fanfiction.lol^{fun, silly, low-stakes fandom}

Chapter Text

The firehouse always had a kind of background hum. Not loud, not chaotic—just constant. Radios murmuring in the corner, boots moving across tile, someone upstairs shifting furniture that definitely didn’t need moving. And somewhere in the back, Hen telling someone, “That is absolutely not how you wrap a sprain.” Ethan adjusted the fit of his CERT vest and followed Chimney past the engine.

“Okay,” Chim was saying, “today’s drill: post-earthquake triage. You’ve got three victims—one unconscious, one bleeding, one with a fracture. Your job is to prioritize them using START protocol and walk me through why.”

Ethan nodded, already reciting: “Red, yellow, green, black.”

“Look at that,” Chim said with a grin. “A scholar.”

Ethan gave a small smile and crouched next to the first dummy, laminated symptom sheets taped to each chest. He talked his way through the signs, tagged them accordingly, and only hesitated once—briefly—before correcting himself on the fractured limb. Chim didn’t say much. Just observed.

“Not bad,” Chim said when Ethan stood again. “You’re thinking clearly. Adjusting when new info clicks. That’s what matters.”

Ethan exhaled. “Yeah. Still nervous.” Chim tilted his head. “About?”

“Certification,” Ethan admitted. “There’s the written exam, the practicals… I keep thinking I’ll blank. Or freeze. Or tag someone green who’s bleeding out and just—” He broke off. “It’s a lot.”

Chim nodded. “It is. But you signed up with the 118. Which means you’ll be tested by someone who already knows how you work. Hen, Bobby, or me.”

“That’s supposed to be comforting?”

“It is,” said another voice from behind them.

Ethan turned as Hen approached, coffee in hand, patrol vest still half-zipped.

“Because you’ve already shown us what you can do,” she said. “And I mean in the field.”

Ethan blinked. “You mean—?”

“The structure fire. Last week,” Hen said, matter-of-fact. “You were with me that night because I didn’t want to leave you alone at the house. I held down a guy with a dislocated shoulder while you reset it, kept the triage line moving, flagged down a rerouted medic unit and kept your cool when Buck got trapped in the stairwell.”

Ethan shifted. “I don’t know if cool is the right word…” Hen gave him a look. “You didn’t lose it. You didn’t freeze. You focused. That’s what matters.” Chim added, “You were already doing the work. This”—he gestured to the drills—“is just the official stamp.” Hen sipped her coffee. “We’re not asking you to prove you belong. Just to show what you already know.” Ethan was quiet, but some of the tension in his shoulders eased.

“Okay,” he said after a moment. “Thanks.”

Hen grinned. “Now go hydrate. You smell like polyester and overthinking.” That earned a huffed laugh from Ethan. He gave a small wave and turned toward the kitchen. Chim watched him go. “Think he’ll pass?” Hen didn’t hesitate. “He already did. We’re just catching up.”

The side door clicked open, letting in a shaft of late morning sunlight and a rush of warm air. Buck stepped in, sunglasses still perched on his head, curls wind-tossed and damp from his run. He made a beeline toward Chim, already mid-sentence.

“Did you remember to invite Ethan to the BBQ?” Buck asked, barely pausing for breath. “Because Maddie’s going to kill us if we show up without giving him a heads-up.”

Chim blinked. “I was going to—”

“Were you?” Buck teased, slapping him lightly on the shoulder. “Because you forgot to RSVP to your own kid’s birthday party last year.”

“That was one time—”

“Still counts.”

Chim threw up his hands. “Fine. I forgot.” Hen just raised her coffee cup in salute. “I had five bucks riding on that.” Buck turned toward the loft stairs, where Ethan was just stepping down from the kitchen, holding a bottle of water. “Hey,” Buck called. “You free tomorrow?” Ethan hesitated, eyes flicking between them. “Uh… I think so?” Chim sighed. “BBQ at our place. Maddie’s cooking. Jee will be bossing everyone around. You’re invited.”

