or chocolate with extra chocolate? Can’t go wrong, right?"
Maddie laughs softly. "You’re right, you can’t go wrong with chocolate. But you sound off. What's going on? You okay?"
Buck’s grip tightens around his phone, the casual question triggering the swirl of thoughts he’s been trying to push down all week. He hesitates, then decides to take a deep breath, his voice dropping a little lower. “Maddie, it’s… it’s Eddie.”
She immediately picks up on the shift in his tone. "What happened? Did something happen with Eddie?"
Buck runs a hand through his hair, staring at the cakes again, though none of them really seem to catch his attention now. “It’s… complicated. We, uh… we kind of hooked up the other day. But not really. Not like you think.”
There’s a pause on the other end, and Buck can almost hear Maddie’s brain working. “You ‘kind of’ hooked up? Buck, what does that even mean?”
Buck sighs, glancing around the bakery, hoping no one is paying attention to him as he continues. "I don’t know, Maddie. It was like… it happened, but it didn’t. We were at the station, after a call. Things were tense between us, and, I don’t know, we just ended up in the locker room. There was a kiss, but it wasn’t like it was supposed to mean anything, you know? But now… I can’t stop thinking about it. And neither can he."
Maddie’s voice softens. “Buck, it sounds like you’re both confused.”
“Yeah, that’s putting it mildly,” Buck says, a wry laugh escaping him. "I mean, I thought it was just a moment, but now everything feels different. Like, I don’t know how to be around him anymore. It’s like… that kiss changed things, and I’m not sure if it was a mistake or if we’re both just pretending it didn’t happen.”
"Is it a mistake?" Maddie asks gently, though there’s no judgment in her tone.
Buck is quiet for a moment, staring at the chocolate cakes again, but none of them seem as sweet as they should. "I don’t know. I just… I don’t know how to navigate this, Maddie. He’s my best friend, and now I feel like I can’t even look him in the eye without thinking about it. And what if he regrets it? What if I do?"
Maddie lets the silence linger for a moment before speaking. “Buck, sometimes things get messy. But you’re both human. And whatever happens, you don’t have to have all the answers right now. Maybe take a step back, give it some space, and let things unfold naturally.”
Buck nods, though he knows it won’t be that easy. “Yeah, I know. I just wish it didn’t feel so… complicated. I don’t want to lose him, you know?”
“I know,” Maddie says softly. “But I also know you’ve got a good heart, Buck. You’ll figure it out. Just… be honest with yourself. And with him. That’s all you can do.”
Buck lets out a long breath, feeling a little lighter. “Thanks, Maddie. I needed to hear that.”
“No problem. Now go pick out that cake, okay? And make sure it’s a big one, Christopher deserves it.”
Buck laughs, the weight on his shoulders feeling a little less heavy. “Will do. Talk to you later, sis.”
As he ends the call, Buck looks at the cakes again, finally settling on a rich, decadent chocolate cake with a thick layer of frosting. He picks it up, the decision feeling easier now, as if Maddie’s words had given him just the nudge he needed. The uncertainty with Eddie is still there, still looming, but for now, he focuses on the one thing he can control—making sure Christopher’s birthday is as perfect as it can be.
****
Buck arrives at the Diaz household, the familiar warmth of the neighborhood surrounding him as he steps out of his car, cake in hand. He pauses for a moment, staring at the front door, wondering if this will be just another evening of awkward silences or if the weight between him and Eddie will finally break.
Taking a deep breath, Buck heads up the porch steps and rings the doorbell. He hears the familiar shuffle of footsteps on the other side, and when the door swings open, there’s Eddie, looking slightly disheveled but still managing that signature smile. It’s the smile that Buck knows, the one that always makes him feel like everything is going to be okay. But today, it doesn’t quite reach Eddie’s eyes.
“Hey,” Buck says, offering a smile as he holds up the cake. “Got the cake. Figured I’d go all out with the chocolate. Can’t go wrong with chocolate, right?”
Eddie chuckles, though it’s a little strained. “You really can’t. Come on in, I’ll help you set up.”
As Buck steps inside, he notices the subtle shift in the air, the quiet tension that lingers between them. It’s almost like they’re both walking on eggshells, unsure of how to act around each other after everything that happened in the locker room. Buck can feel the weight of it, but he doesn’t know how to break the silence.
“Where’s Christopher?” Buck asks, trying to keep things light, but his voice betrays the undercurrent of unease.
“Upstairs, getting ready,” Eddie says, gesturing toward the stairs. “He wanted to look extra nice for his birthday, so I’m letting him take his time.”
“Ah, gotta look good for the birthday crowd,” Buck says, following Eddie into the kitchen. He places the cake down on the counter, carefully unboxing it and setting it on the table. The rich smell of chocolate fills the air, and for a moment, Buck allows himself to relax. It’s just them, just like it used to be—simple, familiar.
Eddie starts pulling out plates and cups from the cupboard, but there’s a slight hesitance in his movements. He’s trying, but Buck can see it—the way Eddie keeps glancing at him, the way his jaw tightens as if he’s holding something back. Buck doesn’t know what to do with that, doesn’t know how to reach Eddie when it feels like the space between them has grown.
“You know,” Buck begins, his voice casual but his eyes locked on Eddie, “I can’t believe he’s already 15. Time really flies, huh?”
Eddie looks up, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, it does. Feels like just yesterday he was five, running around in those ridiculous costumes for Halloween.”
