Chapter Text
The sky was just starting to brighten, the kind of hazy pink that bled slow and soft over the desert. It was quiet—quieter than Los Angeles ever was—and for once, Eddie didn’t mind. He sat on the porch steps with a mug of coffee balanced in his hands, still too hot to sip. Behind him, the door creaked open.
He didn’t need to look. He already knew the rhythm of those forearm crutches, the deliberate placement of each step. Chris made his way to the edge of the porch and settled beside him without a word, his crutches propped within reach. Still in pajama pants and a hoodie, hair tousled, eyes heavy from sleep. Eddie handed over the second mug.
Chris took it, let the steam warm his face. They sat in silence, breathing in the morning together. The cicadas weren’t quite up yet. The neighbors’ sprinklers hadn’t kicked in. It was the rare kind of stillness Eddie only remembered from childhood—before Shannon, before deployments, before LA. Before the noise of everything. Chris was the one who broke it.
“It’s better, being back,” he said. “But it still doesn’t feel… like home.”
Eddie nodded slowly, not surprised.
“Yeah,” he said, voice low. “I know what you mean.”
Chris leaned his shoulder just slightly into Eddie’s. “Was it weird? Moving back here?” Eddie thought about that for a second. “At first, yeah. But it was worth it. To get you back, it was worth it.”
Chris didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. Eddie could feel the weight of the truth they were both sitting with. The quiet stretched again, more peaceful this time. Familiar. Eddie glanced toward the street, then back toward the little patch of yard he still hadn’t gotten around to mowing.
“Maybe home isn’t here anymore,” he said quietly.
Chris didn’t respond right away. Then: “You mean LA?” Eddie sipped his coffee. “I mean… maybe. It’s worth thinking about.” He didn’t say it outright, not yet. But the idea had been sitting in the back of his mind for weeks—ever since that moment in Lubbock when Chris had thrown up his anxiety and admitted he just wanted to come home. Eddie remembered the relief in Chris’s eyes when he said, "You're moving back in with me."
Helena had been less than thrilled. She had asked if Eddie was serious. And when she asked why he didn't have Ramon ride back with them, Eddie had shrugged and said, “Didn’t want him to lose his seat on the bus.” It was petty, maybe. But he hadn’t regretted it.
He looked over at Chris now, who was staring out at the street like he was picturing something else. Maybe LA traffic. Maybe that little orange tree in the front yard of their house.
Eddie didn’t push.
He just leaned back against the step behind him, watched the sky turn gold, and thought—for the first time in a long time—that maybe they were heading in the right direction again.
The sky had shifted from pink to gold, casting soft shadows across the yard. The stillness of the morning was beginning to crack—one or two cars passed along the street, and Eddie could hear a lawn sprinkler sputtering to life two houses down. Chris had curled one foot up beneath him, the way he always did when he got comfortable. Eddie took another sip of his coffee, now just cool enough to drink.
“We could go out for breakfast later,” he said. “Maybe that place with the chorizo hash you liked.”
Chris hummed, already picturing the food. “Yeah. Is nine okay?” Eddie chuckled. “That gives me a couple hours to get some more sanding done in the front room.” Chris turned his head toward him, eyebrows lifted. “Didn’t you already patch that wall?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t smooth it out. And I think the trim’s still uneven.”
Chris squinted in mock judgment. “You mean you let something be uneven? I don’t believe it.” Eddie grinned, bumping his shoulder lightly against Chris’s. “Smartass.” Chris smiled into his mug. “You started it.”
They lapsed into silence again, but this one felt different—brighter. There was the buzz of something beginning to stir between them again. Not just comfort, but momentum. A new shape to their days. Something that looked like rebuilding.
Eddie set his mug down beside him on the step. “If we’re serious about LA,” he said casually, “we’ll need to start getting this place ready to list.” Chris nodded, thoughtful. “You think we could be out before school starts?”
“That’s the plan. Mid-July, if we hustle.”
Chris didn’t answer right away. Then, quietly: “Okay.” Not a question. Not a protest. Just… okay.
And that was enough.
Chris shifted beside him, stretching his legs out slowly before reaching for his crutches.
“I think I’m gonna go lie down again,” he said, stifling a yawn. “Too early to be awake.”
Eddie smiled. “Yeah, go ahead. We’ll head out around nine.” Chris stood, adjusting his grip on the handles before starting toward the door. He paused halfway, glancing back at Eddie.
“Should we tell Grandma and Abuelo?”
Eddie shook his head, gently but firm. “Not yet.” He picked his coffee back up, eyes focused on the horizon.
“I want this to be ours for a little bit. No pressure. No guilt trips. Just… let it be ours.”
Chris nodded, like he understood more than he let on. “They’re gonna flip.” Eddie huffed a dry laugh. “Yeah. Probably.” Chris was almost to the door when Eddie caught it—that smile. It wasn’t loud or big, but it was real. The same kind of smile Chris had flashed when they were pulling away from the curb in front of Helena’s house in Lubbock, and Eddie had told him to pick the music. It was the same smile Chris wore when he’d said “Punch it, Dad!”
Eddie didn’t say anything about it. He just watched his son disappear inside, heard the soft click of the door, and leaned back on the step again, coffee warm in his hands. The sun was up now. Birds were starting to stir in the eaves. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. The quiet had faded, but Eddie didn’t mind.
For the first time in a long time, it felt like the day ahead was theirs. And maybe—just maybe—the road home wasn’t behind them after all. Once the door shut behind Chris, Eddie let the quiet stretch a little longer before pushing to his feet.
He figured he had maybe an hour, two if he was lucky, before the sun really started to turn brutal. The El Paso heat didn’t mess around, and neither did his to-do list. He ducked inside, rinsed his mug, and changed into a worn pair of basketball shorts and a gray tank that had seen too many repaints and patch jobs to be considered presentable anywhere but home.
Outside, the morning air was already warming. The shadows across the lawn had shortened, and the birds had fully claimed the fence line, chirping to no one in particular. Eddie crouched by the front beds, pulling on a pair of gloves from the porch bin.
He had plans—nothing elaborate, just enough to give the place a little curb appeal. Maybe a sign that someone had cared for it, had built something here worth tending to. That mattered, especially if the For Sale sign was going up by July.
He started with the lavender—soft and fragrant, reliable in dry heat. The lemongrass went in next, a subtle mosquito deterrent and, hopefully, a good companion to the little blueberry bush he nestled into the corner closest to the porch. The soil was rocky in some places, but he worked through it, sweat starting to bead on his brow.
There was something therapeutic about the process. Root systems. Spacing. Thinking in seasons. If all went well, they’d be long gone before any of this bore fruit. But still, he liked the idea of it. That someone—whoever came next—might have something fresh to come home to.
The gloves were damp by the time he moved on to the last section, pressing in the final rosemary sprigs near the walkway. He sat back on his heels and exhaled. It wasn’t much. But it was something. And for Eddie Diaz, that was a start.