“Thanks,” Ethan said, shifting his weight. “Should I… bring something?”

“Pie,” Buck said instantly. “Store-bought’s fine. Just take off the label and pretend you baked it.”

Ethan looked horrified. “Absolutely not.”

Buck grinned. “Oh?”

“I’m not showing up to a family dinner with something I didn’t make,” Ethan said, firm. “My dignity has limits.”

Hen chuckled. “That’s the Maddie in him.” Chim nodded sagely. “God help us if he ever gets a Costco membership.” Buck held up his hands. “Alright, alright. No store-bought shortcuts. Just bring yourself and whatever homemade miracle you deem worthy.” Ethan gave a small smile. “Deal.” Buck nodded, pleased. “Good. Maddie’ll be happy. She’s trying to make this one feel like a real spring kickoff.” Hen raised an eyebrow. “And by that, you mean she’s planning enough food to feed thirty people.”

“Twenty-eight,” Buck corrected. “She scaled it back. Forgot the Diaz's weren't in town.”

They all laughed, the sound echoing comfortably in the wide open bay. And for the first time all morning, Ethan didn’t look nervous at all.

The sun was already climbing, high and hot and unwavering, by the time Jacob stepped into the backyard with a toolbox in one hand and a half-rusted wrench tucked under his arm. The Diaz house had a kind of late-morning stillness about it—the kind of quiet that came not from sleep, but from getting things done.

The air smelled like honeysuckle, wood dust, and the faint mineral bite of hard water. A half-repaired lattice leaned against the fence near the back corner, and a row of old, mismatched sprinkler heads sat like fallen soldiers along the patio wall.

Chris was already out there, legs propped on a cinder block, a blueprint sketch of the house spread across his lap like it was second nature. He was studying it with the kind of focus Jacob hadn’t had before his second cup of coffee—pencil tapping rhythmically against the page, his brows slightly furrowed. Jacob gave a short whistle. “You planning a backyard remodel I don’t know about?”

Chris didn’t look up. “Trying to find the original irrigation flow. These lines don’t make sense if you assume the shutoff valve’s still active.” Jacob blinked. “The what now?” Chris finally glanced over, totally unfazed. “You can’t replace anything until you understand how the system failed. And the water damage by the side gate suggests the old valve was rerouted, but the lines weren’t labeled properly.” Jacob walked closer, peering over his shoulder. “Are you actually fourteen or just posing as one?”

Chris smirked. “My IQ’s 126. So, no. This is just kind of how my brain works.” Jacob stared for a second. “You know your IQ?” Chris’s smile turned wry. “Yeah. The school here in El Paso saw the crutches and assumed I needed a bunch of evaluations. Like being disabled meant I couldn’t keep up.”

“And?”

Chris shrugged. “I scored in the gifted range across every section. Blew their assumptions out of the water. They didn’t know what to do with me after that.” Jacob let out a slow breath, eyebrows raised. “Damn. That’s kind of baller.”

Chris grinned. “Thanks.”

Jacob sat beside him on the concrete slab, eyes sweeping the neatly marked diagram. “You ever think about engineering?” Chris tilted his head, thoughtful. “Sometimes. But I like problem-solving more than design. I don’t care about making new systems—I care about making broken ones work again.” Jacob gave a quiet, impressed nod. “Can’t argue with that.”

They worked in silence for a few minutes—Jacob following Chris’s directions as they pried open the corroded control box near the edge of the garden bed. The system was old, tangled, and so far past warranty that Jacob swore it growled when touched. But they made headway, slowly.

The side door creaked open, and Eddie stepped into the yard with a towel slung over his shoulder and two cold Gatorades tucked under his arm. He took one look at them—Chris pointing and gesturing like an architectural foreman, Jacob sweat-drenched and blinking at PVC lines like they were alien tech—and smiled.

“You two good?” he asked, tossing each of them a bottle.