Buck laughs, remembering those days—Christopher dressed up as a superhero every year, running circles around Eddie and Buck, demanding to be the hero in every game. But now, Christopher’s older, more mature, and Buck knows that means things are changing. Not just for Christopher, but for Eddie too.
There’s a beat of silence as they continue setting up the table, and Buck can’t shake the feeling that Eddie is holding something back. He wonders if it’s the same thing Buck’s been trying to ignore all week—the kiss, the awkwardness that’s settled between them since. It feels like there’s a question hanging in the air, unspoken but loud enough to be heard.
“So…” Buck begins, glancing over at Eddie, unsure how to say what’s been on his mind. “How’s everything… you know… with you?”
Eddie stops mid-motion, his hand frozen over a plate. He looks up at Buck, his expression unreadable. “Everything’s fine,” he says, but there’s a tightness to his voice that makes Buck doubt the words.
“Eddie…” Buck starts again, his tone softer this time, as he takes a step closer. “You don’t have to pretend. If something’s wrong, you can talk to me. I—"
“I’m fine, Buck,” Eddie cuts him off, but it’s not as firm as before. It’s almost like he’s trying to convince himself more than anyone else.
Buck nods, but the weight of Eddie’s words hangs in the air. There’s so much more he wants to say, so much more he wants to ask, but now doesn’t feel like the right time. Not with Christopher upstairs, not with everything still so raw between them.
They finish setting the table in silence, and Buck takes a step back, looking at the birthday spread they’ve created. It’s simple, but it’s good. Just like everything used to be.
“Well, this looks good,” Buck says, trying to keep the mood light again. “Christopher’s gonna love it.”
Eddie nods, a small, appreciative smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, he will. Thanks for being here, Buck. Really.”
Buck looks at Eddie, his heart tightening. “Of course. I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”
The words feel heavier than they should, the unspoken truth between them pressing in. But for now, they let the moment sit, the familiar sounds of Christopher coming downstairs breaking the tension. They turn together, ready to face the next part of the day—together, as they always have been.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough for now.
****
The fire station hums with the usual bustle of morning routines. Firefighters are coming and going, the scent of coffee fills the air, and the sound of gear being prepared for the day echoes through the hall. Carmen enters the station with a purpose, her uniform sharp and commanding, her eyes focused ahead. As Chief, she’s used to the chaos and the unpredictability of her job, but today there’s an undercurrent of tension that she can’t shake.
As she steps into the bullpen, her eyes scan the room, catching sight of her team—everything is in order, as expected. But then, as her gaze shifts, she stops. Standing near the lockers, looking out of place, is a man.
Javier.
He stands there, his back to her, a familiar figure in the middle of a world that feels foreign to him now. His once confident posture is a little more hunched, the weight of time and mistakes bearing down on him. His clothes are unkempt, the remnants of his past self clinging to him like a shadow. He’s not in uniform, but his presence is unmistakable—Javier Ruiz, the man who was once the best paramedic the department had, now a ghost of his former self.
For a moment, Carmen just stands there, her breath catching in her throat. The world around her fades away as her mind reels with the sight of him. It’s been years since she last saw him—years since he self-destructed, years since he was forced out of the department after the incident that destroyed everything. She never thought she’d see him here, not in this way, not like this.
Finally, Javier turns around. His face is rough, weathered by time and regret, but there’s still that familiar, if strained, warmth in his eyes. His lips twitch into a small, almost apologetic smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Carmen,” he says, his voice gruff, the name leaving his mouth like an old habit. “It’s been a long time.”
Her heart pounds in her chest, but she keeps her face impassive, the mask of professionalism slipping over her features. She crosses her arms, trying to shield herself from the emotional onslaught his presence brings.
“What are you doing here, Javier?” Her voice is calm, controlled, but beneath it is a storm of questions. Why now? What does he want?
Javier hesitates for a moment, his hands fidgeting with the edge of his jacket. “I... I’m not here to cause trouble, Carmen. I just— I need to make things right.” His eyes flicker around the station, the ghosts of his past hovering over him like a heavy fog. “I heard about the position. About Mateo. I—I just want to see if I can fix something. I’m not asking for anything. Just a chance to talk.”
Carmen feels a flicker of anger rise within her, but she pushes it down, keeping her emotions tightly reined in. She’s not here for this, not today. Not after everything.
“Not here to cause trouble?” she repeats, her tone biting. “Javier, you’ve been nothing but trouble. You disappeared when we needed you most. And now you think you can just walk back in, like nothing happened?”
His gaze drops to the floor, guilt written all over his face. “I know... I know I messed up. I wasn’t there when you needed me. When Mateo needed me. I... I failed him. I failed you.” His voice falters for a moment, the weight of his own self-loathing pressing on him. “I’m not asking for forgiveness. I just want to try. For Mateo’s sake.”
Carmen takes a step forward, her voice low but sharp. “You don’t get to just waltz back in and make things right, Javier. You hurt him. You hurt me. You think a few words will change all of that?”
There’s a pause as Javier meets her eyes, his face drawn with regret and something deeper—shame. “I don’t know if I can fix it, Carmen. But I have to try.”
The silence between them is heavy, thick with the history of their past, the years of pain, the years of things left unsaid. Carmen’s eyes soften just for a moment, but only for a moment. The man standing before her is not the same man she once loved, not the same man she once trusted. That man is long gone, buried beneath the weight of his own mistakes.