The trim job had taken just under an hour—quick work with the right tools and a bit of elbow grease. Eddie had just wiped his hands clean when he heard the shuffle of crutches from the hallway. Chris was up. Right on time.
They got ready quietly, slipping into the kind of rhythm that used to be second nature. Shower, keys, wallet, check. Crutches in the back seat, seatbelt click. Just like old times. The diner near the base hadn’t changed a bit. Still had the old Army patches framed on the walls, the faded booth upholstery, and the smell of bacon and grease that seeped into your clothes. Eddie didn’t mind. They slid into a booth near the window. The waitress came by with menus, though she didn’t need to. Chris already knew what he wanted.
When the food arrived, Eddie’s plate was piled with scrambled eggs, spicy refried beans, sausage, fried potatoes, and buttered toast with a side of salsa. Chris had his usual: chorizo hash with runny eggs and a perfect side of bacon—crispy enough to snap.
They ate in near silence for a few minutes, content in the sound of clinking forks and passing conversation from nearby tables. It was Chris who spoke first.
“I’m not mad anymore.”
Eddie looked up. “What?”
Chris didn’t meet his eyes. “About that day. You and that woman. I’m not mad anymore.” Eddie sat back slowly, unsure how to take it.
“I think… I just needed to be angry,” Chris said. “It was easier than being confused.”
Eddie nodded, waiting.
“I still don’t get it, though,” Chris admitted. “Why her? Why someone who looked like Mom?”
Eddie exhaled, setting his fork down.
“She showed up out of nowhere, Chris. Her name was Kim. And yeah—she looked like your mom. It stopped me in my tracks.”
He looked out the window, thinking.
“I never really got closure with Shannon. You don’t know this, but right before the accident, we thought she might be pregnant. I was going to ask her to come back. I was ready.”
Chris froze, fork halfway to his mouth.
“But she wasn’t. And instead… she asked for a divorce.” Eddie’s jaw tightened. “Two days later, she was gone.”
Chris lowered his fork.
“I didn’t know what to do with that. I buried it. I didn’t talk about it, not really. And then I saw Kim—this woman who looked like your mom, talked like her, had her mannerisms. It messed with me.”
Eddie took a sip of his coffee, then continued.
“She found out. I told her everything. About your mom. About you. About how I hadn’t grieved right. And Kim… she left. But, a few hours later, she showed up at the house dressed like your mom, said I could say all the things I never got to.”
Chris’s brow furrowed. “You let her?” Eddie held his gaze. “I did. And I know how messed up it sounds. But it wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t her. It was like… punching holes in a wall I didn’t even know I’d built.”
Chris looked away.
“And then you and Marisol came home.”
That made Chris flinch.
“You saw it out of context,” Eddie said gently. “But I get why it looked bad. I get why you left.”
Chris’s voice was quiet. “You didn’t try to explain.”
“I didn’t have time. You weren't talking to me. And honestly? I didn’t know how to fix it. I didn’t know if I could.”
Chris pressed the edge of his thumb against the diner table. “I was so angry. But I didn’t know why.”
“You had every right to be,” Eddie said. “You lost your mom. And then you thought you were losing me, too. That’s not something I ever wanted you to feel. That’s why I let you go. That’s why I came after you.”
Chris nodded slowly, swallowing thickly.
“Still feels weird.”
Eddie huffed a dry laugh. “Weird might be an understatement.” A small smile tugged at Chris’s mouth, and for the first time in a long while, it felt like they were on the same page again.
“Thanks for telling me,” Chris said.
“Thanks for asking,” Eddie replied.
They went back to their plates. And though the food was getting cold, the air between them finally felt warm again. Chris took a final bite of his hash and leaned back with a satisfied sigh. Eddie watched him for a moment, then smiled.
“So, what do you want to do today?” he asked.
Chris blinked, caught off guard. “Aren’t you gonna go Uber driving or something?” Eddie chuckled. “I was thinking I’d rather hang out with you. A million times over.” That earned him a grin. “Really?”
“Yeah, really.”
Chris hummed thoughtfully, then perked up. “Movie night.” Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Movie night?”
“Yeah. Like, full movie night. Snacks. Double—no, triple feature. Staying up late. Maybe we could even build a fort in the living room.”
Eddie’s smile grew. “You haven’t asked for that since we first moved to LA.”
“I know. But… it sounds kinda fun.”
“It does.” Eddie nodded. “Alright. Fort, movies, snacks. Consider it done.”
They spent the next few minutes ironing out details. Meats, cheeses, pickles, and crackers—Chris insisted on making their own little charcuterie board, even if it was just for the two of them. Popcorn, of course. Sweets too, though Eddie raised an eyebrow when Chris suggested fondue and bratwurst.
“That’s a little ambitious for a movie night,” Eddie said, laughing. “But maybe later this week. We’ll experiment.”
Chris beamed at that.
By the time they were back in the truck, the sun was climbing higher and the day was starting to bake. They took a detour to avoid the Saturday traffic downtown, and eventually found themselves on the other side of town.
“I don’t think I’ve been to this grocery store before,” Eddie said, pulling into a small parking lot beside a modest-looking supermarket.
Chris shrugged. “Me neither. But it’s close, and we’re hungry.”
“Good enough for me.”
They got out of the truck, Chris retrieving his crutches with practiced ease and taking the extra second to settle his forearms into them before he started toward the store. Eddie checked his phone, mentally running through the list of everything they needed, but mostly thinking about the quiet afternoon ahead—the kind of day he used to dream about having again.
Just the two of them. The way it should be. They made quick work of their grocery list. Snacks, drinks, cheeses, cured meats. A small jar of cornichons that Chris inspected like a science experiment. Eddie raised an eyebrow and Chris shrugged, tossing it into the cart. They turned into the salad aisle next. Chris went straight for the mini pickles.
“You’re gonna get like four different kinds, aren’t you?” Eddie teased.
Chris grinned. “I like variety.” Eddie reached for a small jar near the top shelf. “Well, I like these.” Chris turned—and immediately scrunched his nose. “Green olives? Seriously?”
“Pimento-stuffed,” Eddie said with mock offense. “The good kind.”
Chris wrinkled his nose further. “I like the purple ones. Kalamata olives. Buck puts them in his chicken cacciatore.”
“Oh, so Buck’s olives are gourmet, but mine are gross?”
“They’re just… better.”
Eddie smirked, dropping the jar into the basket. “You’ve never even tried these. Can’t hate them if I haven’t tried them.” He didn't miss the side-eye Chris thew his way. Eddie raised an eyebrow. “I’d bet money you’d like them.” Chris’s mouth twitched. “We’ll just have to see then, won’t we?”
Eddie chuckled and moved ahead down the aisle, eyes scanning the higher shelves until he spotted a tucked-away brand he hadn’t seen since childhood. He grabbed it with a quiet, satisfied, “Yes.”
He turned back toward the cart—only to stop when he heard someone behind him say, quietly but clearly:
“Uncle Eddie?”