“Define good,” Jacob muttered, catching his with a one-handed snatch.

Chris held up a decapitated sprinkler head. “He murdered a pipe.” Jacob rolled his eyes. “That thing was older than me and twice as stubborn.” Eddie chuckled, leaning against the back fence. “Well, whatever you’re doing, it’s making progress. Place is starting to feel less haunted.” Jacob cracked open his drink. “Feels more like home, too.”

They stood in comfortable quiet for a minute—just the breeze kicking up dust along the fence, the cicadas buzzing lazily from the neighbor’s tree. And then Jacob spoke again, casual but not careless.

“I’ve been thinking about finishing my degree.”

Eddie turned his head, eyebrows lifting just slightly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Jacob took a swig of Gatorade, not quite meeting his eyes. “Didn’t get to finish, back when… everything with my dad happened. He pulled me out, kicked me to the curb, and kind of made sure that was that.”

Eddie didn’t rush to respond. Just nodded, slow and steady. “What were you studying?”

“Pre-med,” Jacob said. “At first, anyway. I switched to biochemistry after the second year. Thought maybe I’d try for EMT certification instead. Something useful.”

Eddie tilted his head. “Thinking about the EMT path?”

“Maybe,” Jacob said. “I like helping. I like feeling like what I’m doing matters.”

Eddie nodded. “There’s a couple of accelerated programs in town. Could knock them out by the end of summer. Or…” He paused. “If you’re already leaning LA—we could start looking at programs there. Some great options. I’d help, wherever you land.” Jacob looked over, caught off guard. “You’d really do that?”

“Course I would.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

There was a pause. Not tense—just thoughtful. Jacob looked away for a second, then back. “Why, though?” Eddie didn’t pretend not to understand the question.

“You remind me of Shannon,” he said simply. “That spark. That warmth. Smart as hell, but never really got to finish what she started.”

Jacob’s expression shifted. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to. Eddie went on, voice low and even. “You also remind me of some of my people back in LA. People who didn’t always get the help they needed, but showed up anyway. Sometimes, someone just needs a little help. A little love. If I can give that? I will.” Jacob looked at him for a long moment. Then nodded. “Thanks,” he said, quiet but solid. “I mean that.” Eddie clapped him on the shoulder. “Anytime.”

Chris nudged another broken part into the bucket beside them with the back of his wrist and said, “Okay, now that you’ve had your emotional breakthrough, can someone please fix the anti-siphon valve?” Jacob laughed, relieved at the shift in energy. “Yes, foreman, sir.”

Chris smirked. “About time.”

They bent back to work, the breeze rising behind them, and for the first time in weeks, the three of them felt like a team. Like something good was finally starting to take root.

The bell pepper rolled off the cutting board and onto the floor. Maddie sighed. She didn’t even bother picking it up right away. Just leaned both hands against the counter and stared at the cutting board like it had personally wronged her.

The kitchen was quiet. Jee was down for a nap. Chim was on shift. And Maddie, for once, had the whole house to herself—and too many thoughts to sit still with.

The prep for the BBQ was supposed to be grounding. Something familiar. Something she could control. But her thoughts kept drifting. Hovering around the edges of a conversation that hadn’t happened yet, and maybe wouldn’t for a while. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and picked up her phone. Scrolled. Paused. Then tapped Hen.

Hen answered after the second ring. “You trying to distract me from the fact that Mara just Sharpie’d a mustache on Denny’s school photo?” Maddie cracked a tired smile. “You’re kidding.”

“Framed and everything.”

“She’s got commitment.”

“Oh, she’s got something, alright,” Hen muttered, and Maddie could hear her moving around the house. “What’s up?”

Maddie grabbed another pepper from the fridge. “I’m just… checking in.” Hen’s tone shifted immediately. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Maddie hesitated. “I mean, nothing’s wrong. Not exactly. Ethan’s coming to the BBQ. Buck reminded Chim to formally invite him, which I think helped.”

“That’s great.”

