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“I think I’m in love,” Buck says seriously. “Symptoms include heart palpitations, dizziness, and wanting to climb that hot nurse over there like a tree.”
“Ew,” Chimney rolls his eyes. “You’re dizzy because your hand is gushing blood.”
“No, it’s definitely the hot nurse.”
“Well you need stitches,” Hen says. “Let’s go.”
She marches him to the nurse’s station, where Buck’s hot nurse is sitting behind a computer and typing away. Just one look at him confirms all of Buck’s suspicions- he wishes he met this man much sooner. Messy brown hair, strong arms, and when he looks up at Hen, his eyes are a rich chocolate color that makes Buck’s stomach flutter.
“I’m going to faint,” Buck whispers. “Chim, catch me.”
“No.”
“What can I help y’all with?” The man asks, pushing his keyboard away from him.
Hen, curse her, grabs Buck’s shoulders and moves him to the front. “My teammate here needs some stitches.”
“Yikes,” the nurse says, and now that Buck’s up close, he can read the words on his nametag- Eddie Diaz. Evan Diaz is a nice name. Or Buck Diaz. Or Evan Buckley-Diaz. Eddie is far too beautiful to have Buck’s terrible last name. “Can I see?”
And he takes Buck’s hand in one of his, peeling back the cloth pressed to his gash. He’s really going to pass out this time.
“What happened?” Eddie ghosts his finger over the cut across Buck’s palm, and he winces. “Sorry.” He looks up, and Buck gets lost in his eyes momentarily before Hen clears her throat behind him.
“It’s nothing,” Buck says in an attempt to appear suave. “Just you know, saved a little kid from a car wreck. The metal only got in the way.”
Eddie levels him with an unimpressed stare. “You’re a frequent flyer around here, aren’t you?”
“Very,” Chimney pipes up between smacks of his gum. “Hey, while we’re here, is there a rewards program he can sign up for?”
“Shut it, Chimney.”
“Chimney?” Eddie asks.
“Long story.”
“Right.” He drops Buck’s hand as gingerly as he picked it up. “I’ll stitch you up, just give me a few minutes to get someone to cover the nurse’s station.”
Buck winks. “I’ll be waiting.”
Hen smacks his arm as Eddie leaves.
“Ow, Hen, I’m injured,” Buck whines.
“Clearly not injured enough to keep from flirting with the nurses.”
Before he can come up with a (probably killer) comeback, Eddie comes back to the desk. “You can come with me, Firefighter.”
Buck dutifully follows him to an empty room, where he hops up on an exam bed and Eddie rifles through the cabinets. “So, as a regular at this lovely hospital, I’d guess that you’re new. Haven’t seen you around before.”
Eddie gets what he needs and starts to lay it out next to Buck. “I am. Just moved here from Texas.”
“Oh, a cowboy?”
“Not exactly.” Eddie sits on the stool before the computer attached to the wall. “Okay, before we get into life stories, I’m gonna need your name.”
“Your future husband,” Buck says. “Or the love of your life. Either work.”
“Hmm, sorry,” Eddie says, typing away. “Neither of those are coming up in our system.”
Buck leans back on his good hand. “They will soon.”
He’s pretty sure Eddie smiles. He definitely smiles. “Real name?”
“Evan Buckley.”
“Well, Evan,” Eddie says. “I’m gonna close that cut then you can be on your way.”
“Buck.”
Eddie looks up from the computer. “Sorry?”
“My friends call me Buck,” Buck tells him. “And since you’re a nurse and all of the nurses here love me, it only seems right that you do too.”
“Oh they love you, do they?” Eddie finishes his typing and slides across the floor to the exam bed.
“Tabitha makes me cookies,” Buck says proudly.
Eddie laughs, and it’s music to Buck’s ears. “Okay,” he says. “Stitches time. This might hurt.”
“I’ve got some pain reliever right in front of me,” Buck says, and Eddie flushes a dark red.
“Do the nurses like you so much because you flirt with all of them?”
“No, just the pretty ones,” Buck answers. He winces at the sting of the antiseptic.
Eddie must notice, because he offers Buck a sympathetic frown before asking, “What do you like about being a firefighter?”