“You don’t get to make that decision,” Carmen says quietly, her voice firm. “You’ve done enough damage. And as far as I’m concerned, you don’t have a place here anymore. Not in my life. Not in Mateo’s.”
Javier looks at her, the hurt in his eyes almost palpable. He opens his mouth to say something, but the words don’t come. He knows she’s right. He’s out of chances. He’s pushed too far.
With a deep breath, Carmen turns on her heel, her back to him. She can feel his eyes on her, but she doesn’t turn around. She can’t.
“Do what you need to do,” she says without looking back. “But don’t expect me to make it easy.”
As she walks away, the weight of his presence lingers in the air, heavy and unspoken. She doesn’t know if he’s capable of change, or if he’s just another ghost from her past, but one thing is clear: he’s not going anywhere. Not without a fight.
And Carmen is ready for whatever comes next.
****
The kitchen is quiet, the rhythmic chopping of vegetables the only sound breaking the stillness. Carmen moves methodically, the knife slicing through the onions with precision, though her mind is far from the task at hand. Her eyes flick to the clock on the wall, noting the time. The house feels emptier than usual, and the absence of Mateo’s presence weighs heavily on her.
She stops for a moment, glancing at the empty chair across from her, the one Mateo used to sit in when they’d have their meals together. It feels like a lifetime ago. Her heart tightens as she tries to push down the anxiety rising within her. Mateo’s been avoiding her, shutting himself off in a way that’s hard to ignore. She knows it’s coming—the conversation they’ve both been avoiding. But she can’t help but feel unprepared for it.
She’s still standing there, lost in thought, when the sound of footsteps from the stairs interrupts her. Carmen turns, her gaze locking onto Mateo as he heads for the door, his coat on and his posture stiff. The weight of the unspoken words between them hangs in the air like a thick fog.
“I’ll see you later,” Mateo mutters, not looking at her as he pulls the door open.
Carmen’s chest tightens. She’s been trying to keep it together, but the frustration she’s been holding back is starting to boil over. She gets up from the counter, wiping her hands on a dish towel, and walks toward him, her voice firm but laced with a quiet desperation.
“Mateo, don’t walk away from me.”
He stops, his back still to her. She can see the tension in his shoulders, the way he’s holding himself like he’s preparing for a fight. And she knows—she knows it’s coming. The confrontation they’ve been avoiding for too long.
“I’m not a kid anymore, Mom,” Mateo snaps, his voice cracking slightly with the weight of his emotions. “You don’t get to control me.”
The words hit her like a punch, but Carmen holds her ground. Her eyes soften, but her resolve doesn’t waver. “I never said I wanted to control you,” she says, her voice quiet but firm. “I want to understand you. But you keep shutting me out.”
The room is heavy with the silence that follows. Mateo’s eyes flick to the floor, his jaw clenched, fists tight at his sides. He’s angry, and Carmen can feel it—feel the walls he’s built around himself.
“I don’t need you to understand me!” Mateo’s voice rises, sharp and raw. He turns to face her, the words tumbling out in a rush, the pain in his eyes undeniable. “Just leave me alone!”
The finality in his tone sends a pang through Carmen’s chest, but she doesn’t back down. She can feel the weight of his rejection like a physical force, and it threatens to crush her, but she won’t let him push her away. Not like this.
“Mateo…” she begins, her voice breaking for a moment. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I just— I just want to help. Please.”
But Mateo’s already turning away, heading out the door with the slam of it echoing in the house. Carmen stands frozen for a moment, the finality of the door closing reverberating in her mind. She stares at the empty doorway, her heart heavy with the weight of his words.
Her breath hitches as the tears threaten to fall, but she doesn’t let them. Not yet.
This isn’t the conversation she imagined, the one she hoped for. But it’s the one they have to have.
With a deep breath, Carmen takes a step back, her shoulders sagging slightly. She watches as Mateo’s retreating figure disappears down the street, the ache of his rejection still raw in her chest.
But she refuses to give up on him. Not now. Not ever.
She turns back to the kitchen, her eyes briefly flicking to the empty chair once more. And as the weight of the silence settles in, she steels herself for what’s to come. She will find a way to reach him, no matter how long it takes.
****
The house is alive with activity, the sound of laughter and the soft hum of music filling the air as Eddie and Buck move through the living room, making last-minute adjustments to the party decorations. Streamers are hung, balloons are in place, and the cake—an extravagant chocolate masterpiece—sits proudly on the dining table, waiting to be devoured.
But amidst the cheerful chaos, there’s an underlying tension that’s impossible to ignore. Eddie, though smiling, is distracted, his gaze occasionally flickering to Buck, who is trying his best to keep up the facade of normalcy. It’s clear to anyone who’s paying attention that something is off between the two of them.
Christopher, ever the perceptive one, watches them both carefully from across the room. He notices the subtle glances, the pauses in conversation, the way Buck seems a little too quiet, and Eddie a little too distant. It’s enough to make him pause, his curiosity piqued.
As Eddie heads into the kitchen to check on something, Christopher seizes the moment. He steps toward Buck, who’s busy adjusting a decoration on the wall, his back turned for just a moment.
“Buck,” Christopher says, his voice quieter than usual. Buck straightens up, surprised by the sudden interruption, and turns to face him.
“Hey, buddy,” Buck greets, offering a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. But Christopher isn’t fooled. He’s been around long enough to know when something’s not right.