“It is.” Maddie sliced carefully, not looking up from the cutting board. “He’s… polite. Sweet. Considerate. But he’s still hard to read. He doesn’t really reach out first. And when he’s here, he’s… present, but still has one foot out the door, if that makes sense.”

Hen hummed. “Sounds like someone who’s still finding his footing.”

“I know,” Maddie said. “I do. I just—I keep second-guessing everything. Every time I want to text him, I stop. I don’t want to push him.”

“Space isn’t a bad thing,” Hen said gently. “But connection matters, too. You’re doing what you can. That counts.”

“I hope so.”

Hen paused. “Did something happen?”

“No,” Maddie said quickly. “Nothing bad. He was over earlier this week, just for a little while. It was… nice. Quiet.”

But even as she said it, her mind replayed the moment Ethan had glanced at a photo of Jee on the fridge, his expression unreadable. The way he’d smiled a little—soft, almost distant—and asked, Was I anything like her? Maddie hadn’t known how to answer.

Hen’s voice brought her back. “Look, it’s normal to feel unsure. This isn’t a typical reunion. And neither of you have a playbook.”

“I just don’t want to do anything wrong,” Maddie admitted.

“You’re not,” Hen said. “You’re showing up. You’re being steady. That’s what matters most.”

Maddie nodded silently, her chest still tight.

“And if it helps,” Hen added lightly, “if you let Jee pick the playlist for Saturday, you will hear six Disney songs in a row, so plan your sanity accordingly.”

Maddie gave a real laugh at that, even if it was brief. “I’ll be careful.” They hung up a few minutes later, Hen promising to text if Denny’s mustache prank escalated into school-wide chaos. Maddie smiled faintly as the call ended, then placed her phone back on the counter beside the cutting board. The kitchen was quiet again—just the soft hum of the fridge and the rhythmic tap of her knife against wood.

Onion. Zucchini. Red pepper.

Her hands moved on autopilot, but her mind had already drifted. Backward.

Was I anything like her?

That’s what Ethan had asked, half-curious, half-guarded, when he looked at the picture of Jee on the fridge. Maddie hadn’t known how to answer. Not because she didn’t remember him. But because… she’d never let herself think about that version of him for long. Not as a toddler. Not walking. Not talking. She hadn’t allowed herself to imagine what he might have been like.

Because if she had—if she’d lingered on the sound of his laugh, or the shape of his curls, or the way he might’ve clung to her sleeve when he was scared—it would’ve broken her. It nearly had.

So she remembered the basics. Six weeks old. Blue onesie. The warmth of him in her arms. The weight of him on her chest when he fell asleep.

But beyond that?

She’d forced it all down. Locked it away. She had to. Her hand slowed as she sliced. She hadn’t thought about that night in a long time. Not all the way through. Doug had come home late. Alone. She remembered the sound of his keys at the door, the uneven rhythm of his footsteps, the way the front lock had scraped too loudly when he twisted it open.

He’d been drinking. Out with colleagues, he said. Celebrating a case that had gone well—some emergency surgery save he’d been proud of. He smelled like beer and cheap cologne. His smile was too wide. His voice too loud. She’d been in the kitchen. Studying, maybe. Or doing dishes. She didn’t remember that part clearly anymore. Didn’t matter.

What she did remember—what never really left—was how fast it happened. One moment he was laughing, pressing a kiss to her temple, brushing his hands along her arms. The next, he was grabbing at her waist, too rough. She said no. Once. Then again. Tried to push him back.

He didn’t stop.

He didn’t listen.

She remembered the way her wrist ached afterward. How her legs felt shaky, like they couldn’t decide if they wanted to collapse or run. She remembered the silence. The kind that settles over a room when something unspeakable has happened and the walls pretend not to notice. And the morning after—the blood on the sheets. She scrubbed them until her fingers ached. Until the skin peeled. Until she gave up and threw them away. A quiet shiver ran through her.

