Dandelions

Phillip Buckley

Phillip took the beer with a quiet nod and the barest twitch of a smile. He didn't say thank you out loud, but Tommy would know. The man was good at reading people, which was part of why Phillip liked him so much. That, and the fact that he was — somehow — the most normal partner any of his kids had ever brought home.

He watched Tommy settle into the armchair across from him, the guy already halfway through his own beer, posture relaxed, that crooked smile always at the ready. There was something easy about Tommy — steady hands, sharp eyes, didn't talk too much but wasn't afraid to laugh like hell when the moment called for it.

Honestly? Phillip liked him. A lot more than he'd ever expected to like someone dating his son. Probably more than anyone Maddie or Buck had ever introduced over the years.

The age difference used to throw him a little — eight years felt like something when they'd first met — but it faded fast once you saw how Tommy looked at Buck. Like he held the whole damn sky.

And Phillip had seen the way Buck looked back.

Tommy leaned forward, bouncing a little in his seat like a dog with a good secret. "There's this fight in Vegas I scored tickets for. Eddie can't make it. What do you say — come with me? It's a couple days before your flight back to Hershey."

Phillip blinked. Then blinked again.

No one had ever invited him to something like that. Not a plus-one kind of invite, not as the dad. Not really. He felt it hit somewhere soft, deep in his ribs. He gave Tommy a small honest smile, one that didn't get used too often. "I'd like that," he said.

Tommy looked relieved, then genuinely excited. "Great! I'll book the chopper."

Phillip just shook his head, amused. Of course it was a helicopter. Pilot, army vet, fiancé — the man came with credentials. Margaret was going to lose her mind when she heard. Her son, the firefighter captain. Her future son-in-law, the decorated pilot. She was going to be unbearable in the church newsletter.

He took another sip of beer, let it settle in his chest. The pride, too — that warm, overwhelming thing that had been riding him ever since they landed in LA. Buck, captain of the 118. His son. His kid who used to fall out of trees and cry over dog movies. Who used to line up his toy trucks by color. Captain.

He could still hear Buck's voice on the phone — nervous, thrilled, tripping over the words in that way he did when he was trying not to sound too proud of himself. Margaret had cried instantly. For a second, he had thought the worse. That his son had been injured, again. Then Margaret had passed over the phone, and Buck had said it: he'd made it.

Phillip hadn't said much. Just told him they'd be there. He figured Buck knew what he meant.

A dull thud pulled him out of the memory, followed by a curse and the unmistakable sound of someone smacking their own forehead. He turned to see Buck rubbing his head, looking like he'd walked straight into the doorframe. Which, judging by the sheepish expression on his face, was exactly what had happened.

Tommy burst out laughing. Phillip joined in, no hesitation. Some things never changed.

Buck stared at them both, face red, eyes wide with equal parts embarrassment and disbelief. "You two are mean," he muttered, clearly debating whether to flee or stay and defend his honor.

Phillip raised his beer in mock salute. "You've always had a hard head. Nice to see it's still functional."

Buck groaned.

And Phillip, watching his grown son flush pink and grumble under his breath while his fiancé doubled over in laughter, felt it again — that strange, steady fullness in his chest. Pride. Love. Gratitude. A quiet kind of peace that he hadn't expected, not at this stage, not in this way.

But here it was. And he let himself sit in it a little longer.

Meanwhile, Buck was trying not to panic.

That was the thing about having your dad and your fiancé laugh together like old friends — it was, on paper, exactly what you wanted. Right? It was the dream. Your partner and your parent, bonding over beer and mutual appreciation for sports and engines.

Except... they were bonding over a trip to Vegas.

A trip that didn't include Buck.

He watched them from the hallway, frozen mid-step like some startled sitcom extra. There was a beer in his hand and a bruise forming on his forehead because of course he'd walked into the doorframe ten seconds ago like a human cartoon. And now they were laughing. At him. Probably already planning blackjack tables and boxing rings.

Tommy had finally calmed down, his expression softening as he let out a few more chuckles. "Head okay?" he asked, brushing a kiss to the exact spot Buck had smacked. His lips lingered for a beat longer than necessary. Buck felt his ears burn. "I'll grab you some ice before it bruises," Tommy added, already turning toward the kitchen.

Buck nodded, caught somewhere between flustered and pathetically in love. "Thanks."

And just like that, Tommy was gone, leaving him alone with his dad in the living room — which was technically Buck's living room, but suddenly didn't feel like it at all. Phillip looked just as awkward, glancing around like he'd wandered into a room he wasn't supposed to be in.

Then, in a surprisingly tentative move, he patted the spot next to him on the couch. Buck hesitated. Just long enough to make it weird. Then walked over and sat down. "Sorry about that," Buck said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sometimes I forget how walls work."

Phillip chuckled, that low, familiar sound that Buck hadn't heard much growing up but could recognize anywhere. "You've always been a little clumsy," he said, not unkindly.

They both laughed. For a second, it wasn't awkward.

Phillip shifted, cleared his throat like the words he wanted were stuck somewhere in his chest. "I know I wasn't always the father you needed," he said. His voice was careful. "But I want you to know—I'm proud of you. Really proud."

Buck blinked. Once. Twice. His brain sort of just... stopped.

There weren't many things his dad said that stuck over the years, but that? That one would stay.

He reached over and grabbed his dad's hand, squeezed it gently. "It means the world," he said, trying not to let the emotion crack too far through his voice. "Thank you."

Phillip nodded, eyes still forward, but his thumb moved over Buck's knuckles once before he let go.

They sat there in silence that didn't need to be filled — not anymore.

Tommy returned a moment later, ice in a dish towel and a smile already on his face. He slid in beside Buck and started talking about some car show he'd hit with Eddie the week before, complete with terrible impersonations and dramatic hand gestures. Somehow, Tommy pulled Phillip into the story too, asking his opinion on a rebuilt V8 and whether the trim was factory or not.

Buck just sat there, leaning into Tommy's side, ice forgotten on his lap, watching the two of them trade jokes like they'd been doing it for years. It felt... easy. Like something solid settling into place.

And later that week, when Phillip stood in the audience with Maddie and Margaret at his side, watching Bobby officially name Buck captain of the 118 — Buck looked out at them all and smiled.

There were a lot of things that had gone wrong in his life. But this? This felt right.

He'd earned it. Every piece of it.

And Phillip, standing shoulder to shoulder with the people who loved Buck most, let himself feel it too. Pride, so big it filled up his whole chest.