Christopher hesitates for a second, as if weighing how to phrase the question that’s been nagging at him. “You and Dad... something’s going on, isn’t there?” he asks, his tone serious but not accusing.
Buck’s expression falters, his eyes shifting slightly, as though he’s not sure how to answer. He forces a small laugh, trying to brush it off. “What do you mean, kid? Everything’s fine. It’s your birthday—this is your day.”
But Christopher’s gaze sharpens, the corner of his mouth twitching with a knowing look. “It’s not just about today, though, is it?” he presses, his voice lower now, quieter but more insistent. “I can see it. The way you and Dad look at each other... You’re not fooling me.”
Buck takes a step back, the weight of Christopher’s words hitting harder than he expects. He knows the kid’s smart, perceptive in ways that catch him off guard sometimes. He tries to shrug it off, to give Christopher the reassurance he needs, but the tension between him and Eddie is impossible to ignore, and it’s starting to eat away at him.
“Chris, I—” Buck starts, but Christopher cuts him off before he can say more.
“I’m not a kid anymore, Buck,” Christopher says, his voice steady. “I know when something’s wrong. And I’m not just talking about the party. I’m talking about you and Dad. Whatever happened, I just want to know what’s going on.”
Buck swallows, looking away for a brief moment. He feels the weight of the truth on his tongue, but it’s a truth he’s not sure he’s ready to say, not to Christopher. Not yet.
“I—” Buck begins again, but this time, his voice cracks, just a little. He runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated with himself. “It’s complicated, Chris. Your dad and I… we had a moment. But it doesn’t change anything. It’s not what you think.”
Christopher’s brow furrows as he processes the words. He doesn’t push any further, but there’s an unspoken understanding between them. He already knows more than Buck thinks. Maybe he’s already pieced it together, maybe he hasn’t—but the unspoken tension between Eddie and Buck isn’t lost on him.
“It’s okay,” Christopher says after a moment, his voice softer now. “I just wanted to know that it’s not going to mess up everything. I don’t want you two to be... weird.”
Buck smiles faintly, the heaviness in his chest lightening just a little at Christopher’s words. “We’re not gonna mess anything up, kid. I promise.”
Christopher nods, giving him a small, knowing smile before turning back to join the others. As he walks away, Buck exhales slowly, feeling a weight he didn’t even know he was carrying lift, just a little.
But as the party continues to buzz around him, Buck can’t shake the feeling that Christopher might already know more than he’s letting on—and that the truth, no matter how complicated, might come to light sooner than he’d hoped.
****
The doorbell rings, signaling the arrival of Christopher’s friend. Eddie, busy setting up the last of the decorations, quickly moves to answer the door. He opens it to reveal Marisol standing there, her presence as cool and composed as always, yet there’s an undeniable connection between her and Christopher that catches his attention immediately.
Marisol is dressed in her usual edgy, dark clothing—black jeans that are slightly torn at the knees, a fitted graphic tee with abstract artwork splashed across it, and a leather jacket that gives off an air of defiance. Her hair is slightly tousled, a messy, natural style that somehow fits her perfectly. The faint smell of paint lingers in the air around her, a subtle reminder of the art she carries with her, both literally and emotionally. Her gaze is intense, reflective of the weight of her past, but when she looks at Christopher, there’s something softer in her eyes—something that only he gets to see.
Christopher, watches her with both eagerness and a little anxiousness. His usual confidence is tempered by the nerves he feels about the party, about his dad’s complicated emotions, and about what his growing connection with Marisol might mean. The moment she enters through the door, he glances up at her, searching for reassurance.
Marisol, sensing his unease, looks down at him with a small but genuine smile. Her presence has a calming effect on him, a quiet understanding that makes him feel less alone in the chaos of the day. She offers him a brief nod before stepping inside.
“Happy birthday, Christopher,” Marisol says, her voice steady but warm. It’s not a loud or boisterous greeting, but there’s sincerity in it—an unspoken acknowledgment of the significance of the day, even if she doesn’t show it in the same way others might.
“Thanks, Marisol,” Christopher responds, his smile shy but genuine. He feels a flutter of warmth at her words, the connection between them palpable even in the simplest of exchanges.
Eddie, standing in the doorway, watches the two of them for a moment, noticing the way Christopher looks at Marisol. There’s something there, something deeper than friendship. Eddie doesn’t know exactly what it is yet, but it’s clear to him that Marisol is becoming a steady presence in Christopher’s life. He nods toward them both, offering a welcoming smile.
“You made it,” Eddie greets her, though there’s a hint of cautious curiosity in his tone. “Come on in. Glad you could join us.”
Marisol’s usual aloofness slips slightly as she steps inside, glancing around the room. The party is in full swing, with laughter and chatter filling the air, but her gaze quickly lands on Christopher. He looks up at her again, his nervousness still lingering, but she gives him another small, almost imperceptible nod—a silent message of reassurance. She’s here for him, just as she always is.
As they move further into the party, the tension in Christopher’s shoulders starts to ease. Eddie watches them from the doorway, a mix of curiosity and concern in his eyes. He doesn’t know exactly what’s happening between them yet, but he’s starting to understand that Marisol is more than just a friend to Christopher—she’s someone who sees him, understands him, and perhaps even heals the parts of him that he’s been trying to hide.