She’d buried that memory. Or tried to. Told herself she’d misremembered. Minimized it. Rationalized. Over and over. And when the pregnancy test came back positive weeks later, she told herself it wasn’t connected.

But it had been.

She set the knife down gently and pressed the heels of her hands to the counter. She’d never told Ethan how he came to be. Not the full truth. Not yet. She wanted to. She just didn’t know how. How to explain that something violent had happened—and that he wasn’t the violence. He was never the shame. Never the regret. But still… how do you say those words to someone you love? How do you hand them that kind of weight?

Maddie drew in a slow breath and tried to refocus. Zest the lemon. Slice the garlic. Keep going. This wasn’t the moment. Not yet. But she could feel it approaching—like a tide rising, just beyond the door. And when it came, she knew she couldn’t run from it.

Not again.

Eddie sat on the porch steps, coffee cooling in his hand. The sun was sharp on the sidewalk now, glinting off the hood of the truck and heating the wood beneath him. From inside came the distant sounds of Chris giving very specific assembly instructions—confident, precise, and maybe just a little dramatic. Jacob stepped out with a bottle of water and a mock-exhausted expression. “I’ve been benched.”

Eddie looked over, amused.

“Apparently I was ‘compromising the integrity of the frame.’ Chris’s words, not mine.”

Eddie huffed a laugh. “He’s been watching a lot of engineering YouTubers lately. You probably didn’t stand a chance.” Jacob dropped onto the top step beside him. “He’s scary good at this. Knew the dimensions off the top of his head. I didn’t even have the brackets aligned yet, and he was already recalculating the center of gravity.”

“He’s got a mind for systems,” Eddie said, glancing toward the house with fondness. “Always has.”

“Yeah, he told me he has a serious 'mental edge.'” Jacob took a sip. “And then he winked at me.”

Eddie barked a laugh.

Jacob shook his head, still grinning. “He’s a riot.”

“He’s also fourteen,” Eddie said. “Likes Mario Kart, hates folding laundry, and sometimes forgets to charge his tablet even though it’s literally part of his morning routine.”

“I like that about him,” Jacob said. “It’s not all brainy genius stuff. He’s still… Chris.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while. The breeze tugged at the edge of the welcome mat. Somewhere down the block, a dog barked once and was promptly ignored. Eventually, Jacob said, “I know I said this before, but… you didn’t have to do all this for me.” Eddie nodded once. “I know.”

“So why did you?”

Eddie didn’t answer right away. He took a long sip of his coffee, then said, “A few years ago, I was drowning. Shannon was gone, Chris was young, and I was trying to hold it all together without really knowing how.” He set the mug down beside him on the step.

“Then Buck introduced us to someone. Carla. A home aide—smart, funny, tougher than most people I know. She walked in, took one look around, and just… helped. She didn’t fix everything. But she kept us from falling apart.”

Jacob stayed quiet, listening.

“If we hadn’t had her,” Eddie said, voice low, “I think Chris and I would’ve ended up back in El Paso a lot sooner. But someone showed up for us. No judgment. Just care.”

He looked over at Jacob.

“So now, I’m just trying to be that person for someone else. You didn’t even have to ask.”

Jacob’s jaw flexed, like he wasn’t sure how to respond at first. “I didn’t think I’d get that kind of offer again.”

“You did this time.”

From inside, Chris’s voice rang out: “I’m giving you thirty more seconds before I start docking your paycheck! I need backup, like, now.” Jacob stood with a mock groan. “See what I mean? Tyrant.” Eddie smirked. “Better get in there before he starts unionizing.” Jacob turned back at the door. “Thanks, Eddie. For the porch talks. For everything.”

Eddie just nodded. “Anytime.”

And Jacob believed him.

The screen door clicked shut behind Jacob. Eddie stayed seated on the porch, watching a cloudless stretch of blue sky drift overhead. His coffee was mostly cold now, but he didn’t mind. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Tapped into the pinned thread.

Buck.