Eddie turned.
A young man stood by the stocked shelves, pallet still in hand. Early twenties, maybe. Tall. Freckles. Hair longer than he remembered. And those eyes—green-blue with a hazel burst around the pupil—so achingly familiar, Eddie’s heart stopped for half a beat. The kid stared back, stunned. “I thought that was you.”
Eddie blinked. “Jacob?”
Jacob’s face broke into an uncertain smile. “Hey.” Eddie took a step closer. “You’ve grown.” Jacob gave a soft laugh. “It’s been a while.”
“Last I knew, you were in Charleston.”
“Yeah. I’ve been back a few months. Couch surfing mostly. Trying to save up for a place.”
Eddie’s chest tightened. “You here alone?” Jacob nodded. “For now. It’s... a long story.” Before Eddie could ask more, Chris called from down the aisle.
“Dad? Did you lose the olive war?”
Eddie glanced over his shoulder. “Coming!” Chris appeared moments later, crutches tapping in a practiced rhythm as he approached, pace easy but deliberate through the narrow aisle. Jacob’s gaze shifted, eyes widening slightly. “Is that—?” Eddie offered a quick nod. “Yeah.” Chris gave a polite, if puzzled, smile. “Hi.”
Jacob nodded. “Hey.”
Eddie turned back to him. “You got your phone?” Jacob handed it over without hesitation. Eddie punched in his number and returned it. “Text me. We’ll catch up.”
Jacob nodded. “Will do.”
Eddie gave his shoulder a quick squeeze before stepping away. “Don’t work too hard.” They made it to the front of the store and unloaded their cart, the fluorescent lights humming quietly overhead. Chris glanced up at him, brow furrowed. “So… who was that?” Eddie exhaled, then offered a small smile. “That was Jacob.” Chris tilted his head. “Do I know him?”
“You haven’t seen him in a long time,” Eddie said. “He’s Shannon’s nephew.”
Chris blinked. “Wait—so he’s…”
“Your cousin,” Eddie confirmed, nodding. “Yeah.”
Chris looked back toward the salad aisle, eyebrows raised in quiet surprise. “Huh.” Eddie’s smile lingered, softer now. “It’s been a long time since I saw him, too. Wasn’t expecting to run into him today.”
Chris didn’t say anything more, but he glanced once over his shoulder before they reached the register, curiosity still flickering in his eyes. And Eddie… Eddie couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something had shifted. Something was opening back up—something old, maybe, but not unwelcome.
Just… unexpected.
The living room smelled faintly of popcorn and dryer sheets. Pillows were stacked in a crooked semicircle against the couch, and a quilted blanket draped from the armrest to a dining chair, forming the world’s most uneven—but totally acceptable—movie fort. Chris sat at the base, legs tucked beneath him, a bowl of popcorn balanced in his lap and a soda can within reach. The projector cast soft flickers of color across the ceiling.
Eddie emerged from the kitchen balancing a tray of snacks—sliced salami, cheddar, pickles, olives (both green and purple), and a sleeve of buttery crackers. He set it on the coffee table with a proud little flourish.
“Told you I could pull off a gourmet spread,” he said, grabbing a bottle of water for himself.
Chris gave him a thumbs up, already deep into the opening credits of the movie. “Still not touching the green olives.”
“We’ll see about that,” Eddie replied, dropping onto the couch with a satisfied grunt.
They watched in comfortable silence for a while, the kind that only came from people who knew each other’s rhythms inside and out. Chris laughed at a few familiar lines, tossing a popcorn kernel at Eddie when he quoted along too early. Halfway through the second movie, Eddie’s phone buzzed against the armrest.
He glanced down.
Unknown Number: Hey… it’s Jacob. Just wanted to say it was good seeing you today. Hope it’s okay that I texted.
Eddie smiled faintly, thumb hovering over the keyboard for a second before replying:
Eddie: Of course it’s okay. Good seeing you too. You free tomorrow morning?
A few seconds passed.
Jacob: Yeah. I don’t open ‘til noon.
Eddie: Come by the house. We’ll catch up properly.
Eddie locked the phone and leaned back against the couch. Chris looked over at him. “Who was that?”
“Jacob,” Eddie said simply. “Just checking in.”
Chris gave a small nod. “Cool.” Eddie didn’t elaborate, and Chris didn’t press. The movie kept playing, casting warm light across the living room floor, the soft hum of spring crickets beginning outside the open window. Eventually, though, Chris shifted on the couch, reaching for the remote and pausing the movie mid-scene. Eddie looked over. “You good?” Chris nodded, but there was a flicker of thought behind his eyes. “Yeah. Just… who’s Jacob?” Eddie set his water down and leaned back. “Your mom’s nephew. Her brother, Randy—Jacob’s his son.”
Chris blinked, surprised. “I didn’t know she had a brother.”
“Most people didn’t,” Eddie said. “They weren’t exactly close after a while. But back when we still lived here, Randy and his family were in town too. Jacob was around a lot when you were little.”
Chris tilted his head. “How little?”
“From the time you were born until about four. He was a teenager then—used to come by after school, helped your mom with errands or watched you if she had work. You probably don’t remember it, but you’d crash on him during cartoons like it was a sport.”
Chris smiled faintly. “Sounds like he had a knack for it.”
“He did,” Eddie said, a touch of fondness in his voice. “He was a good kid. Then things shifted. Your mom left, things with Randy got tense, and the next thing I heard, they’d packed up and moved to Charleston. I haven’t seen Jacob since.”
Chris looked back at the TV, processing. “And now he’s back? Just working at a grocery store?”
“Yeah,” Eddie said, nodding. “Said he’s couch-surfing for now. Didn't go into much else.”
Chris was quiet for a second. “You think something happened?” Eddie exhaled slowly. “I don’t know. But you don’t come all the way across the country and end up stocking shelves unless something pushed you to.” Chris stared ahead. “Like Buck.”
Eddie glanced over at him—and there it was, that quiet kind of knowing Chris always seemed to carry. The same thread Eddie had been tugging at all afternoon, spoken aloud like it had always been obvious.
“Yeah,” Eddie said. “Like Buck.”
The TV’s glow flickered across both of their faces. Chris hit play, and the movie resumed—but the room felt warmer somehow. Closer. Eddie reached for his phone, still resting on the arm of the couch. A new message notification lingered there—Jacob’s name on the screen.
They let the movie continue, the volume low and comforting, just the soft flicker of light bouncing across the living room walls. Chris leaned against the cushions, eyes half on the screen, half on nothing in particular. Eddie picked up his phone, thumb hovering for a moment before he tapped out a message.
Eddie: When do you get off shift tonight?
It didn’t take long.
Jacob: Working a double. Off around 10:30. Why?
Eddie thumbed a quick reply.
Eddie: If you’re not too wiped, swing by. I’ll have coffee on. Figured maybe tonight would be better than waiting.
A few seconds passed before the reply came in.