Marisol, ever the enigma, stands by Christopher’s side, her presence offering both comfort and a challenge. She’s not easy to read, but there’s something in the way she looks at him that speaks volumes. As they move further into the room, the connection between them becomes undeniable. And though neither of them fully understands where this path will lead, there’s a quiet certainty that, for now, they’re exactly where they need to be.
****
The party is in full swing, filled with the usual birthday excitement—laughter, music, and the clatter of voices. The Diaz household is a warm, bustling environment, with decorations hanging from every corner and the scent of cake filling the air. But among the festivities, one figure stands apart.
Marisol, though physically present, seems distant from the group. Her dark clothing—black jeans and a loose, oversized jacket—sets her apart from the colorful party atmosphere. She leans against the wall near the doorway, arms crossed loosely over her chest, her gaze drifting toward the group but never fully engaging. She’s not uncomfortable, per se, but the energy of the room doesn’t seem to fully resonate with her.
Christopher is nearby, chatting with a few friends, but he keeps glancing back at her, as if checking in. He doesn’t mind her quietness, in fact, he appreciates it. It’s a relief from the loud, chaotic environment of the party. He knows Marisol isn’t one for crowds, but that doesn’t bother him.
Eddie, watching from the kitchen as he helps Buck with the food, notices Marisol standing by herself. His gaze lingers on her, his protective instincts immediately kicking in. There’s something about her presence that makes him cautious, a sense of unease he can’t quite shake. She’s not part of Christopher’s usual circle, and while she hasn’t done anything to raise alarms, Eddie can’t help but keep an eye on her.
As he watches, he notices how Christopher occasionally looks over at Marisol, the way he seems to draw strength from her quiet presence. There’s a certain bond between them, something unspoken but strong. Marisol, for all her aloofness, seems to be a steady influence on Christopher. He’s seen how the two of them communicate through their art, how she encourages him to channel his emotions in ways that Eddie’s not sure he’s ready for.
Eddie watches them interact for a moment—Marisol, her eyes soft yet intense as she listens to Christopher talk about his latest piece of art, her encouragement never forced, just genuine. Christopher’s posture is more relaxed in her presence, the tension he’s carried for days, ever since the incident, easing when she’s around. She doesn’t push him to talk, but she gives him space to express himself in his own way, and that’s something Eddie can’t deny he’s noticed.
He takes a slow breath, a mix of concern and grudging respect washing over him. There’s something raw about Marisol, something real. He knows the kind of pain she carries—he’s seen it in her eyes. She’s a mirror to Christopher in many ways, someone who understands the weight of grief and trauma. And while Eddie doesn’t fully trust her yet, he can’t help but feel a strange sense of gratitude for the way she seems to help his son.
Still, he can’t ignore the protective instinct that lingers in the back of his mind. He doesn’t know what kind of influence Marisol will have on Christopher, but for now, he watches, waiting for signs—good or bad.
The music in the background fades for a moment as Eddie’s attention remains fixed on the two of them, Christopher and Marisol, talking in their quiet corner of the room. It’s clear to him that whatever happens between them, Christopher is starting to open up again, and for that, he’s thankful. But he’s also aware that Marisol is a new, unpredictable force in his son’s life—and Eddie will need to keep an eye on that.
For now, he watches from the distance, the protector in him never fully resting, but the father in him thankful for the rare connection Christopher has found.
****
The house is alive with activity—the hum of music, the sound of laughter, and the general buzz of a birthday party—but in the kitchen, Eddie and Buck are both somewhat distant from the celebration. Eddie stands with his back against the counter, eyes fixed on Christopher and Marisol, who are talking and laughing in the living room. Their easy camaraderie is a stark contrast to the rest of the party’s energy, and Eddie can’t seem to tear his gaze away.
Buck, who’s been moving around the kitchen setting drinks and checking on snacks, notices Eddie’s distraction. He glances over at him, following his gaze to Christopher and Marisol, before raising an eyebrow.
“You’re watching them like a hawk,” Buck says lightly, but there’s an edge of concern in his voice. “Everything okay?”
Eddie doesn’t immediately respond. His eyes flicker between Marisol and Christopher, the weight of his thoughts settling in. He shifts uncomfortably, then sighs deeply, finally turning to face Buck.
“I don’t know, Buck,” Eddie admits, his voice tinged with unease. “Something about her... it doesn’t sit right with me. I’m just... watching him, you know?”
Buck moves closer, sensing Eddie’s growing tension. He stops beside him, leaning against the counter, his expression softening.
“I get it,” Buck says. “She’s new, and Chris has been through a lot lately. But from what I’ve seen, she’s been good for him. He’s not shutting down like he was before.”
Eddie exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I know. But she’s not like the other kids he hangs out with. She’s... different. Quiet, distant. I’m just trying to figure her out. And Chris... I don’t know. He’s been so closed off since everything happened, and now this.” He shakes his head, voice lowering with concern. “I just don’t want him to get hurt.”
Buck gives Eddie a small, understanding nod. He’s about to say something when Eddie’s phone buzzes on the counter. Eddie grabs it, glancing at the screen before putting it back down with a sigh. The moment feels heavy, and Buck watches him carefully.
“Chris asked me something the other day,” Buck says suddenly, breaking the silence. He hesitates for a moment before continuing, clearly unsure of how to frame it. “About us.”
Eddie looks up at Buck, confusion clouding his expression. “Us?” he repeats, the question heavy in the air.
