Home The Hard Way *Single Dad! Eddie Munson X Steve Harrington Steddie Series*

Part Two

It was decided on the drive home, without discussion, that Wayne would not be giving up his bedroom again. Eddie was stern as he presented his case. "It's not your responsibility to put me first anymore," he'd said. "Me and Lu will bunk down in the living room."

"That couch is worse than it was when ya left."

"Just that much more motivation to get my ass outta there, huh?" Eddie answered sarcastically. And it was settled.

Eddie had now been back in Hawkins for just over a week. Misty, who owned a truck stop just outside of town, took pity on him and gave him a job washing dishes and cleaning up in the mornings. The family had a routine down by now. Wayne would get off work at 7, be home by 7:15. Eddie would hand off Lucy to him and be at the truck stop shortly after 7:30. He'd get home around noon and find his uncle and his daughter napping. Usually on his bed, sometimes on the couch, their lunches half eaten on the coffee table in front of them.

Today was shaping up to be just like every other. Wayne toed his shoes off next to the front door. He immediately pulled Lucy from her crib with a grin. "How's grandpa's big girl this morning?" He asked, his usually gruff voice going up an octave as he talked to her. Eddie smiled as he pulled his jacket over his shoulders. He walked to where they stood beside her crib and kissed the top of her head. "Say 'bye, daddy!'" Wayne cooed, raising one hand to make her wave. "Have fun at work!"

Eddie smiled as he waved back at her. As much as it sucked to be back in Hawkins, he loved seeing Wayne be a grandpa. That's where his mind was this morning. On the way Lucy and Wayne had instantly fallen in love with each other. He was dragging a mop across the floor of the truck stop, smiling to himself about the way Lucy had started to wake up five minutes before Wayne got home every morning. She would be full of piss and vinegar, crying and screaming. Until the front door opened. It was like she knew grandpa was home by the sound of the door. She'd immediately stop screaming, suddenly the world's most patient baby as she waited to be picked up by him.

He couldn't help but to simile to himself as he replayed the morning in his head. Then, he heard it. A voice from his past calling out his name. His hands stopped, gripping the mop handle tightly. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he straightened his posture. He turned towards the voice that had called out to him. There he was. Steve Harrington in all his glory. His hair was a bit shorter than Eddie remembered, but still stylish and perfect. He sat at the bar, a chipped coffee mug in his hand.

"Holy shit, it really is you," he said, setting his mug down on the counter in front of him. "Eddie Munson back in Hawkins."

Eddie shrugged, his brows raising as if to say everyone was right. He placed his mop back into the dirty water and walked the bucket into the back. His mind raced as he dumped the water, watching it swirl as it went down the drain. The last time Eddie had seen Steve was 1986. The night before he left for New York. It hadn't gone well, to say the least.

Steve had become a regular at The Hideout. His polos and pressed jeans sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the bikers and bar flies. Eddie was never sure how he did it, but he'd somehow wormed his way into the Corroded Coffin inner circle. He would take post show shots with them at the bar. Help them load up gear into Eddie's old van at the end of the night. Always front and center during their sets.

It was weird. King Steve slumming it at a dive bar to watch the guys he used to push in the hallways play their shitty songs on their second hand instruments. But nobody complained. He was their only fan, after all.

Steve had taken a liking to Eddie in particular. This didn't go unnoticed. Not by Eddie, and certainly not by his band mates. The jokes and jabs seemed to be never ending. Maybe Eddie's rich boyfriend will buy us new gear. Steve and Eddie sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g.