“Oh, everything.” Buck realizes the obvious distraction tactic but carries on anyway. “My team is the best. I just finished my probie year- that’s our probation term, basically. My captain Bobby is so awesome, he’s back at the station with Young, one of the other members of our team. He’s nice but not like Hen and Chim- they’re basically my family, and Bobby too, even though Chimney is as annoying as shit, and I’m not distracting you, am I?”
“Not at all,” Eddie replies, eyes on Buck’s hand where he’s beginning to suture. “I’m used to working in chaos. Keep going.”
“Okay,” Buck says. “I had a bunch of jobs before this. I was a bartender in Peru, a ranch hand in Montana, and I almost got picked up to male model-”
“And you’re calling me a cowboy?”
Buck snorts. “It was short lived,” he admits. “But nothing’s ever felt as right as this. As being a firefighter does. My probie year, I was a little bit off the rails. Got fired once or twice, but I worked it out. And now I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.”
“I feel the same way about nursing,” Eddie says. His tongue juts from his mouth as he dutifully stitches. “I kind of just ended up here, but I love it. It’s very different from my last job.”
“Which was?” Buck asks.
Eddie finishes his last suture and unwraps a bandage for Buck’s hand. “We’ll save that story for your next injury, but I hope that’s in a little while. Can’t have you back here too soon.”
“For my next injury?” Buck protests as Eddie finishes wrapping his wound and starts to put away the supplies. “How about over dinner? Or drinks? Or coffee?”
“Sorry, Buck,” Eddie says. Chimney appears in the doorway behind him. “You’re gorgeous, but I’m not looking to date right now.”
“Gotta go, Buckley.” Chimney says.
Buck gets up from the exam bed dejected. The subtle throbbing in his hand suddenly becomes ten times more noticeable. “Coming, Chim. Can’t you let a guy get rejected in peace?”
He brushes past Eddie, sparing him a nod, but a hand shoots out and grabs his shoulder. “I don’t date patients, Buck. And I’ve got some personal stuff going on right now. But, maybe- revisit it later?”
Eddie’s eyes brim with hope, and Buck would be lying if he said his shoulder’s not absolutely buzzing from where they’re making contact, so he says, “We can revisit it later.”
“Yeah?”
Buck turns to smile at Eddie before he goes. “Yeah.”
"But only if you stay out of the hospital!" Eddie shouts.
"No promises," Buck calls back, but he has a feeling he'll be accident-free for a little while.
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“Buck, please get down from there,” Bobby says with an air of exasperation.
Buck’s arms tighten around the tree limb. “I dunno, Cap,” he says. “Last time I was in a tree, I broke my arm.”
“Get down.”
“If I get down, will you buy me ice cream?” Buck asks.
“No.”
Hen and Chimney are laughing and taking photos, much to Buck’s displeasure and embarrassment. He’s just gathered enough courage to try to climb back to the ground when a man walks up.
“Eddie Diaz from Station 6, sir,” he says, shaking Bobby’s hand. He’s wearing an LAFD uniform. From this angle, Buck can see the exact way the wind sweeps through his perfectly chestnut hair. “My captain just wanted to make sure you guys were all good over here before we headed out.”
Oh. Right. This was a structure fire, a four-alarm, with multiple companies responding. And of course, with his Buck Luck, he managed to chase a cat up a tree and then get stuck in said tree.
“We’re good,” he says. Eddie Diaz’s head whips up.
“Didn’t see you there, sorry,” Eddie says. “Do you need any help down or-”
“I’m fine.”
Eddie laughs, and it’s a beautiful sound. “Right, okay. Have a good one,” he says to Bobby.
Before he turns to leave, he looks back up to Buck.
And he winks.
Then Buck’s no longer looking down at his crew and Eddie, but the sky, then he’s met with the ground as he slams face-first into it. “Ouch,” he says into the grass.
He leaves the hospital one minor concussion richer, but it’s not Bobby or any of his teammates waiting for him. Instead, it’s Eddie, leaning against a truck when Buck begrudgingly gets wheeled out by a nurse. “Hi,” he says. “We weren’t really properly introduced earlier. I’m Eddie.”
“I know,” Buck mumbles. He blames it on the concussion. “I’m Buck.”