Jacob: Yeah, okay. I’d like that.
There was a pause. Then a thumbs-up emoji. Eddie set the phone aside again, exhaling quietly. He turned back toward the screen, the movie still rolling, the couch still warm with familiarity.
Tonight, then.
No more waiting.
It was just past ten-thirty when Jacob pulled up outside the house. The headlights swept across the driveway before cutting out. Inside, the house was quiet save for the soft hum of the fridge and the click of the coffeepot finishing its cycle.
Eddie glanced down the hall—Chris was still out cold, curled into the couch, one hand tucked beneath his chin. A faint smile tugged at the corners of Eddie’s mouth as he made his way to the front door.
He opened it just as Jacob was stepping up onto the porch, looking a little worn but no worse for wear. The collar of his grocery store hoodie was bunched slightly, and there was a tiredness in his eyes that only a double shift could explain. Jacob looked past him, then grinned. “He passed out mid-movie?”
Eddie nodded, stepping back to let him in. “Didn’t even make it to the halfway mark. I think the snacks did him in.”
“Some things don’t change,” Jacob murmured as he stepped inside, gaze lingering briefly on Chris. Then, he followed Eddie into the kitchen, where the scent of fresh coffee still hung in the air.
Eddie poured two mugs and slid one across the counter. Jacob wrapped his hands around it like he hadn’t held warmth all day. They stood in a silence that wasn’t uncomfortable. Just full.
“How long’s it been?” Eddie asked eventually.
Jacob blinked, then gave a small shake of his head. “Ten years, maybe? I think I was fourteen the last time we saw each other.”
“You were,” Eddie confirmed. “I remember you tried to teach Chris how to whistle that summer.”
Jacob huffed a soft laugh. “And he just spit everywhere.”
“Like a sprinkler,” Eddie agreed, smiling.
Jacob sipped his coffee. “He’s grown up a lot.” Eddie nodded, watching him carefully. “So have you.” Another pause stretched between them, just long enough to feel like the edge of something heavier.
Jacob broke it.
“I graduated valedictorian, you know.”
Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“High school,” Jacob clarified, modest. “College, I was still up there. Top five. College of Charleston.”
Eddie whistled under his breath. “Damn. That’s something.” Jacob looked down at his coffee, the smile already starting to fade. “It was. For a while.” Eddie didn’t say anything. He just waited.
Eventually, Jacob said, quieter, “I’m sorry I didn’t come to her funeral. My dad didn’t even tell me until it was already over. Weeks after.” Eddie’s jaw tightened slightly. “That wasn’t on you.”
“I wanted to reach out,” Jacob added. “I really did. But I didn’t have your number. And then… life kept moving.”
Eddie gave a slow nod. “That was a rough time for everyone.” They both took sips from their mugs. The kitchen light buzzed softly overhead. Eddie set his mug down. “What I don’t get is… why you’re here. Why now.”
Jacob’s fingers tightened around the ceramic mug, turning it slowly in his hands even though the coffee inside had barely cooled. His foot tapped once against the leg of the chair, then stilled. Eddie leaned back slightly at the kitchen table, giving Jacob the space he clearly needed to figure out how to start.
“I didn’t plan to end up back here,” Jacob finally said, voice low.
Eddie gave a small nod but didn’t push.
“I was doing good for a while,” Jacob added. “College. Dean’s List. I had a plan.”
“What happened?”
Jacob hesitated. Then—quiet, almost too quiet: “My dad caught me with someone.”
Eddie’s brows pulled slightly.
“It was a guy,” Jacob said, eyes fixed on the table now, his jaw tight. “We weren’t doing anything wild, just—just kissing. But that was enough.”
The silence that followed was heavy with years Jacob hadn’t spoken aloud. Years of holding it in.
“I take it he didn’t take it well?” Eddie asked, gently.
Jacob gave a single, humorless laugh. “You could say that. He cut me off. Told me to find somewhere else to live. So I did.” Eddie was quiet, steady. “Your mom didn’t try to stop him?”
“She looked the other way,” Jacob said flatly. “Didn’t say a word. Not even goodbye.”
Eddie’s stomach turned. He let the quiet stretch a moment longer before speaking again—low, even.
“My best friend—Buck—he’s bi,” he said. “He’s also my kid’s legal guardian if anything ever happens to me. Closest thing Chris has to a second parent.”
Jacob blinked, lifting his eyes just slightly.
“And my teammate Hen,” Eddie continued. “She’s married. To a woman. They’ve got a teenage son. They’re one of the best families I know.”
Jacob’s mouth parted like he wanted to say something, but no words came.
“I’m not saying that to make it about them,” Eddie added. “Just so you know... you’re safe here. With me.”
Jacob let out a breath he’d clearly been holding.
“I wasn’t sure,” he admitted, voice rough around the edges. “I mean, I thought I knew. But you’re a Texan, and I’ve been burned enough to second-guess everything.”
Eddie gave a faint smile. “Yeah, well, I’m not that kind of Texan.” A quiet beat passed between them. Jacob nodded. “Thanks,” he murmured.
“You don’t have to thank me.”
Jacob took a slow sip of coffee, the tension in his shoulders finally starting to ease. Eddie studied him for a moment. “So you’ve just been couch-surfing?”
“Pretty much,” Jacob said. “Sleeping on a friend’s pullout. Trying to scrape together enough for a deposit somewhere.”
“That’s not sustainable.”
“No,” Jacob agreed, shaking his head. “It’s not.”
Eddie took a breath. “You know… I’ve got a spare room. It’s not fancy, but it’s got a bed, working AC, a locking door. If you’re looking for something more stable.”
Jacob looked up, startled.
“There’s a catch,” Eddie added. “You’d have to help me fix this place up. I’m hoping to sell soon—Chris and I are heading back to LA.”
A slow, genuine smile tugged at the corner of Jacob’s mouth. “You serious?”
Eddie nodded. “Completely.”
Jacob didn’t answer right away—but the relief in his posture said enough.
“Then yeah,” he said. “That sounds... really good.”
Eddie stood, refreshed both their mugs, and slid the second one back across the table.
“Welcome home,” he said simply.
Jacob’s hand closed around the mug. “Yeah,” he said, quiet but sure. “Thanks, Uncle Eddie.” It didn’t take long for Jacob to finish his coffee. Eddie followed him out to the curb, the porch light spilling warm light across the cracked driveway. Jacob popped the trunk of his beat-up sedan, revealing a modest collection of belongings—two duffel bags, a laundry basket of clothes, a folded blanket, a laptop case, and a worn denim jacket tucked into the corner.
“This all of it?” Eddie asked.
Jacob gave a tired laugh. “Pretty much.” Eddie didn’t push for more. He just grabbed the heavier duffel and the basket without a word and started back toward the house.
