Chapter 48 Buck
BUCK
The three of us look at each other, then at Elena. The weight of the moment is like a hand landing on my shoulder. Not pressure, but responsibility. The kind I welcome.
Elena looks at each of us, asking without words. I give a small nod right away, and so does Weston. Calder’s comes last, but it’s firm.
Elena smooths her son’s hair from his forehead. “Yes,” she says softly. “If that’s what you want, then yes. They are.”
T.J. blinks once, as if he expected the answer but still has to absorb it. “All three?”
My chest tightens hard enough to hurt.
“All three,” Elena confirms.
The boy looks around at us, solemn as a judge. “Okay.”
And that’s it. Okay, like they’ve just settled what to have for breakfast.
T.J. leans into Elena, but keeps his attention on the rest of us. “Do I still get to talk about my real dad, too?”
Calder answers first, his voice low and sure. “Always.”
“Nobody’s replacing him,” Weston says.
I force my throat to work. “Your dad will be your dad forever, buddy. We’re just … more dads on your team.”
“Cool.”
Elena laughs softly and kisses the top of his head.
T.J. yawns, then frowns again. “So, do I call you Buck and Weston and Calder, still? Or Dad Buck and Dad Weston and Dad Calder? Or just Dad?”
I nearly choke on air, and Weston outright coughs. Calder looks like he’d rather take incoming fire than answer first.
Elena bites her lip, badly hiding a smile. “We can figure that out.”
T.J. seems unconcerned as he slides off the couch. “Okay. I’m gonna try sleeping again.”
“That’s it?” I ask.
“I was mostly checking,” T.J. says.
Weston’s brow lifts. “Checking what?”
“That you knew already.” T.J. shrugs. “‘Cause I knew.” Then he shuffles back toward the hallway, stopping halfway there to turn and tell his mom goodnight.
“Night, Bug. I love you.”
“Night, Buck. Night, Weston. Night, Calder.”
We all answer him at once.
When his bedroom door clicks shut, silence fills the living room for two seconds before Elena dissolves into laughter. Weston follows, Calder shakes his head like he’s been outmaneuvered, and I cover my face with one hand.
“Well,” Weston says at last, “that was humbling.”
I drop my hand. “That boy’s been ten steps ahead of us for weeks.”
Elena wipes under one eye. “You’re all very obvious in the way you care about him.”
“And you’re amused by this?” I accuse.
“Immensely.”
I catch her around the waist and haul her into my lap, earning another peal of laughter. “Good, because now we get to have the adult version of that conversation.”
Weston and Calder lean in again, and we talk about things that move beyond fear and confession.
It’s unromantic, real-life logistics like school pickups, how we’ll share our nights, how we might spend holidays, and whether or not Elena or T.J.
would need time before we make our relationship public in town.
“I don’t want him to think this is something to hide,” she says, and that tracks exactly with who she is. “Nothing hidden. Let’s throw out shame along with the guilt.”
I kiss her shoulder. “Agreed.”
Weston looks thoughtful. “We should be deliberate, though, and make space for Tyler in this.”
“I’d like that,” Elena says.
“Of course, pictures stay up. Stories stay part of things. If T.J. wants to talk about him, we talk about him.” I pause. “And maybe we make some traditions that are his.”
Calder rests his forearms on his thighs. “Like what?”
After a moment of thought, Elena says, “Tyler used to make pancakes on the weekends when he was home. Terrible ones. A few turned out good, but he always burned at least one.”
“Easy to do.” I chuckle as I picture it.
Elena’s eyes go faraway for a moment. “Little T.J. used to think it was hilarious.”
“We can burn pancakes in his honor,” Weston says gravely.
I match his tone. “It’s what he would have wanted.”
This makes her laugh again, but tears shine in her eyes, too.
We keep talking about practical things and hopeful things. About closet space, future housing plans, and how to handle school forms.
“Do you think Moon Ridge Elementary is ready for T.J. announcing to his classmates he has multiple dads now?” Weston asks.
Elena sighs. “The school’s in such disarray, I don’t think extra dads will even be headline news.”
“Good point.” I squeeze her shoulder.
