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Eddie pulls the phone up to his ear. “Hello?”
Eddie knows that Buck is on the other end of this call. He saw the caller ID. He saw the name and the picture that Christopher set as Buck’s contact photo so long ago now Eddie can’t remember a time before then. Which is how Eddie feels about a lot of things about Buck. Not remembering, that is, before Buck. Funny how life gets divided into eras like that. Or maybe it’s a lens, like life before and after getting glasses. Before and after seeing snow fall for the first time. Before and after a rainbow on a roadtrip.
“I...” Buck starts, “I’m in a situation.”
Eddie straightens a little, twisting to lean the small of his back against the kitchen counter. Eddie takes a deep breath, feeling his eyebrows fall into a familiar frown. With Buck, I’m in a situation could mean anything from “I rescued a couple of injured baby squirrels that fell out of a tree, please buy tiny syringes to help me feed them” to “I almost hooked up with someone in the club bathroom except his ex-fiancee called to get back together, I called him an Uber so he could reunite with her, things got out of hand, and now I’m best man in the wedding.”
“What kind of situation?”
“I ran out of flour—”
“Ah,” Eddie muses, already turning to check his own stock in the pantry. “And you need me to bring you some?”
“Uh, well…”
Eddie can hear something shift in the background on Buck’s side of the call. Eddie’s frown deepens.
“So,” Buck resumes hesitantly, “so I took a break from baking.”
“Okay.”
“I went on a hike.”
Eddie moves his phone to his other hand, then crosses both arms across his chest as tightly as he can. “What’s the situation? Are you still on the hike?”
“Nothing bad, so don’t—”
“What’s the situation, Buck?”
“I sprained my ankle.”
Eddie starts to move even before the sigh leaves his mouth.
“Or something,” Buck is saying. “Uh, I rolled it pretty good.”
Eddie beelines for the bathroom to grab the first aid kit, fishes around under the sink for the SAM splint he’s sure is somewhere back there, then pockets two extra rolls of ace wrap for good measure.
“And you’re too good for an ambulance, I guess?” Eddie asks, weaving back toward the front door. He yanks a drawstring bag off the hook by the door, opens it, and tosses all his supplies inside. Then he wedges the phone between his ear and shoulder so that he can tug on his shoes.
Buck groans. “If Cal Fire comes up here just to walk me out on a sprain, I’ll never live it down.”
“Cal Fire?” Eddie opens the front door, exits, and locks it behind him. “What kind of hike are you on? You have cell service but not a paved road?”
“It’s a real hike. With real hills and rocks and stuff.”
“And nobody else around to help you?”
“People, uh, passed me a couple times, and they offered. But they don’t… I just need to wrap it, seriously. Listen, can you—can you just—”
“I’m already in the car.” Eddie unlocks the truck, climbs into the driver’s seat, and slams the door pointedly at the phone microphone still wedged on his shoulder. “Where am I going?”
It’s a spot Eddie’s never been to before. Not that Eddie’s been to a lot of LA county hiking spots, but it means he drives around for almost ten minutes just trying to figure out where to park. Then he realizes that all these cars pulled off on the shoulder probably belong to the hikers that Buck said passed him on the trail, so Eddie pulls in a little too abruptly behind a maroon Honda and parks.
Eddie gets out of the car feeling weirdly self-conscious and inexplicably frustrated to be here, of all places, saving Buck’s ass, of all things, in jeans and pleather sneakers. Eddie grabs the bag from the passenger seat, slings both straps over one shoulder, and straightens to lock the car. He adjusts his sunglasses, then starts marching toward the trailhead.
After several minutes of walking in silence, watching the dust clouds settle resentfully on Eddie’s shoes, Eddie dials Buck’s number.
Buck answers on the second ring. “Did I totally ruin your day?”
Eddie can hear the way Buck’s uncomfortably lounging, probably with his back against a rough tree trunk. It makes Eddie wish, almost, that Buck had asked Eddie to join him on the hike. That way, maybe Eddie could have helped Buck limp home as soon as he sprained his ankle, not an hour later. Or maybe Eddie could have prevented Buck from getting injured at all.