The Diaz home wasn’t much to look at from the outside—low-slung, sun-bleached stucco, with a sagging fence that still needed replacing—but it had four bedrooms and had been affordable for one very good reason: it was a full-on fixer-upper. Eddie had been slowly chipping away at repairs for months. The floors had been refinished, a few rooms repainted, and most of the plumbing updated. Still, there was more to do—enough to keep someone busy for the next several weeks, at least.
Inside, he led Jacob down the hall, past Chris’s room, and stopped at the second of the two spare bedrooms.
“It’s not fancy,” Eddie said, pushing the door open. “But it’s got a bed, clean sheets, a working ceiling fan, and enough space to breathe.”
Jacob stepped in and set his duffel down, scanning the room. A dresser, a small desk, a lamp. It was plain, but it didn’t feel cold. It felt lived in. Like someone had cared enough to make it ready. He stood there for a moment, like he didn’t quite believe he was allowed to stay. Eddie leaned against the doorframe. “You don’t have to keep busting your ass at that grocery store, by the way.” Jacob turned to look at him, brow furrowed. “What?”
“I’m serious,” Eddie said. “There’s more than enough work to go around here. You help with the renovations—painting, repairs, whatever I don’t have time for—you won’t have to worry about rent or bills. It'll take a load off me too.”
Jacob’s face shifted, just slightly. The relief was subtle, but there.
“And listen,” Eddie added, crossing his arms, “if you don’t know what your next step is by the time July rolls around—if you haven’t figured out a plan—you’re coming back to LA with us.”
Jacob blinked. “What?”
“No ifs, ands, or buts,” Eddie said. “You come back with us. There’ll be space.”
There was silence for a beat. Then Jacob nodded, quiet and firm.
“Okay.”
Eddie gave a small nod back. “Then we’ve got a deal.” He turned toward the hallway, but paused at the door.
“Coffee’s at seven. I don’t run a tight ship or anything, but don’t make me start.”
That got a small, crooked smile out of Jacob. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Eddie left him to get settled, and as he moved down the hallway, he felt something shift deep in his chest—not a burden, exactly, but the weight of another promise made. One he didn’t regret. And for the first time since the move, the house felt full.
It felt right.
The hallway was dim, painted in a slanted glow from the morning sun as Chris made his way down it, crutches tapping softly against the hardwood. As he passed the first guest room, the door hung just slightly ajar.
Inside, he caught a glimpse of a duffel bag slouched beside the dresser. A hoodie—worn, dark green—neatly folded at the foot of the bed. Shoes tucked underneath. He frowned a little but didn’t stop walking.
The kitchen was quiet but warm with the scent of coffee and something toasting. Jacob sat at the counter with a mug between his hands, still in yesterday’s clothes. He looked up with a polite smile.
“Morning.”
Chris nodded back. “Morning.”
He crossed to the fridge and grabbed a water bottle, avoiding any more conversation. Eddie, still at the stove, handed him a plate without comment. Chris murmured a thanks and took it with him, disappearing down the hall again.
The shower helped clear his head. And by the time he came back out, dressed and slightly more awake, Jacob was gone. Only the extra mug on the counter remained, rinsed and turned upside down on the drying mat. Chris padded barefoot into the kitchen. Eddie was cleaning up, moving at a slow, thoughtful pace. Chris leaned on the counter, watching him for a second. “That was Jacob?” Eddie nodded without looking up. “Yeah.” Chris paused, then tilted his head slightly. “I thought he was coming over this morning.”
Eddie glanced over his shoulder. “That was the plan. But I texted him last night and told him he could come by after his shift, if he wanted.” Chris’s brow furrowed. “So he stayed?” Eddie turned off the faucet and dried his hands on a dish towel before meeting Chris’s gaze. “Yeah.”
He didn’t elaborate.
Chris waited a beat, then asked, “Why?” Eddie exhaled slowly. “He… didn’t really have anywhere else to go.” That answer hung heavy in the air. Chris stayed quiet, but his eyes were searching.
Eddie gave a small shrug, softening his voice. “I don’t know everything. But it was enough. I wasn’t about to let him head back out again.” Chris absorbed that for a moment. “Is it something bad?” Eddie didn’t answer directly. “Let’s just say... sometimes people find their way back when they need to.” Chris glanced toward the hallway, toward the room with the duffel and the hoodie.
Then he nodded.
“I get it.”
Eddie offered him a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, kid.” Chris took another sip from his water bottle and smirked faintly. “You’re gonna have to warn him that I wake up early.”
Eddie chuckled. “He’ll learn.”
Eddie leaned back against the counter, glancing at the clock. “I’ve got a few Uber runs this afternoon. Probably just three, maybe four hours, depending on how the traffic is.” Chris gave a slow nod. “Okay.”
“You can head over to Grandma and Abuelo’s, if you want,” Eddie offered, though it was more reflex than anything. “Or… you can stay here.”
Chris raised an eyebrow, catching the edge in his dad’s tone. “Stay here?”
“Yeah,” Eddie said. “Jacob’s gonna be around. He’s actually headed to the store right now—to quit. I told him he doesn’t need to work doubles anymore, not while he’s helping with the house.”
Chris tilted his head slightly, curious. “So he’s really staying, then?”
“For now,” Eddie said. “Until we leave, at least. And if he doesn’t know what comes next by then…” He shrugged. “We’ll figure that out when we get there.”
Chris nodded again, thinking it over.
“I’ll stay,” he said finally. “Get a feel for him.”
Eddie looked over. “You sure?” Chris gave a faint, knowing smile. “It’ll be awkward. But that’s how it is with… well, anyone new. He doesn’t seem like a weirdo or anything.” Eddie snorted. “No, he’s not.” Chris smirked, then grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl and began peeling it. “Cool. I’ll hold down the fort.” Eddie tossed him a set of spare keys from the counter drawer. “Just in case.” Chris caught them one-handed. “Got it.”
Eddie lingered a second longer, watching his son settle into this new phase—this small moment of flexibility, of growth, of trust. Then he nodded once, grabbed his keys, and headed for the door.
Chris settled deeper into the couch, his forearm crutches leaned carefully against the nearby armrest. A controller sat in his lap as the Super Smash Bros. theme music looped quietly from the TV. He wasn’t really focused—just playing out of habit, selecting random characters and letting muscle memory guide him. The door opened with a quiet click.
Chris glanced over his shoulder, thumb pausing on the joystick. Jacob stepped inside, shoulders a little looser than they’d been yesterday. He wore a plain tee and jeans, his hair still damp from a quick shower, probably from cleaning off after the shift. He looked around as he entered, like he was still getting used to the layout.
“Hey,” Jacob said. “Where’s Eddie?”
Chris shrugged, eyes back on the screen. “Uber. He left about an hour ago. Said he’ll be gone for a few.” Jacob nodded, dropping his keys in the dish by the door. “That tracks.” Chris let the silence sit for a moment before asking, “You play?”
Jacob blinked. “Smash?”
“Yeah,” Chris said, tapping the controller against his palm. “I’m mostly killing time until he gets back. But if you wanna jump in…”
Jacob gave a lopsided grin. “I’m a little rusty. But sure.” Chris nodded toward the second controller on the coffee table. Jacob grabbed it and eased onto the other end of the couch.
