Buddie: Partners in Fire

Chapter 72

Scene: Eddie's Childhood house

The moment Eddie stepped inside the house, it felt like the walls closed in on him. The familiar scent that once made him feel safe—wood polish mixed with the faint, lingering aroma of his mother’s cooking—now felt oppressive, like it was pressing down on his chest. It wasn’t just the physical smells. It was the intangible weight of memories hanging in the air, thick with the echo of laughter, conversations, and countless moments that, on any other day, might have brought him comfort. But today, every single thing felt suffocating.

The house that had always been a sanctuary for Eddie now felt like a cage, its walls too close, too confining. The murmur of voices in the living room—family members speaking in hushed tones, offering each other condolences—faded into the background, a distant hum. Eddie felt detached from it all, his mind miles away. The world was moving around him, but he was stuck, anchored by a grief that felt too heavy to carry.

He walked through the hallway, his footsteps slow, like he was wading through water. Every corner of the house reminded him of something—his abuela sitting in her chair by the window, the smell of fresh tortillas, the sound of her voice calling him to dinner. But all of that was gone now, and the house felt empty without her. Hollow.

Buck followed a few steps behind, watching Eddie’s every move. He could see the tension in Eddie’s body, the way his shoulders were hunched, his jaw tight. The grief was radiating off him in waves, and Buck felt it too, a heaviness settling in his own chest. But it wasn’t just the grief; it was the helplessness of watching someone he loved so much struggle and knowing there was only so much he could do to ease the pain.

As soon as they crossed the threshold, Eddie’s entire posture changed. His body tensed even more, his movements rigid, like being in the house was a physical weight pressing down on him. Without a word, he turned down the familiar hallway, past family photos that now seemed like ghosts of a past he wasn’t sure how to face anymore. He walked straight to his old bedroom, his sanctuary growing up, but now even that felt like too much. The door clicked shut behind him, a silent message that he needed space.

Buck stayed behind for a moment, rooted to the kitchen. He watched the door Eddie had disappeared behind, his heart aching in his chest. He didn’t know if Eddie wanted him to follow or if he needed time alone. It was always hard to tell with Eddie—how much space he needed, when he’d want to be comforted, and when he needed to retreat. Buck stood there for a beat longer, glancing around the kitchen. It was bustling quietly with relatives moving about, offering each other food and comfort. Eddie’s aunt, Pepa, caught his eye and walked over.

Pepa: “He’s not doing well, is he?”

Her voice was soft, but there was an edge of worry there. She’d seen Eddie at his best and worst, but even she seemed to sense that today had taken more out of him than usual.

Buck: “No… he’s not. It’s been hard. The funeral, being back here… everything reminds him of her.”

Pepa nodded, her lips pressing together in understanding. She reached out, squeezing Buck’s arm briefly.

Pepa: “He’s lucky to have you. You’ll know what to do.”

Buck gave her a small, appreciative smile before slipping away. His focus was solely on Eddie now. The rest of the family seemed distant, their quiet conversations and soft clinking of dishes a world away from the emotional storm inside the house. Buck made his way down the hall, moving toward Eddie’s old bedroom. The house seemed quieter back here, the shadows longer, the air thicker.

He paused outside the door, knocking softly.

Buck: “Eddie? Can I come in?”

There was no answer. Buck waited, pressing his ear against the wood for any sign of movement. He couldn’t hear anything, no shifting, no breathing. His hand lingered on the doorknob for a moment before he quietly turned it and stepped inside.