“A little birdie told me you might need a ride home, Buck,” Eddie says, spinning his keys on fingers.
Buck nods dumbly. As they cruise down the freeway, Eddie singing along to the stereo, Buck looks over at him and thinks he might be seeing the rest of his life out on the open road before them.
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Contrary to popular belief, Buck does not spend all of his spare time at the grocery store.
He only goes what he would consider a few times a week- he likes to cook, what can he say? Where else is he supposed to get his ingredients?
Although, sometimes it’s the only moments of peace that Buck gets in between getting off of work, a day full of flames and smoke and chaos, to going home- where an energetic five-year-old awaits him. So, on the weekdays, he sometimes finds himself driving in the direction of the grocery store, if not to shop, then just for a second in front of the organic produce and the little rainstorms misting the peppers and cucumbers and snap peas.
He’s always at the grocery store on Saturday mornings, though. Saturday shopping is Buck-and-Cassie day, where he and his daughter stock up for the week in a timely yet exciting manner.
They have it down to a science. First, the produce and the deli, then sweeping through dairy and frozen, then weaving down the aisles in a practiced rhythm. It only takes them about forty-five minutes to get through their whole list, with wiggle room for when Gladys from the bakery has a few extra snickerdoodles lying around for Cassie. She always seems to bake too many on Saturdays, but it stops the kid from saying “Daddy, can we get this?” every five seconds, so Buck is both grateful and indebted to her.
When they make it up to the front, they head for the self-checkout, a sultry, probably under-paid teenager posted nearby. Cassie scans, Buck bags. It’s the way they’ve done it, ever since she could stand up on her tip-toes high enough to reach the scale.
On one October Saturday in particular, Buck’s cramming their cereal into one of the store’s paper bags when a green apple going 100 miles per hour rolls into one of his feet.
“Sorry, mister,” a small voice says, and he looks up from the apple to see a little boy, maybe six or seven, with red crutches and matching glasses, giggle and move closer. “My Dad got upset because the apples weren’t scanning right so he hit the machine and one rolled off.”
“Christopher, I did not,” a voice hisses, and when Buck’s gaze shifts to where it comes from, he thinks one million apples could fall onto his head at that exact moment and he wouldn’t notice a thing.
The most jaw-dropping, stunningly attractive man Buck has ever seen is at the self-checkout machine next to him, trying and failing to balance a bunch of Granny Smiths on the contraption’s scale. His hair is a dark chestnut brown, one flyaway strand sticking out that Buck just wanted to reach for and smooth over. His arms ripple with muscle, forced from the sleeves of his t-shirt, and his tight pants don't leave much to the imagination. Buck’s mouth was suddenly very dry and his brain blank.
Cassie, being five years old, obviously does not suffer the side effects of this man’s hotness, so she skips over with the runaway apple in her hand before peering up at him and saying, “You don’t scan the barcode, you just type in the numbers on the sticker, silly!”
“Cassie, jeez,” Buck groans, motioning for her to come back. “Quit it!”
“No, she’s alright,” the man says before Cassie can provide a (probably smart-ass) response, smiling down at her. “This is my first time using one of these things, so I could use the help.”
“We just moved here from Texas!” The boy, Christopher- at Buck’s hip adds, beaming.
Cassie says helpfully, “Wow,” then runs back to Buck and says, “Daddy are we from Texas?”
Buck looks into her bright blue eyes, brimming with curiosity, then sweeps her into his arms and plants a kiss on her brow. “No, baby,” he says. “You’re from here. Los Angeles. I’m from Pennsylvania.”
“Wow,” Christopher says seriously.
His dad has clearly solved how to use the self-checkout, because he’s clutching a brown bag in one hand when he says, “C’mon, Chris. We have to go, and they still have to finish getting their groceries.”
Suddenly, Buck remembers their half-full cart to his side, where their cookies-and-cream is probably melting and their butter is becoming room temperature. He shifts Cassie in his arms and says, “Welcome to L.A,” hoping his smile looks genuine, because it’s maybe definitely appropriate to offer this cute man a tour of the city, starting with his bedroom.
“Thank you,” the man says, taking Christopher’s hand in his own. “It was nice to meet you both.”