He hit the call icon and leaned back against the railing, the wood warm at his shoulders. It rang twice before Buck picked up.

“Hey,” came Buck’s familiar voice, a little breathless. “Good timing. I just got back from the store.”

“Let me guess,” Eddie said. “You bought enough food for twelve people when you’re only feeding three?”

“No, actually,” Buck corrected. “Ethan’s still coming to the BBQ. Chim’s finally remembered to invite him.”

Eddie smiled faintly. “He better bring a pie.”

“Oh, I tried to tell him he could do store-bought,” Buck said, amused. “He shot it down immediately.”

They both chuckled, and for a moment, silence settled—easy, warm. Then Eddie asked, “How’s he doing?”

“Ethan?” Buck shifted, and Eddie could hear the sound of a fridge door opening. “He’s good. Still quiet. Still watching the room before stepping into it. But I think it’s starting to feel like he’s… choosing to step in. That’s new.”

Eddie nodded to himself. “He’s getting there.”

“He is,” Buck agreed. “Hen’s been great with him. Maddie’s trying her best, too. But it’s a lot. I can tell he’s still carrying something heavy.”

Eddie hummed in quiet understanding. “Yeah. It’s not easy unpacking that kind of silence.” Buck let that settle before asking, “How about you guys?” Eddie’s gaze drifted to the front window, where he could just make out Chris’s silhouette moving across the living room in a steady crutch-tap rhythm. “Jacob’s helping with some repairs. He’s good with Chris. Quick to learn. Still figuring out where he wants to go from here.” Buck’s voice softened. “He reminds you of Shannon?”

“Yeah. Every day, in little ways,” Eddie said. “And of you, sometimes.”

There was a pause, like Buck wasn’t quite sure what to say to that.

“He’s got the heart for it,” Eddie added. “He just needs someone to believe in him.”

“Sounds familiar,” Buck said quietly.

Eddie smiled. “That’s what I told him.” On the other end of the line, Buck exhaled slowly. “It’s weird, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“You. Me. These kids. Like we blinked, and now we’re the ones giving out wisdom and second chances.”

Eddie chuckled. “Speak for yourself. I’m just handing out screwdrivers and hoping for the best.”

Buck laughed. “Still counts.”

Another moment passed. This one heavier, but not in a bad way.

“I miss this,” Buck said finally.

Eddie’s voice was soft. “Yeah. Me too.”

“Soon, though,” Buck added. “We’ll be back. All of us. Feels like we’re getting there.”

“Feels that way here, too.”

There was a comfortable beat of silence. The sound of Buck shifting again, maybe leaning against the counter. Then: “You call me if Jacob needs anything, alright?”

“And same goes for Ethan.”

“Deal.”

Eddie glanced at the front door again as Chris’s laughter rang out, sharp and genuine.

“Alright,” he said. “I should get back inside. I think Jacob’s about to lose a negotiation with a teenager.”

Buck laughed. “Better him than me.” They hung up with a quiet later, and Eddie tucked the phone into his back pocket. Inside, the house hummed with the sound of family—not always neat, not always easy, but real. And out here, the silence didn’t feel so heavy.

The knock came just as Ethan was elbow-deep in flour. Three quick raps. A beat of silence. Then: “Don’t shoot, it’s just me.” Ethan padded over and opened the door. Buck stood there, arms full of grocery bags and a cocky little smile barely contained.

“I thought you were meal-prepping at your place?” Ethan said.

“I was,” Buck replied, breezing in without waiting for an invitation. “I am. My fridge is now an airtight Tetris puzzle of tomorrow’s BBQ sides. But I still have more I want to make, and no space to do it. So here I am.”

He dropped the bags on Ethan’s counter and stretched his back with a theatrical sigh. “Also, I figured you could use a break from staring down your anxiety pies.” Ethan arched a brow. “You’re calling them what now?” Buck grinned, already unpacking. “Just saying. Five pies is a cry for help, my guy.”