So it’s not so much that Buck’s I’m in a situation ruined Eddie’s day. It’s that Eddie wasn’t in the situation with Buck from the start.
The way Eddie figures it, Buck and Eddie should always be in situations together. Doesn’t matter what the situation is. Eddie will bring syringes for the baby squirrels. Eddie will be Buck’s plus one at a weird almost-one-night-stand-but-now-best-man wedding. Eddie will go on a miserable hike because Buck ran out of flour, if that’s what Buck needs to do.
Eddie does not say this. Instead, he refocuses Buck’s attention: “How’s the ankle doing?”
“Oh, it’s all swollen. Very swollen.”
Eddie squints at the rapidly steepening climb before him. He’s suddenly grateful that Los Angeles still attempts a winter, even if its definition of December is 75 degrees and sunny. It could be worse. It could be July, and 100.
“You check CSMs?”
“Circulation’s good,” Buck reports with a bit of a hiss.
“Did you check or are you just saying that because your foot feels warm?”
“My foot does feel warm.”
“Did you take off your shoe?”
“Yeah—“
“And your sock?”
“Yes, dad—“
“Then check your capillary refill. Come on, you know the drill.”
Eddie lets the silence sit. Two hikers pass him coming the opposite way, and he considers asking them if they’ve seen a guy who looks like Buck, but he doesn’t. There’s no need; Eddie should be almost to him by now.
Eddie shifts his quads into a higher gear, pushing himself up this crumbly, dirt path as fast as his legs can take it.
“Cap refill’s right about two seconds.”
That’s a little long, but it’s hard to be precise on the timing. Plus, Buck has a sprain, and some resultant damage in the soft tissue around it, and maybe even the blood vessels are compromised. And if it’s worse than a sprain, like a break, then circulation’s bound to be impeded. Not a life threat, assuming Buck’s other extremities are still fine.
“Sensation?” Eddie prods. “Movement?”
“Sensation’s all good. Motion is… bad. Limited ROM. I don’t know about bearing weight.”
“Crepitus?”
“I can’t—”
“Have you been taking your vitals at least?”
At that, Buck actually laughs. “It’s a sprain!”
Eddie rolls his eyes. “It’s a standard of care."
“You,” Buck huffs, amusement clear in his tone, “you can provide the standard of care. I’m just going to wait.”
Eddie almost smiles before remembering he’s peeved to be here. “You want to give me your SAMPLE history now or when I get up there?”
“Ah—”
Eddie can practically sees the dismissive hand Buck’s waving on the other side of this phone call.
“—you know most of it already.”
Eddie lets the conversation lull again, panting with the effort of the hike. He lets the phone fall away from his face so he can breathe harder without heaving into the microphone. The path has leveled out since the initial climb, but Eddie’s legs are burning from how fast he’s trying to go. On the drive over, Buck told Eddie he’d made it about fifteen minutes up the trail before misstepping and hurting his foot. Eddie is now attempting, a little deliriously, to cut that time in half.
“Hey, Eddie?” Buck’s voice calls cautiously through the phone. It’s too high. Something’s off.
Eddie’s pulse spikes. “What’s wrong?”
“Um. I’m now in a second situation.”
Eddie pulls up short. “I’m calling Cal Fire.”
“No, no, no!” Buck pleads. “Not that kind of situation!”
“What’s the second situation?” Eddie grits out, resuming his hike.
“I think… I must have hit something when I went down.”
“Your head?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
Eddie waits a beat for more information, then realizes it isn’t coming. He bites back a reprimand. “I should be almost to you. Looks like I’m coming up on a curve. Does that sound right?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m just on the other side.”
“So what’s the second situation?”
Buck exhales shakily. “I don’t know, there’s rocks everywhere, I must’ve…”
“Buck.”
“I must’ve landed on a rib. On a rock.”
Eddie can’t control the way his voice raises to a shout. “Why didn’t you mention this before?”