“Bye, apple man!” Cassie shouts, her little arm flailing back and forth as their new companions leave. Buck watches him wave back, that little strand of hair falling in front of his eyes, and wonders if you can nominate hot grocery store customers for People’s Sexiest Man Alive Competition.
“Daddy,” Cassie tugs at one of his blond curls, so Buck snaps back to reality and tugs at one of her strikingly similar ones.
“Cassie.”
“We have to finish the groceries,” she reminds him, her face sticky with the cinnamon sugar of free snickerdoodles. “Then we can go see Aunt Maddie.”
And that wasn’t really part of their plans today, but in the six-odd months that Buck’s sister had lived in L.A., he’s enjoyed every minute they spent together. Besides, she’d love to hear about the “apple man”, as Cassie had dubbed him, so he ruffled her hair and said, “Okay, sweetie. We can go see Aunt Maddie.”
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His leg throbs, a searing pain that flares up his whole body to his heart.
“You’re not the captain,” a voice says above Buck.
The lights, red and white, are blinding him. Why are there lights? Where is he?
He tries to roll over, but stills at what he sees. Oh God. Oh God. He’s alone.
“Firetruck?” He groans, but the blurry figure above pays him no attention, the sounds of a conversation hazy. Buck chokes back a sob. He needs Maddie to hold his hand and tell him that he’ll be okay, just like she did when they were kids.
What could be three minutes or three hours later, the figure’s gone, and more blobs come rushing in, poking and prodding him. Firefighters.
“Sir, you’re going to be okay,” one of them says. “Can you tell me your name?”
“Buck.”
“Buck, we’ve got you now,” the voice says. It’s kind and warm- maybe in another life, Buck and the voice could have been friends. “You were crossing the street. There was a bomb placed under the truck. But we’ve got you now. I’m Hen, and these are my partners Chimney and Eddie.”
“Hurts,” he whimpers. “My- my leg.”
Another voice chimes in- Chimney or Eddie. “We’re going to get it off you, pal, don’t worry,” and then, further away, “Bobby! A little help over here!”
“They’re going to try to lift the truck,” a third voice says. It’s smoky, but the speaker wraps his hand in Buck’s. “Ready?”
Buck nods against the asphalt, tightening his fingers around the hand.
“Okay, here we go,” the first voice says. “Got him, Eddie?”
“Yup,” the voice attached to the hand says. Eddie, then.
Then there’s grunts as the truck shifts, and they pull him forward slightly. Buck screams, tears pouring down his cheeks. “No, it hurts, please-”
“Hey, it’s okay,” Eddie says, his thumb brushing over the back of Buck’s hand. “They’re going to try again. Just hang on to me.”
Buck sobs, feeling helpless. This time, when the truck lifts by a hair, he presses his face to the asphalt in an attempt to stifle his scream.
“You’re okay, Buck,” Eddie’s voice says, closer to his ear, as a rush of noise goes by. “There’s more people, and they’re going to help. You’re okay.”
Buck chances a glance at Eddie. Two brown eyes stare back, soulful and concerned. If Buck wasn’t so convinced he was going to die, he might think he was dreaming.
This time, it works. This time, Eddie and Hen pull him all the way out. He sobs the entire time, but Hen and Eddie both comfort him the best they can while they simultaneously get him on a backboard and into an ambulance.
He falls asleep on the way to the hospital, despite Eddie’s begging for him not to (“Just a few more minutes, Buck, c’mon, keep those eyes on me- Buck-”). Eddie’s hand remains intertwined with his as he lets calm black overtake him.
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Buck first meets Christopher Diaz when a pair of small hands slides five books across his desk and says politely, “I’d like to check these out please, Mr. Buckley.”
The first fourth grade library presentation had just finished. It was the start of the year, so Buck wanted to spend time with each class to introduce them to the library and what they could find there. He was eager to make a good impression with the kids, since the last librarian was adored and admired by each one of them. This one is a boy with brunette curls, bracing himself on red crutches and smiling brightly.
Buck slides his computer to the side, taking the books gently. “Great picks, kid!” Astrophysics for Young People in a Hurry, Making History: The Mars Rover, Engineer Academy: Space, The Ultimate Book of Space, and Everything Space. “Are you a big space fan?”