“Yeah,” Buck says, his voice quieter now, as he glances back toward Christopher and Marisol. “About... you and me. About why we’re so close. I didn’t know how to answer him at first, but it was clear he was thinking about it. Noticing things. And I’m worried, Eddie. He’s starting to sense that things aren’t the way they used to be.”
Eddie’s eyes narrow as he processes the information. “Chris asked you about us?” His voice is low, the realization sinking in. “What did you say?”
Buck rubs the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation. “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, but I could tell he was trying to make sense of it. I just told him that everything’s fine, that we’re just close. But I could see it on his face... He’s picking up on something.”
Eddie’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, he says nothing. He glances back at Christopher, who is still talking to Marisol, a quiet smile on his face. The realization that his son is starting to notice things about his relationship with Buck feels like a weight pressing down on him.
“I don’t want him to think we’re weird, either,” Eddie says, his voice steady but tinged with concern. “But I can’t ignore that something’s different between us. And I’m not sure what to do about it. I don’t want him to think that just because we’re close... that it means something else. Not yet.”
Buck nods slowly, understanding the complexity of the situation. “Yeah, I get it. But Chris... he’s always been observant. He knows something’s changing. Maybe it’s time to talk to him about it. You don’t have to explain everything, but maybe just let him know that it’s okay to ask questions. That we’re here for him, no matter what.”
Eddie exhales deeply, running a hand through his hair. “You’re right. I just don’t want him to feel more confused than he already does.”
Buck pats Eddie on the shoulder, offering a smile. “You’ll figure it out. You always do. And Chris... he’s lucky to have you, Eddie. Both of you.”
Eddie glances back toward Christopher, who is still talking to Marisol, his body language relaxed, but there’s something in his expression that Eddie can’t quite place. He knows Christopher is figuring things out in his own way, but Eddie isn’t sure how much longer he can keep things from shifting, especially with everything going on.
“Yeah,” Eddie mutters softly, watching Christopher. “I hope so.”
****
The party rages on inside—laughter, music, and chatter spilling through the open windows—but Christopher can’t quite shake the sense of discomfort that’s been gnawing at him all evening. He’s been trying to keep up with the energy, to smile and engage with the guests, but it’s all too much. Too loud. Too overwhelming.
Slipping away from the group unnoticed, he steps outside into the cool night air, letting it wash over him. The noise of the party fades as he walks further into the yard, seeking solace in the quiet.
He leans against the wooden railing of the porch, looking out into the darkness. His mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, none of them quite making sense. He’s supposed to be happy, supposed to be celebrating, but the weight of everything that’s happened makes it feel impossible.
The door creaks behind him, and Marisol steps outside, her footsteps soft on the grass. She doesn’t say anything at first, just stands there for a moment, sensing the space Christopher needs but also recognizing the pain he’s carrying.
Finally, she speaks, her voice quiet but sincere. “Are you okay?”
Christopher doesn’t immediately respond. He shrugs, his gaze still fixed on the distant horizon, as if the world out there might offer him some clarity. “I don’t know,” he admits. “It just feels... weird. It’s supposed to be a celebration, but it’s hard to enjoy it with everything that’s happened.”
Marisol watches him closely, her expression softening with understanding. She moves closer, leaning against the railing next to him. “I get it,” she says quietly. “My mom used to throw parties like this. But they never felt real. They were just distractions. And sometimes... distractions make it harder to feel what you need to feel.”
Christopher turns to her, surprised by the raw honesty in her words. He hadn’t expected her to understand. “You don’t like parties either, huh?” he asks, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, though it doesn’t reach his eyes.
Marisol gives a half-smile in return, but there’s a sadness to it, a vulnerability that mirrors his own. “I don’t like pretending everything’s fine when it’s not,” she says, her voice low but steady. “But I’m learning that maybe it’s okay to let some things be good for a while. Even if it doesn’t make sense.”
Christopher nods slowly, taking in her words. He never thought about it that way—how sometimes it’s okay to just let things be, even if it feels strange. “You’re right,” he says, his voice softer now. “I just... I don’t know how to let myself feel good again.”
Marisol steps a little closer, her presence a calming influence. Her tone is gentle but firm, as though she’s trying to guide him through the mess of emotions he’s feeling. “You don’t have to fix everything right away. Just... take it one step at a time. And if you need to paint through it, or draw, or scream into the void, then do that. But don’t shut everything out.”
Christopher looks at her, her words sinking in deeper than he expects. For the first time that night, he feels a flicker of relief, like maybe he doesn’t have to have it all figured out. Maybe he can just... be.
He smiles a little, his shoulders relaxing as he leans back against the railing. “Thanks, Marisol,” he says, his voice quieter now, but genuine.
Marisol offers him a small, understanding smile in return. “Anytime, Chris.”
They stand there for a moment in comfortable silence, the weight of the evening still lingering but feeling a little more bearable now. The night air feels a little less heavy, and for the first time in a while, Christopher allows himself to just... breathe.
****
The party has settled into a comfortable chaos, the music playing a little too loud, people laughing and chatting, and the occasional burst of laughter or clink of glasses filling the room. But amidst the festivities, Marisol remains distant, more of a shadow than a participant. She’s perched in a quiet corner of the room, her sketchbook open in her lap, though her pencil is still. Her eyes, however, are distant, unfocused, as though she’s lost in a world that’s far away from the noise and celebration.
Christopher notices her, his attention drifting from the partygoers to the girl who’s always seemed so out of place in large groups. He watches her for a moment, sensing her isolation, before making his way over to her, his steps soft on the carpeted floor.