“Oh, hey,” Buck says, voice shrinking as he pulls away from his microphone, “I can hear you. I’ll hang up now. You’re close.”
Sure enough, Buck hangs up.
Eddie pounds the edge of his phone into his forehead a couple times before pocketing it.
Eddie continues around the curved pathway, which is lined with scattered trees offering little shade. In another hundred yards, it slants up again steeply, but only about twenty feet from Eddie is Buck, pulled to one side of the narrow walkway, leaning back against a boulder the size of a person. He’s mostly covered in shade by the sparse canopy, but Eddie can see from here that Buck’s loosely holding his left side with his right hand.
Buck lifts his left hand in what is about to be a mock salute—
“We’re calling Cal Fire.”
Buck’s hand drops. “Don’t. Eddie, Eddie! Don’t.”
“You’ve been sitting here on an injured rib for, what, an hour? Hour and a half? How long did it take you to call me?”
“I didn’t even know about it until after I was sitting here for a while. I couldn’t even feel it.”
Eddie plants himself near Buck’s feet, glowering down. He lets the drawstring bag drop to the ground.
“I called you right away,” Buck says earnestly, “promise.”
Eddie takes a step closer and kneels, studying Buck’s open expression. “How’s your breathing?”
Buck hesitates, then admits, “Hurts when I inhale too deep. So I haven’t been breathing all the way in. It’s fine.”
Eddie consults his internal checklist: airway, clear. Breathing, yes, but slightly labored. No obvious deformities or asymmetry. It’s warm today, but Buck’s in the shade, and he’s been sitting here long enough that he’s not overheating from exertion. It looks like his 24-ounce water bottle is almost empty. The only other life threat is circulation. Buck’s wearing shorts and a t-shirt, so it would be easy to tell if blood was pooling anywhere on his clothes or on the ground. It isn’t.
Eddie holds out an expectant hand. Buck offers his wrist. Eddie finds Buck’s pulse easily. It’s strong, if a little faster than Buck’s normal resting heart rate.
“Good news,” Eddie announces. “You’re not going to die in the next five minutes.”
“I could’ve told you that.”
“Just like you told me you hit a rib, an hour after the fact?”
Eddie reaches both hands under Buck’s armpits, lighting on Buck’s ribs. Buck lifts his arms a little to accommodate Eddie.
Eddie pauses. “Left side?”
Buck nods, gesturing vaguely at the injury to confirm.
“In and out,” Eddie says softly, “come on.”
Eddie squeezes Buck’s ribs on both sides, though not as hard on Buck’s left. Buck inhales slowly, visibly wincing halfway through. His left side flinches, like he wants to bring up a hand to guard against Eddie, but he overrides the instinct.
“And out,” Eddie reminds Buck gently.
Buck exhales shakily. His eyes are watering.
“Where?”
Buck shakes his head. “Left side. I don’t—”
“Okay.” Eddie shifts both his hands down a few inches. “Again, in and out.”
Buck starts to breathe in, Eddie’s hands start to squeeze—his right fingers feel something shift—but Buck jerks, slamming both fists into the dirt.
Buck pleads, “Don’t do that, don’t do that—”
Buck squirms, but restrains himself from lashing out. Eddie quickly takes back his hands, but allows both to settle on the tops of Buck’s shoulders.
“Hey,” Eddie tries.
Buck leans forward into Eddie’s touch. Buck flexes his neck, and he’s heaving shallowly, but the sound rapidly slows, like the pain was there but gone again in a flash.
“It’s—” Buck shakes his head, takes another quick breath, then raises his chin. Tears streak his cheeks, but his eyes are bright and alert. “Oh, sorry,” he says, a little sheepishly. “That was just—”
“Left side, lower rib,” Eddie recaps. “Gotta take a look.”
Buck nods.