“What’s your main?” Chris asked, already cycling through characters.
Jacob chuckled. “Back in the day? Kirby. But only because I liked swallowing people and yeeting them off the edge.” Chris gave him a mock-judgmental look. “You’re one of those.”
“Hey,” Jacob said, holding up his hands. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”
Chris shook his head, but he was smiling. And for the first time since this whole thing started, the tension between them felt like it had softened just enough to let something else in. Not comfort—not yet. But curiosity. Openness. Jacob selected his character—Fox, this time—and they launched into the first round.
They didn’t talk much, not at first. But as the battle progressed and the familiar banter of button-mashing and last-second recoveries took over, something easier settled between them. Not exactly family. But not strangers anymore, either. And maybe that was enough—for now.
A little over an hour had passed, and Jacob had taken a couple of wins—though Chris was quick to point out that one of them only happened because he got distracted by a cramp in his leg. They called a truce after the last round and drifted into the kitchen, still riding the low buzz of half-competitive amusement.
Chris opened the fridge and pulled out an orange. He set it on the counter, grabbed a paring knife, and without hesitation began cutting away the peel with practiced hands. Jacob leaned against the opposite counter, watching. A grin crept across his face. “You still do that.” Chris glanced up, confused. “Do what?” Jacob gestured loosely. “Supreme it. That’s the word, right? The fancy slices without the pith?” Chris paused, looking down at the fruit in his hands. “Yeah. It’s easier this way.”
Jacob nodded, smiling softly. “I used to do that for you. When you were little.”
Chris blinked. “You did?”
“Mm-hm. You were maybe two? Two and a half?” Jacob chuckled. “You’d get so frustrated trying to grab the big slices, much less trying to eat them. You’d try to grab them with your fingers, and they’d squish in your hand or slip right out.”
He shook his head, still smiling. “And then you’d make a face like they were personally offending you.” Jacob leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the counter. “Your mom was always busy, and your dad was overseas, so I just started doing it that way. Clean slices, in a little bowl. You’d eat them with one of those toddler spoons.” Chris glanced down at the orange again, slowly cutting away another segment. “Huh.”
“I showed your mom how to do it,” Jacob continued. “She must’ve taught your dad. And now you’re here, doing it like it’s second nature.”
Chris dropped the slices into a bowl, grabbed a spoon, and took a bite. “Weird how stuff like that sticks.”
“Not weird,” Jacob said. “Kind of nice, actually.”
Chris pushed the bowl across the counter. “Want some?” Jacob took a piece, popped it into his mouth, and nodded. “Still the best way to eat ‘em.” Chris looked a little smug. “Told you.”
They lapsed into a companionable silence, the quiet hum of the refrigerator filling the space between them. The distance between stranger and something closer had narrowed, just a little more. Jacob leaned back against the counter, still chewing thoughtfully on a slice. “So,” he said, tilting his head toward Chris, “what’s LA like these days?” Chris shrugged, spooning another bite of orange. “Loud. Busy. Kind of always moving.” Jacob smiled. “You like it?”
Chris considered that for a second, then nodded. “Yeah. I mean, we moved there when I was seven. I’ve been there most of my life now. It’s home.”
“Not here?”
Chris didn’t answer right away. “This place has history,” he said eventually. “But LA’s home.” Jacob nodded, understanding in his eyes. “Makes sense. Honestly, I barely recognized anything driving in. Everything feels smaller, somehow.”
“Yeah,” Chris said with a faint smile. “I noticed that too, after a few years in LA. It messes with your perspective.”
Jacob looked around the kitchen, then back to Chris. “So what’s your thing now? Besides being really good at Smash and supreme-ing oranges.” Chris smirked. “I’m starting high school in the fall. Mostly into gaming, computers, music. Stuff like that.”
“Music?”
“More listening than playing,” Chris admitted. “Though I did try learning guitar for like five minutes. Didn’t stick.”
Jacob laughed. “I tried the drums once. My dad hated it so much he ‘accidentally’ left them in the garage during a thunderstorm.” Chris snorted. “That feels targeted.”
“It was,” Jacob said. “Very much so.”
Chris set the bowl aside, resting his elbows on the counter. “What about you?” Jacob raised a brow. “What about me?”
“I mean… you were valedictorian and top five in college, right?” Chris asked, recalling what Eddie had told him. “Now you’re working at a grocery store and couch-surfing. What happened?”
Jacob’s expression shifted slightly—not uncomfortable, but cautious. “A lot. Not all of it’s easy to explain.” Chris nodded. “You don’t have to. I just… wondered.” Jacob glanced at the hallway, where his room now was. “Let’s just say it got hard to stay where I was. And this was the only place that ever felt remotely like it could be okay again.” Chris studied him for a second, then offered a quiet, “Fair.” There was a pause, but not an awkward one. Just the weight of honesty settling between them.
“Do you think you’ll stay?” Chris asked. “Like, in El Paso?”
Jacob gave a noncommittal shrug. “That depends on a few things. But your dad—he offered me a place. Said if I didn’t have a plan by July, I could come back to LA with you two.”
Chris blinked. “Seriously?”
Jacob smiled faintly. “Yeah. He’s kind of a better guy than I remembered. Not that I don't remember him being awesome, anyways.”
Chris laughed. “He’s alright.”
Jacob nudged the orange bowl closer. “Truce?” Chris arched a brow. “I thought we already called one.”
“Okay, then treaty,” Jacob amended. “Official terms of peace. Negotiated over oranges.”
Chris grinned. “Deal.”
They fell into another easy silence, the kind that only comes when two people finally stop feeling like strangers.
The sun had crept higher in the sky, casting warm light across the cracked porch railing as Jacob knelt in the flowerbed, hands deep in the soil. The scent of earth and crushed lavender clung to the air, mixing with the occasional drift of laundry detergent from somewhere down the block.
Chris sat on the bottom step, legs stretched out in front of him, watching Jacob place one of the lemongrass starters with practiced care.
“So,” Chris said after a beat, “is the plan for you to help my dad get the house ready? For when we move back to LA?”
Jacob glanced up, pausing mid-motion. “That’s the gist, yeah.” He sat back on his heels, brushing a streak of dirt on his jeans. “He said there’s still a lot to do—repairs, touch-ups, stuff like that. And I’ve done a fair bit of handiwork. Figured it was a good trade for a place to stay.”
Chris nodded, drawing shapes in the dust on the porch step with the toe of his sneaker. “Makes sense. We want the house sold by July. School starts back up not long after that.” Jacob leaned over to adjust one of the blueberry bushes, then looked back at Chris. “You okay with that? Moving back?” Chris shrugged, casual. “Yeah. I mean… I never really wanted to leave in the first place.”
“Fair enough,” Jacob murmured. “I take it your dad’s excited?”