"Hey," he says quietly, not wanting to startle her. "You okay?"
Marisol doesn’t look up immediately, and for a long beat, the silence hangs between them. Her gaze remains unfocused, her fingers tapping lightly on the edge of her sketchbook, as if weighing how to respond. Finally, her voice comes, soft and uncertain.
"I don’t know why I’m here," she admits, her words carrying a weight that makes Christopher pause. "It’s not my thing. But I guess I wanted to see you." She glances up at him briefly, her eyes betraying a mix of vulnerability and reluctance. "I’m just not good at… being around people."
Christopher, sensing her discomfort, doesn’t press her for more. Instead, he slides into the space beside her, settling down on the floor with his back against the wall. "You don’t have to be perfect. No one here is. I’m not, at least," he says, offering her a reassuring smile.
For a brief moment, Marisol looks at him, a flicker of something in her eyes, though it’s hard to tell if it’s appreciation or just uncertainty. She exhales softly, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "You’re right," she murmurs, her gaze dropping back to her sketchbook. "But that’s why I keep to myself. I don’t know how to… how to let people in. Especially when I’m not sure who I am yet."
Christopher’s heart twinges at her words, and he leans in slightly, his voice low and gentle. "You’re not alone in that. I don’t have it all figured out either." His hand rests lightly on her shoulder, offering a sense of warmth, of understanding.
Marisol’s gaze shifts to meet his, and for a moment, she doesn’t look away. Her walls, which she’s built so carefully, seem to lower just a little. She’s quiet, her breath shallow, as though she’s deciding whether or not to share the weight she’s been carrying.
"I’m just scared," she finally says, her voice trembling slightly. "Scared that if I get too close, I’ll hurt you, or I’ll hurt myself. My mom did that to me."
Christopher’s expression softens, and he feels the weight of her words settle in his chest. He knows that fear all too well—the fear of letting people in only to have them leave, or worse, to have them hurt you when you need them the most. "You don’t have to carry that with you, Marisol," he says quietly. "I get it. You don’t have to let me in if you’re not ready. But… if you ever do want to talk, I’m here."
Her gaze lingers on him, her eyes searching his face for sincerity, for something she can trust. It’s not easy for her to open up, and though she doesn’t fully let down her guard, there’s something between them now—an unspoken understanding.
After a beat, she nods slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thanks, Christopher. I don’t know what I’m doing… but I’ll try."
And though she doesn’t say more, there’s a softness in the air between them now, a shared vulnerability that makes the moment feel more real. For the first time that night, Marisol doesn’t feel so alone. She doesn’t have all the answers, but for the first time in a while, she feels like she’s not facing everything by herself. And maybe, just maybe, she’s starting to trust that it’s okay to let someone else in.
****
Later that night, at the Ruiz’s residence. Carmen stands at the threshold of Mateo’s room, her heart heavy as she watches her son’s still form against the backdrop of the dimly lit space. The door creaks softly as she enters, her footsteps slow and hesitant, as if the very act of walking toward him feels like stepping into unknown territory.
Mateo is sitting on his bed, his back turned toward her, staring blankly at the wall. His posture is stiff, shoulders rigid with tension, though he’s pretending not to notice her. Carmen can see the subtle tremble in his shoulders, the tightness of his jaw, and it breaks her heart. He’s holding something back, and it’s clear that whatever it is, he’s afraid to share it.
“I know you don’t want to talk,” Carmen begins softly, her voice almost a whisper, careful not to disturb the fragile space between them. “But I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine.”
Mateo doesn’t respond, and for a moment, Carmen wonders if he even heard her. She takes a step closer, her voice gentle but firm. “Mateo, I love you. No matter what you’re going through, you don’t have to go through it alone.”
Still, he doesn’t turn to face her. His eyes stay fixed on the wall, and Carmen feels the weight of his silence press against her chest. She sits on the edge of his bed, the mattress sinking slightly under her weight, but she doesn’t push him. She lets him breathe, lets him take the time he needs, even though she’s dying to know what’s behind that wall of silence.
For a long moment, the room is still. Then, almost imperceptibly, Mateo’s voice breaks the quiet, small and strained. “I’m gay, Mom. There, I said it.”
Carmen’s breath catches in her throat, her heart racing at the unexpected confession. She’s taken aback, but the surprise is fleeting, quickly replaced by something else—something warm, something fierce. She crosses the room in a single motion, her hand reaching for him as she sits beside him on the bed.
“I’m not going to turn my back on you,” she says, her voice firm but tender. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
Mateo doesn’t look at her, but she feels his body stiffen slightly, as if bracing for the worst. Finally, he turns his head, his eyes filled with a mixture of defiance and vulnerability. “I’m not afraid of you, Mom. I’m afraid of everyone else. The world isn’t kind to people like me.”
The weight of his words settles over Carmen like a blanket, heavy and suffocating. She feels a surge of protectiveness for her son, a deep need to shield him from the cruelty he fears. Reaching out, she places a hand gently on his shoulder, her touch warm and steady.
“The world can be cruel, yes,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “But I’ll always protect you, Mateo. You don’t have to hide who you are. Not from me.”
For the first time in what feels like forever, Mateo’s guard begins to falter. His eyes close for a moment, his breath hitching slightly, as if the weight of her words is too much to hold back. He leans into her touch, his body still tense but slowly, slowly, relaxing.