Eddie gingerly tugs at the hem of Buck’s t-shirt to reveal an angry purple mark two ribs up on Buck's left side. Looking closer, Eddie can even make out a faint central point where something sharp must have hit, not quite deep enough to break the skin, but still poke against the ribs. Eddie lets the shirt fall back down. Eddie sits back on his heels, moving for the phone in his pocket.
“Please, Eddie,” Buck starts, before Eddie can even reach his pocket. “Just walk me out, come on.”
"You know your spleen's under there."
"My spleen's fine."
Eddie stares hard at Buck. Buck’s skin is pink, dry. Eddie reaches out to touch. Buck’s forehead is warm. Eddie removes his hand.
“Name.”
“Buck.”
Eddie squints.
“Evan. Buckley.” Buck rolls his eyes. “I’m on a hike. In LA. It’s afternoon. I misstepped on the gravel and I hurt my ankle and when I fell, I must have landed on a rock. I didn’t notice for a while because my ankle hurt. I do not feel a sense of impending doom.”
Eddie scowls.
“That’s A and O times four. Check respiratory and heart rate. Check for a shock profile. You won’t find one.” Buck shifts against his boulder backrest, taking on purposefully infuriating air. “Did you bring your blood pressure cuff? Make sure it’s not dropping. I could be going into decompensatory shock already. Right now. Where’s your blood pressure cuff, Eddie?”
Eddie’s eyebrows lift, as if in defeat or acceptance, but his mouth remains a tight line. He nods to no one, leaning back.
“Just walk me out, man.”
Eddie pushes himself to the balls of his feet, pivots, and turns his attention to Buck’s left ankle. The skin around the joint is swollen, but Eddie doesn’t do a focused exam. He never even finished the full physical exam. Instead, Eddie wordlessly slips Buck’s sock on over the red and lavender joint. Eddie twists, grabbing the drawstring bag from where it dropped. He pulls out the SAM splint, bends it into shape, and hooks it under Buck’s heel. He wraps it in an ace wrap, then wraps the second one too. No way Buck’s shoe was going to fit back over that swelling, even without the splint, so Eddie shoves the shoe into the drawstring bag.
Eddie stands, turns, and reaches down a hand to Buck, who doesn’t reach back.
“This is what you wanted, right?”
“Thanks,” Buck offers uncertainly. Then he lets himself be pulled to his feet.
It takes almost thirty minutes to get back to Eddie’s truck. Buck doesn’t make a sound the whole way. Neither does Eddie. Eddie unlocks the passenger door, swings it open, and finally says, “You should be in an ambulance right now.”
Buck doesn’t reply, just shifts himself onto the seat. He carefully rotates, reaching for the seat belt.
Eddie grabs the seat belt first, yanks on it, but keeps a fist closed around it. Eddie steps into the space between the car and the open passenger door, resting both hands on parts of the frame to cage in Buck, who refuses to look at him.
“What’s wrong now?” Eddie prompts. “Are we in a third situation?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Just. Thanks for coming to get me.”
Eddie almost says something mean anyway. Then he closes Buck’s door, crosses to the driver’s side, and climbs in.
After Buck’s third wince rolling over uneven freeway asphalt, Eddie shakes his head.
“You should be in an ambulance right now,” Eddie repeats. His grip on the steering wheel shifts, tightens. “This is the worst decision we’ve ever made,” he tells his twisting hands. “Actually, I guess I didn’t make this one. It’s more like you made the decision and I just had to say okay.”
Buck snorts. “Oh, you don’t like how that feels?”
Eddie blinks, caught off guard. “What?”
“That’s all you ever do. Make a decision and I just have to say okay.”
Eddie studies the road ahead of them. Traffic’s getting heavier as they head back into town. “You talking about El Paso?”
“Take your pick. El Paso. Transferring to dispatch.” A bump on the freeway jostles the truck, and Buck hisses in a breath. “Your will.”
Eddie sputters, which he’s certain he’s never done before. “I’m allowed to make choices about my life—”
“Okay.”
“It’s Chris’s life. I’m putting Chris first— you expect me to put somebody else first?”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” Buck answers, low and rough. “I’m saying…”
Eddie glances over.