Chris smirked. “He tries to play it cool, but yeah. I think he’s ready to go home.” Jacob nodded, thoughtful. “Then I guess I’ll do my part to help get you both there.” There was a beat of quiet between them—comfortable, not heavy. Chris tilted his head toward the flowerbed. “Put the lemongrass closer to the porch. It’ll smell good when the wind hits.” Jacob chuckled, shifting the pot. “You’ve got a good eye for this. Wanna trade spots?” Chris laughed. “Nah, I like supervising.”
Jacob grinned, and they settled back into rhythm—planting, spacing, watering. Just enough conversation to keep things moving. Just enough quiet to let it sink in that this—whatever this was—felt like something that might stick. Chris leaned back on his hands, watching as Jacob patted down the soil around the last lemongrass stalk.
“Hey,” he said after a pause, his voice quieter than before. “When was the last time you saw my mom?”
Jacob’s hands stilled.
He didn’t look over right away, just sat back on his heels, brushing the dirt off his fingers. “Uh… probably sometime in 2016. Not long after your dad came back from Afghanistan.” Chris’s brow lifted. “The Silver Star thing?” Jacob nodded slowly. “Yeah. That was around the time.”
He reached for the trowel and tapped it gently against his palm, lost in thought. “I’d babysat you a few times that spring. You were, what—five, maybe? Real into those big plastic blocks, and you hated naptime unless someone read to you first.” Chris gave a half-smile. “Still hate naptime.” Jacob chuckled under his breath. “Some things don’t change.”
He shifted a little, more serious now. “After that… she just wasn’t around anymore. She left in the middle of the night. My dad told me she’d gone out to help Gran. Said she was sick. I figured she’d be back eventually.” Chris tilted his head. “But she didn’t come back.”
“No.” Jacob’s voice dipped. “Gran passed away not long after. And then my dad—he and your mom had it out over the phone. I didn’t hear what was said, just that it ended ugly. Next thing I knew, he was packing us up for Charleston.”
“Cutting ties?” Chris guessed.
Jacob gave a tired shrug. “That’s kind of his specialty.” Chris looked down, absently tugging at a loose thread on his pant leg. “I don’t remember a lot from then. Just… one day she was gone.” Jacob’s face softened. “Yeah. Same.”
A long beat passed.
Then Jacob stood, offering his hand. “Come on. Let’s get the hose going before this stuff wilts. Lavender’s fussy.” Chris accepted the hand, steadying himself with a small grin. “Bossy and a gardener. Impressive.” Jacob laughed as they headed toward the spigot. “Hey, I gotta earn my keep somehow.” And with that, the air between them shifted again—lighter, but not shallow. Roots pushing deeper.
By the time the hose had soaked the last of the flowerbed, the sun had started to stretch longer across the backyard. Jacob shut it off, coiled it back around the holder, and followed Chris toward the back door—only to hear the unmistakable creak of the front screen door opening. Eddie’s voice called out, just as they stepped into the kitchen. “I’m back!”
Chris veered toward the entryway while Jacob wiped his hands on a towel draped over the oven handle. Eddie came into view, arms full of grocery bags.
“Need a hand?” Jacob offered.
“I got it,” Eddie said, bumping the door closed with his hip. “Last trip wasn’t too bad.”
Chris peered into the bags as Eddie set them on the counter. “You go shopping again?”
“Yep,” Eddie said, pulling out a pack of chicken thighs and a jar of tomato paste. “Thought I’d try making Buck’s chicken cacciatore.”
Chris tilted his head, the look on his face clearly skeptical. “You’re gonna cook?” Eddie raised an eyebrow. “I can cook.” Chris exchanged a look with Jacob, who had the decency to smother his smirk behind his hand.
Eddie held up a finger. “Hey. This is different. Buck sent me his very detailed, foolproof, step-by-step recipe. Said even I couldn’t mess it up.” Chris narrowed his eyes playfully. “We’ll see about that.” Jacob grinned and leaned on the counter. “Should we make a backup plan, just in case?”
“Trust the process,” Eddie said, already pulling a cutting board from the cabinet. “Worst-case scenario, we order pizza.”
Chris plopped down at the kitchen table, grabbing a water bottle. “That’s what you said the last time you tried to make shrimp tacos.” Eddie paused. “And those turned out fine.” Chris gave a pointed look. “They were gray, Dad.” Eddie pointed at the chicken. “Well, these won’t be.”
Jacob snorted a quiet laugh and took a seat next to Chris, who had now taken it upon himself to narrate Eddie’s cooking attempts in dramatic fashion.
“If he starts muttering to himself,” Chris said, “that’s when we panic.”
“Trust the process!” Eddie called from the stove, and Jacob couldn’t help but smile—really smile—at the warm rhythm of it all.
For a moment, it felt like a snapshot of something that had always been. And maybe, in some way, it could be again.
The last of the dishes were pushed aside, and Chris let out a satisfied sigh, leaning back in his chair with a hand on his stomach.
“That was actually really good,” he said, blinking at his empty plate like it had surprised him.
Eddie chuckled as he gathered a few plates. “Don’t sound so shocked.” Chris lifted his hands in surrender. “I’m just saying—I was expecting... edible. That was restaurant-level.” Eddie grinned, flicking a dish towel at him. “Buck sent me his exact recipe. Even I couldn’t mess that up.”
Chris laughed, but as he reached for his glass of water, his smile faded into something a little quieter. “I miss him,” he said softly. “We haven’t really talked. Not since I left.”
Eddie stilled, the words catching him in that space between memory and guilt. “I know,” he said, sitting back down across from him. “I think he misses you, too.” Chris looked down at his glass, thumb running along the condensation.
Eddie hesitated, then reached for his phone. “Maddie texted while I was on a ride earlier. Said Buck got stuck on a call. Sprained his ankle, nothing too serious. He’s laid up at the firehouse tonight.” Chris’s brows pinched. “Is he okay?”
“He’s fine,” Eddie assured him. “But I bet he could use a pick-me-up.”
Chris looked up slowly, reading between the lines.
“You think we should call him?”
Eddie shrugged like it was no big deal. “Could be a good time to tell him the news. Might cheer him up.” Chris cracked a small smile, but there was hesitation behind it.
“He’ll be happy,” Eddie said quietly. “I know he will.”
Chris nodded once, then pushed his chair back and went to grab his crutches.
“I’ll set up the call in the living room,” Eddie said, already opening FaceTime on his phone.
Just as he hit the call button, Jacob passed through the kitchen, rinsing out a glass.
“I’ll give you guys some space,” he said with a small wink, disappearing down the hall.
Eddie threw off a quick text to Maddie, letting her know their plan, to which she quickly dished back a cheeky response, in regards to her brother. Chris got settled on the couch beside Eddie, adjusting the throw pillow behind him as the ringing echoed once, twice—
And then Buck’s face appeared on screen.
He looked a little tired—messy hair, flushed skin, and an ankle propped awkwardly on another stool. But he was there, blinking at the camera with something almost like disbelief.