“I don’t want to be weak,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “I don’t want to be seen like… like some kind of freak.”
Carmen’s heart breaks at the rawness of his confession. She pulls him into her arms, holding him tightly, as if trying to protect him from the weight of the world. “You’re not a freak, Mateo,” she whispers, her voice soothing, soft. “You’re my son. And you’re perfect just the way you are.”
In her arms, Mateo finally lets himself feel something other than anger and fear. His body trembles, but this time it’s not with tension. It’s with the release of everything he’s been holding in for so long. Carmen holds him close, letting him feel her warmth, her love, her unwavering support.
And for the first time in a long time, Mateo allows himself to believe it. That maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t have to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders alone.
****
The last of the guests have trickled out, the hum of laughter and music long faded into the quiet of the night. The house feels still, the remnants of the celebration scattered across the living room—empty cups, half-eaten snacks, and deflated balloons. Buck moves through the space with practiced ease, tidying up, though his movements are slower than usual, the weight of the evening settling in.
As he picks up a stray napkin, he notices Christopher lingering near the doorway, watching him. The boy is quieter than usual, his gaze a little too thoughtful, and Buck can sense something is on his mind.
“You know,” Buck says, tossing the napkin into the trash, trying to keep things light, “I think we’ve had enough cake for a lifetime. I’m definitely taking a break from sugar after tonight.”
Christopher doesn’t smile, though he does shift his weight, his hands shoved in his pockets. He watches Buck for a beat, and then, almost cautiously, asks, “Are you and Dad... okay?”
The question hangs in the air, thick with unspoken tension. Buck pauses, glancing up from his task. The smile he forces is small, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“We’re fine,” Buck says, though his voice betrays him, quiet and unsure. “Why do you ask?”
Christopher takes a few steps closer, his expression serious. “I just... I don’t know. You two are acting weird. I mean, I’ve seen it for a while, and tonight, it was... different. I know something’s going on.”
Buck’s eyes flicker to the floor, his mind racing. He can’t help but feel a little exposed. He wasn’t expecting Christopher to be so perceptive, but he’s always been that way. Still, he tries to brush it off, keeping his tone casual.
“It’s nothing, Chris,” Buck says, his voice softer now. “Just a lot of stuff going on, that’s all. But you don’t need to worry about it.”
But Christopher isn’t convinced. “I’m not stupid, Buck. I know when something’s off. It’s been like that for a while now.”
The weight of the conversation presses in on Buck, and he realizes, perhaps for the first time, how much Christopher is picking up on. He feels like he’s standing on the edge of something he doesn’t know how to handle. But he knows one thing: he can’t keep pretending like everything is fine, especially not with Christopher.
Eddie enters the room, pausing when he sees them standing together, the air between them heavy. His gaze shifts from Buck to Christopher, and something inside him tightens. He’s been avoiding this conversation for so long, not wanting to make things more complicated, but it’s clear now that avoiding it isn’t an option anymore.
“Chris,” Eddie begins, his voice low and careful. “I think we need to talk.”
Christopher’s gaze flickers between his father and Buck, sensing the shift in the air. He nods, stepping closer, his expression open but cautious.
“I don’t want you to think... that things are weird between us,” Eddie says, his words slower now, like he’s choosing them with care. “Between me and Buck. But there’s something I need you to understand. Something that’s... not easy to talk about.”
Christopher looks up at his father, his brow furrowed, but he’s listening, waiting for the words to come. Buck stands a little to the side, not sure if he should step in, but something in Eddie’s posture—something vulnerable—tells him to stay quiet for now.
“I know you’ve noticed,” Eddie continues, his voice softer, the words finally coming easier. “And I know you’ve probably been wondering for a while. I... I don’t know how to explain this to you, but I want you to know that it’s not about you. It’s about us, Buck and me.”
Christopher nods slowly, processing the words. He doesn’t speak, but his eyes never leave his father, waiting for him to continue.
“I don’t want you to feel like things are changing between us,” Eddie says, his voice thick with emotion. “But the truth is, Buck and I... we’ve been through a lot together. More than I can put into words. And I think... I think I’ve been avoiding facing some of it. Because I’m not sure what it means, or how to make sense of it.”
Buck looks up then, meeting Eddie’s eyes, a silent understanding passing between them. For the first time, it feels like Eddie is starting to let the walls come down, letting himself acknowledge the complexity of what’s been happening between them.
“I’ve been confused,” Eddie admits, his gaze still on Christopher. “About what this is, about what it means. And I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, or think that things are going to change in a way that’s bad. But I think... I think I’m finally starting to figure it out. I just didn’t want to put that on you, Chris. I didn’t want to make things harder.”
Christopher takes a deep breath, his expression still unreadable. But there’s something different in his eyes now—a glimmer of understanding.
“You don’t have to explain everything to me, Dad,” he says quietly. “I just... I just want you to be okay. And Buck, too. I don’t want things to be weird.”
Eddie’s chest tightens, but in a good way. For the first time, it feels like they’re on the same page.
“I’m figuring it out, Chris,” Eddie says, his voice firm but gentle. “One step at a time. And you don’t have to worry about us. We’ll be okay. I promise.”
Buck steps forward, his expression soft. “Yeah, kid. We’re all in this together. No matter what.”
The three of them stand there for a moment, the air lighter than it’s been in a long time. It’s not a perfect solution, and there’s still a lot left to figure out, but for now, they have each other—and that’s enough.