Helena and Ramon Diaz rush to Los Angeles after hearing their son Eddie has been shot, only to discover that he's already home recovering, with Christopher and an unexpected presence—Evan "Buck" Buckley—firmly at his side. As Helena grapples with the realization of how much of Eddie's life she's missed, old wounds and long-buried regrets surface.
Navigating the awkward terrain of reconciliation, Helena finds herself watching Buck's easy presence in Eddie and Christopher's lives. He's not just a friend—he's family. But as Eddie and Helena confront their strained relationship, new truths about Buck and Eddie's bond come into focus.
In a home filled with love, laughter, and a surprising number of PB , Helena must decide whether she's ready to let go of the past and embrace the future Eddie has built. Because sometimes, family isn't about where you come from—it's about who shows up when it matters most.
Los Angeles in the spring was nothing like El Paso. The air clung to Helena Diaz's skin, damp and heavy, a far cry from the dry heat she knew so well. As she and Ramon stepped through the glass doors of LAX, the din of the city seemed to follow them, relentless and unfamiliar.
It had been years since they'd been here—years since they'd been to see their son, and even longer since they had come without it ending in an argument. Yet here they were, the two of them walking in uneasy silence, carrying a tension that had grown as natural as breathing.
The phone call had been brief, barely coherent, a flurry of Isabel's words tumbling over one another. Eddie. Shot. Hospital. Recovery. They'd caught the earliest flight out, abandoning their schedules, their responsibilities, even their pride, because their son—their son—had nearly been taken from them, and that was all that mattered.
Helena had spent the flight trying to pray and failing. Every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was Eddie as a little boy, scraped knees and stubborn eyes, always so determined to prove he didn't need anyone. And now, he hadn't even called.
"Let's get the car," Ramon muttered beside her, his voice low and clipped. He'd been like this since the call: sharp-edged and restless, his discomfort manifesting in snipes and sighs. Helena ignored him, her fingers tightening around the strap of her purse as she followed him to the rental desk.
The drive to Eddie's house was silent save for the occasional buzz of Ramon's phone. Helena didn't bother asking who it was; she didn't care. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess of worry and frustration, spiraling with every mile that passed. She didn't know what they'd find when they got there.
Eddie had been shot—a gunshot—and somehow Isabel had said he was already recovering at home. Was he alone? Did he have someone helping him? And what about Christopher?
Christopher. The thought of her grandson sent a fresh wave of anxiety rolling through her. Sweet, bright Christopher, who had already been through so much. Helena had been too afraid to ask Isabel the details, too ashamed of how little she knew about Eddie's life these days.
She told herself it wasn't for lack of trying. Eddie had always been distant, always kept them at arm's length, but in her heart, she knew the truth was more complicated.
They pulled up to Eddie's house just past midday, the sun high and blinding in the sky. The house looked the same as it had the last time she'd seen it—neat and unassuming, with a small front yard and a little ramp leading to the door. Helena's stomach churned as she climbed out of the car, her eyes darting to the windows, hoping for a glimpse of movement.
Ramon was already at the door, knocking sharply before she could stop him. "Don't—" she started, but it was too late. The door swung open almost immediately, and she found herself face-to-face with someone she didn't recognize.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, with messy blond hair and startlingly blue eyes. He was also wearing a T-shirt that looked like it had been through a war zone, smudged with what she could only assume was grease or soot. For a moment, Helena thought they'd come to the wrong house. Then the man smiled, wide and easy, and said, "You must be Eddie's parents."
Her throat tightened. "Yes," she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Buck," the man said, holding out a hand as if this were the most natural thing in the world. "Evan Buckley. Everyone calls me Buck."
She stared at him, unsure of what to do. Ramon, ever the pragmatist, stepped forward and shook the man's hand with a curt nod. "Where's Eddie?" he asked, his tone gruff.
Buck's smile faltered, just for a second, before he stepped aside and gestured for them to come in. "He's in the living room," he said, his voice softening. "He's resting, but he's been awake on and off. Christopher's with him."
Helena felt like she was moving through molasses as she stepped into the house. It was warmer than she'd expected, the air filled with the faint scent of coffee and something sweet—cinnamon, maybe. She followed Buck down the hallway, her heart pounding in her chest, until they reached the living room.
Eddie was there, propped up on the couch with a blanket over his legs and Christopher curled up beside him. His face was pale, his hair mussed, but he was awake, his eyes half-lidded as he murmured something to his son. The sight of him hit her like a freight train, relief and guilt crashing over her in equal measure.
"Eddie," she said, her voice trembling.
His head snapped up at the sound of her voice, his eyes widening in surprise. "Mom? Dad?" he croaked, his voice rough.
Helena stepped forward, her hands twitching at her sides as she fought the urge to reach for him. "We came as soon as we heard," she said, her words tumbling out in a rush. "Why didn't you tell us? Why didn't you—"
"Mom," Eddie interrupted, his voice firmer this time. "I'm fine. It's not as bad as it looks."
"Not as bad as it—" Ramon started, but Buck cut him off with a laugh.
"Yeah, he's been saying that a lot," Buck said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. "Don't listen to him. He's been driving me and Christopher crazy trying to do too much."
Helena turned to look at him, her brows knitting together in confusion. "You've been… here?" she asked.
Buck shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Someone's gotta keep these two in line," he said lightly, but there was an undercurrent of something else in his voice, something she couldn't quite place.
Helena's gaze flicked back to Eddie, who was watching her with an expression she couldn't decipher. "Why didn't you call us?" she asked again, her voice cracking. "We could have—"
"Could have what?" Eddie snapped, his tone sharper than she'd expected. "Flown out here to fight with me about how I'm living my life? Lecture me about my choices? No thanks, Mom. I've had enough of that to last a lifetime."
The words stung, but she couldn't say they were undeserved. She opened her mouth to respond, but Buck spoke up before she could.
"Okay," he said, clapping his hands together. "Why don't we all take a deep breath? Eddie's supposed to be resting, and I think Chris could use a snack. Right, buddy?"
Christopher looked up at him with wide eyes, his head bobbing in a quick nod. Buck smiled and held out a hand, which Christopher took without hesitation. "We'll be in the kitchen," he said, leading the boy out of the room.
Helena watched them go, her heart aching at the sight of Buck's easy affection for her grandson. When they were gone, she turned back to Eddie, who was glaring at her with a mix of frustration and exhaustion.
"You should go," he said, his voice low. "I don't have the energy for this right now."
Her chest tightened, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "Eddie—"
"Just go," he said again, his voice breaking.
Helena hesitated, her hands trembling at her sides, before turning and walking out of the room. She didn't know what hurt more: the anger in his voice or the realization that she'd put it there.
I'll put it back on ao3 tomorrow