“Still alive, I see,” Eddie teased, settling the phone between them as he and Chris leaned in. “Maddie said you sprained something.”
Buck shifted like he was still adjusting to sitting. “Ankle. Hen’s already being dramatic about it.” Chris watched Buck for a moment, heart tugging with a weird mix of familiarity and distance. He hadn’t seen Buck’s face in real time since last August—his birthday. A quick call surrounded by relatives and noise, the kind of moment that didn’t leave much space for them.
He still remembered the way Buck used to crouch down to his height, listen like every word mattered. The way he used to be there for everything. And now—
“Maddie’s text had 'entrapment' and 'limping like a stubborn idiot' in it,” Eddie said flatly.
Buck huffed a laugh. “Sounds like her.” Chris waited for his dad to shift the phone, and then he leaned into view.
“Hey, Buck.”
He watched Buck’s eyes widen, watched the surprise turn soft and real.
“Hey, buddy,” Buck said, voice lower now, a little thick. “It’s been a while.”
Chris nodded. “Yeah.”
It wasn’t awkward exactly, but it wasn’t smooth either. There was hesitation in the air, like they were both feeling out the edges of something long overdue. Buck tilted his head. “You sound older. I mean—your voice.” Chris offered a sheepish smile. “Kinda snuck up on me, too.”
“Makes me feel ancient.”
“Good,” Chris replied automatically, and that—that—broke the tension just enough to feel like home again.
Eddie smiled as he leaned back into frame. “We actually had a reason for the call.” Buck squinted. “Besides roasting me?”
“We’re moving back,” Eddie said, simply.
Chris added, “To LA. We’re selling the house.” He watched the shock move through Buck like a slow wave. First the stillness, then the subtle tilt of his mouth as he tried to find words.
“You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack,” Chris said, voice soft but sure.
Buck looked between them, eyes glossed with something that Chris recognized—hope, maybe. Or something adjacent. Something harder to name.
“We figured you should hear it first,” Eddie added.
Chris smirked. “And Maddie said you’d probably cry.”
“Tell her she’s full of it,” Buck muttered, but wiped under his eye all the same.
They talked a little after that—plans for the house, Chris’s summer PT schedule, how awful the heat was getting. It was easy. Easier than Chris expected. Like no time had passed at all. Then Buck said, “Actually, there’s someone here you should meet.”
He angled the phone slightly, revealing another young guy sitting at the counter, nursing a grilled cheese sandwich and looking caught somewhere between polite curiosity and sudden stage fright.
“This is Ethan,” Buck said. “He’s—uh—he’s new.”
Chris blinked. “Hi.”
Ethan gave a small wave. “Hi. You must be Chris.” Chris nodded, unsure of what else to say. He glanced at his dad, but Eddie was studying Ethan with a quiet kind of observation.
“He’s cool,” Buck added with a little smile, clearly sensing the awkward.
“Well,” Chris said after a moment, “he has good taste in sandwiches.”
That made Ethan laugh, and Buck raised his hands like see? They’re gonna be fine. Eventually, Chris sat back a bit, rubbing his eye. “I should probably head to bed soon.” Buck’s smile softened. “Yeah, it’s getting late.” Chris didn’t want to say goodbye—not really. Not now that things felt normal again. But he nodded. “I’ll see you soon, right?”
“Soon,” Buck promised. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”
Chris smiled. “Yeah. We do.”
“Night, buddy.”
“Night.”
Chris stood and passed the phone to Eddie before disappearing down the hall. Eddie watched his son go, that careful warmth still flickering behind his eyes. When he turned back to the screen, Buck was watching him.
“Thank you,” Buck said simply.
Eddie gave a quiet nod. “He missed you. I think… this was a good start.”
On both sides.
Eddie remained where he was, leaning his elbows on the table as the call settled into a quieter rhythm. Buck hadn’t moved much either, but something in his shoulders had softened. His ankle was propped up, but he wasn’t grimacing anymore.
“That was good,” Buck said quietly, almost like he was talking to himself. Then, clearer, “Thanks for calling.”
Eddie gave a small nod. “Figured you could use a pick-me-up.” Buck huffed a soft breath. “You weren’t wrong.” There was a beat of silence—comfortable this time. The kind that came from years of knowing each other, from sharing things without having to say them out loud.
“We’ll talk more in the morning,” Eddie said. “Chris’ll probably have more to say, once he’s not half-asleep. But… we wanted you to hear it from us. You deserved that.”
Buck nodded, voice low but steady. “I’m glad you’re coming home.” Eddie smiled. “Yeah. Me too.” Another quiet stretch passed, neither of them in a rush to hang up. But eventually, Buck shifted, lifting his water bottle and gesturing it like a half-toast.
“Get some sleep, Diaz.”
“You too, gimpy.”
Buck rolled his eyes but smiled anyway. “Goodnight, Eddie.”
“Night, Buck.”
Eddie ended the call, setting his phone down on the table. He exhaled slowly, letting the last remnants of tension unwind from his chest. In the other room, Chris had already gone quiet. The house was still. And for the first time in months… it felt a little more like home.
Eddie lingered in the quiet for a few more seconds, then stood and stretched, working the stiffness from his back. He moved down the hallway and tapped gently on Chris’s door before opening it halfway.
Chris was already tucked in, the soft glow from his bedside lamp casting long shadows across the room. His eyes were still open, though, watching the ceiling in thought. Eddie leaned against the doorframe. “Just wanted to say goodnight.” Chris turned his head slightly. “Night, Dad.” Eddie reached for the light switch.
“Wait,” Chris said. “Who was that with Buck?”
Eddie blinked, hand halfway to the switch. “Oh, man.” He rubbed a hand over his face and gave a sheepish chuckle. “I completely forgot to tell you.”
Chris raised a brow.
“That’s Ethan,” Eddie said. “Maddie’s son.”
Chris pushed himself up slightly on his elbows. “Wait—what?”
“Yeah.” Eddie came to lean against the wall inside the room now, arms crossed. “Maddie had a son when she was really young. Long before she came out to LA. Gave him up to keep him safe.”
Chris sat with the info for a beat. “So… he’s Buck’s nephew?” Eddie nodded. “And Jee-Yun’s older brother.”
Chris’s eyes widened. “Whoa.”
Eddie cracked a grin at the look on his son’s face. Chris flopped back against the pillows. “He looks like Buck’s twin.”
“Right?” Eddie chuckled. “Same hair, same eyes—it's a little crazy.”
Chris was still processing, but there was no confusion on his face. Just quiet intrigue. He didn’t press for more, didn’t ask questions Eddie didn’t have answers to. Just nodded slowly and settled back under the blankets. Eddie stepped closer and flipped off the overhead light. “Night, mijo.”
“Night, Dad.”
The door clicked shut behind him, and Eddie exhaled as he stepped back into the hall. The house, now dim and still again, felt full in a different way. Like pieces were slowly falling back into place.