Buck leans back against the headrest, closing his eyes, sounding resigned: “Okay.”
Eddie bites the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t want to talk about this. He was hoping he could not talk about any of it ever. Because Chris is the priority. Is always the priority. And Buck knows that. So Buck should know that the talking will come later, after Eddie’s figured out the move. After he’s got Chris back in his life. Or maybe Buck will just understand without needing to talk, because Buck is good at that, and Eddie doesn’t like to talk.
Eddie tries to relax his grip on the steering wheel. It goes against every instinct to begrudgingly admit, “We should talk about it.”
Buck scoffs.
“I don’t want to either,” Eddie shoots across the center console, “but it’s bugging you."
“It’s not bugging me. It’s just something I gotta figure out.”
“What does that mean?”
“I mean…” Buck exhales too forcefully, lifting his left forearm to guard the injured rib. “I mean you’re making decisions and I’m saying okay. And I say okay, and it’s fine. It’s— it’s just a lot of work to figure out what you’re going to decide, and then it’s work to learn how to say okay. That’s what I mean. It’s just my work.”
Eddie is totally lost. He moves into the left lane to pass the blue pick-up in front of them, then eases back over in front of the pick-up. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I want you to pick me up from a bad hike. You want me to take an ambulance.”
“Hang on, that makes it sound like I—” Eddie argues, tone defensive. He starts over. “I only said the Cal Fire thing because I was worried—”
“I just asked for a splint, not an, an assessment—”
“But you needed—”
“I’m trying not to need too much from you, okay?” Buck cuts in. “And I still got it wrong. I asked for what I thought I could ask for and you still didn’t like it, and that’s fine. You don’t have to like it. I just gotta figure that line out. It’s fine.”
Eddie merges silently into the far-right lane. The exit for the hospital is next.
“You’re trying to figure out…” Eddie says slowly, “what you’re allowed to need. From me.”
Buck tosses up a noncommittal hand.
Eddie realizes, deliriously, that he never understood Buck at all. He thought he did; Eddie figured seven years of knowing a guy, working full-time side by side with him, through tragedies and trauma and a mountain of really good memories, was enough to understand. It wasn’t.
Eddie clocks the depth of Buck’s insecurity now, in Eddie’s truck, of all places, after sustaining bodily harm, of all things. Eddie thought Buck was constantly worried about what other people would do to his heart. Eddie never realized that Buck was worried, too, about what Eddie would do to his heart.
Eddie, for some reason, thought Buck’s heart was safe with him.
“And now you’re moving, which is good,” Buck insists. “Chris needs you, even if he doesn’t know it. It’s good. And for me, it’s actually easier because the answer is nothing. When you live in El Paso, I can’t need anything from you. So it’s okay. I’m okay.”
Eddie turns into the hospital parking lot.
Buck unbuckles his seat belt. “Drop me at the ER doors. I’ll get a Lyft back to my car when they clear me.”
Eddie brakes in the parking lot near the emergency room entrance.
“Thanks for coming,” Buck says, popping open his door and easing out of the seat. Then Buck shuts Eddie’s passenger door, turns, and limps into the emergency room on a sprained ankle and a busted rib.
Eddie recognizes that the picture is wrong. It practically hurts with wrongness. Eddie should be shouldering Buck’s weight as he moves through those doors. Because this is a situation, and Eddie is supposed to be with Buck when he’s in a situation.
But Eddie is moving to El Paso, because Chris is in a situation, and Buck knew even before Eddie did that something was over. And suddenly Eddie hates it. It burns to have to choose between Christopher and Buck. It shouldn’t be a choice, right? Chris should always be the answer. Even if it burns.
Buck’s other shoe is still in Eddie’s back seat in a drawstring bag, and Eddie wonders suddenly when Buck will swing by to pick it up before remembering that Buck is trying not to need anything from Eddie anymore, and Eddie is already aching with the weight of not being needed. By Chris. By Buck. It’s just… nobody needs him at all.
Which is a whole new situation.