“Yep,” the boy says, pushing his red glasses up his nose. “I wanted to get a book about surfing too because I think it’s cool but we can only get five books and my Dad says I should use my resources wisely and since space is my favorite I decided not to.”
“Smart thinking, buddy,” Buck says.
“Thank you, Mr. Buckley,” he answers. “That means that next time I can get five books about surfing.”
“All the cool kids call me Mr. Buck, and since you seem to be a pretty cool guy, Mr. Buckley is too formal,” he says with a wave of his hand. “What’s your name, cool guy?”
The kid laughs and says, “My name is Christopher Diaz, but you can call me Chris. Me and my Dad moved here from El Paso last year. At my old school, we could only check out three books.”
“Well, we’re glad you’re here with us,” Buck tells him, going through the pile and scanning each one. “Okay, Chris, these are due in one month, alright? So September 19th. You think you can get through all of them by then?”
He nods. “Yes!”
“Okay, buddy.” Buck pushes the books back across the desk. “Do you want help carrying them?”
“That’s okay,” Chris says easily. “My friend Gemma held them for me before because she brought her backpack so I’m probably just going to put them in there so they’re safe. Bye, Mr. Buck!”
Buck waves goodbye, watching as a young girl with two ginger braids bounds up to Chris and puts the books in a sparkly pink backpack, the two of them walking back to their teacher.
He hopes he sees Chris Diaz again soon.
As it turns out, Buck only has to wait a few days for his new friend to march up to him again.
He’s volunteered himself for recess duty- something most teachers turn their nose up at, but it’s a chance that Buck takes with glee. The kids are his favorite part of the job, why else would he be doing this?
“Sorry, Thomas, but I can’t have an upside-down monkey bar contest with you,” he says apologetically, removing the second-grader clinging to his leg. “I have to keep an eye on you and the rest of these monkeys.”
“But, Mr. Buck,” the boy complains, his eyes full of (probably fake) unshed tears. “Mr. Matthews won’t do it with me ‘cause he’s no fun.”
Buck ruffles his hair. “Thomas, you shouldn’t say unkind things about Mr. Matthews, he works very hard as your teacher,” he says, even though he agrees and finds Mr. Matthews to be a stuck-up prick.
When Thomas eventually gives in and challenges his classmate to a monkey-bar battle, Buck shouts “That’s not a good idea,” after them, and turns around just in time to see Chris barreling towards him, crutches and all.
“Mr. Buck,” Chris says, reaching up for a high five. “I already finished two of my books!”
“No way, dude!” Buck answers. “Which ones?”
“Everything Space and Making History: The Mars Rover,” Chris says earnestly.
Buck grins down at him. “Learn anything cool?”
“So much,” Chris says.
“That’s good, buddy.” Buck fist-bumps a third grader named Charlotte as she passes by. “I’ll be seeing you soon at the library again, I hope?”
“Dad says not until I finish the other three,” Chris explains.
“Your Dad sounds like a wise man,” Buck says.
“He’s alright,” Chris says, shrugging.
(He, in fact, is more than alright. He's amazing. Buck realizes as much in the car pickup line later that day, when Eddie Diaz rolls into his life in a black pick-up and a pressed firefighter’s uniform.
He leaves work with a phone number in his pocket and an extra bounce in his step.)
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“Okay, that is a beautiful man,” Chimney says.
“Where’s the lie?” Adds Hen, “And I like girls.”
Buck stares in disbelief at the man slipping his LAFD shirt on in the locker room. Buck’s locker room. “Who the hell is that?”
“That’s Eddie Diaz, new recruit,” Bobby says, looking smug. “Graduated top of his class just this week. Guys over at Station 6 were dying to have him, but I convinced him to join us.”
“What do we need him for?”
Hen laughs.
“He served multiple tours in Afghanistan as an Army medic, guy’s got a Silver Star. It’s not like he’s wet behind the ears,” Bobby says. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to him. He likes to be called Eight-Pack.”
Eight-Pack indeed, Buck thinks as the rest of his crew follow Bobby over.
He is so not getting that calendar spot this year.