The structural team finally finished enough assessment work for the district to start making a plan.
It’ll be at least another ten days before part of the building can reopen, assuming the air-quality results come back clean.
Until then, Elena and the superintendent are piecing together classroom space anywhere Moon Ridge can spare it.
It won’t be normal for a while, but Elena’s determined to make it work.
The gym is another story, of course. It won’t be usable again this school year, maybe longer, depending on materials sourcing.
I can feel the weight of all of it still sitting on her, even here at home, and my hand slides from her shoulder to the back of her neck.
It’s not long before our conversation winds down, and we find ourselves doing more touching and less talking.
Before we get carried away, we move into the bedroom and lock the door behind us.
What follows is quiet and tender, but no less intense for it. We swallow our moans and muffle the sounds of pleasure in each other’s flesh. The desperation of earlier encounters has given way to something slower and deeper, and every touch hits harder, because there’s so much more between us now.
We all fall asleep in Elena’s bed, but it’s a tight fit. At some point in the night, I wake up and find Weston gone, presumably to sleep on the couch, and just before I drop off again, I make a mental note to plan for future housing.
In the morning, while I’m pouring coffee and Weston’s making eggs, T.J. appears, dressed and ready for the day. Apparently, he spent the night making plans, too, because the first thing he does is make an announcement.
“I decided I’m gonna call you all Dad.”
Weston pauses with the spatula in hand, and Calder, who’s standing at the counter loading bread into the toaster, goes still.
Elena just lifts her brows. “You did?”
T.J. nods. “Yep.”
I set the coffee pot down carefully. “All of us.”
“Uh-huh.”
Weston nudges the eggs in the pan, then looks back at T.J. “How exactly is that going to work?”
The boy shrugs, unconcerned. “I’ll just say Dad, and you’ll figure out which one I mean.”
A laugh breaks out of me before I can stop it. Weston shakes his head, smiling, and even Calder’s mouth twitches.
“That seems inefficient,” I tell T.J.
“It’ll be fine.” T.J. pulls out his chair, then snags a piece of bacon from the plate on the table before he sits.
Elena hides her smile behind her coffee mug as she looks over at the three of us in the kitchen.
All of it leaves a strange, fierce warmth in my chest.
T.J. settles in the chair, reaching for the glass of milk Elena had poured for him. “Also, if you’re all my dads now, can we have more kids, so I can be a big brother?”
It’s the domestic equivalent of launching a grenade into the kitchen.
My brain blanks. Weston goes still, and Calder visibly startles when toast pops up.
Elena stares at her son for one long beat, then, to my amazement, she starts laughing. She’s not shocked or flustered. She’s amused.
“What?” T.J. frowns and wipes milk from his mouth with the back of his hand.
Elena reaches over and squeezes his shoulder. “That’s an adults-only conversation, Bug. We’ll talk about it and let you know.”
The boy accepts that instantly, more interested in another piece of bacon.
I exchange looks with Weston and Calder and receive stunned silence in return. Elena notices and laughs harder.
“You think this is funny?” I ask her.
“I do. All three of you look terrified.” She takes a sip of coffee, her eyes dancing. “It’s adorable.”
After breakfast, Elena and T.J. get ready to go to the library, where they’re meeting T.J.’s friend David and his mom. T.J. waves at the three of us, calling out, “Bye, Dads!” as he heads out the door.
Elena whispers the same farewell, giving it a different overtone as she kisses each of us goodbye with smiles meant just for us.
Weston, Calder, and I stand on the porch until her car disappears down the road, then we go back inside and clean up the kitchen.
While I put things away and Weston rinses plates, Calder stares off into the distance like he’s working out a problem.
I pour myself more coffee and lean against the counter. “Well.”
Weston glances up. “That was a morning.”
“No kidding.”
Calder looks over at us both. “How much harder can a baby be than an eight-year-old?”
I stare at him for half a second, and then I laugh. I may not have been a dad before last night, but I’ve had nieces and nephews long enough to know better.
Weston groans. “That is the most uninformed thing I’ve heard all week.”
Calder frowns. “I’m serious.”
I laugh so hard, I shake. “That’s why it’s funny.”