“They’re not all for me,” Ethan defended. “I just thought variety would be nice. Apple, lemon curd, triple berry, cherry, and key lime.”

Buck paused. “You’ve named five.” Ethan gave a flat look. “Hence, five pies.” Buck laughed softly, shaking his head. “God, you’re one of those party guests.”

“I just don’t want to show up empty-handed,” Ethan muttered.

“You wouldn’t be. You’re family.”

The word sat heavy in the air—not in a bad way, just… weighted. Buck didn’t linger on it. He passed Ethan a bag of limes. “Here. Let’s start with something zesty.” Ethan took them, fingers brushing Buck’s. “So. You decided to crash my kitchen just for fridge space?”

Buck shrugged. “What can I say? It’s not like I knew your nerves were shot and you’ve been stuck in your own head for the past two days.” Ethan gave him a dry look. Buck held up his hands, innocent. “Total coincidence.”

They worked in companionable silence for a while—Buck marinating chicken thighs with smoked paprika and honey, Ethan zesting citrus like it might save his life. The loft smelled like spice and sugar and quiet effort. Eventually, Buck glanced up from his prep. “So… it’s not just the CERT stuff, is it?” Ethan didn’t answer at first. Just kept zesting, slower now.

“It’s a lot of things,” he said finally. “I mean, things have been good. Weirdly good. Maddie’s trying. You’ve been—helpful.”

Buck gave him a side-eyed smirk. “Don’t get sentimental.”

“I won’t,” Ethan said, smirking back before sobering. “It’s just… when you’re used to things falling apart, it’s hard not to brace for it.”

Buck didn’t argue. Didn’t try to spin it into something comforting. He just said, “Yeah. I know that feeling.” They didn’t need to say much more. They just kept moving—dough rolling, chicken seasoning, one pie at a time—quietly building something that looked a lot like trust.

“Alright,” Ethan said, exhaling as he examined the latticework he'd just mangled on the cherry pie. “This is starting to feel personal.”

Buck walked over, wiping his hands on a towel and eyeing the top crust. “You tried to do the whole crisscross pattern, didn’t you?”

“I thought I could swing it.”

Buck squinted. “Looks more like abstract art. Like, aggressively abstract.” Ethan huffed a laugh and stepped aside. “You do it, Picasso. I’m better with a thermometer than a rolling pin anyway.”

“Fair enough,” Buck said, taking his place at the counter. “Here—go taste-test the marinade. I think I’m close, but it might be missing something.”

Ethan wandered over to the other prep station and dipped a spoon into the shallow glass bowl. He closed his eyes thoughtfully as the flavor hit.

“Okay,” he said, grabbing the spice rack. “You need a touch of acid. And something cooling to round out the paprika.”

He reached for the lemon juice, then the tub of Greek yogurt. “And trust me—just a little dill.” Buck gave a skeptical look as Ethan stirred it in, then tasted. His eyes widened slightly. “Okay, chef. That’s good.” Ethan allowed a faint smirk. “Multitudes, remember?” Buck nodded, turning back to the pie crust. “I’m never doubting your seasoning instincts again.”

He pressed the lattice into place, hands steady as he sealed the edges and pinched them with two fingers. The crust was rustic—slightly uneven—but it worked. Looked homemade in the best way.

Ethan watched him for a second. Then leaned against the counter, quieter now. “You ever just… stop expecting things to fall apart?” Buck didn’t answer right away. He kept working, brushing a light egg wash over the crust.

Then, still focused on the pie, he said, “I used to feel like that all the time. Like I couldn’t get too comfortable, because something would come along and wreck it.” He glanced up, eyes meeting Ethan’s. “That feeling doesn’t just vanish overnight. But over time… the distance between the bad stuff—it gets longer. And when the shoe does drop, you’ve got people around to help you pick it up.” Ethan didn’t say anything. But his shoulders eased. Just a little.

“I’m not saying nothing bad ever happens,” Buck added, sliding the pie into the oven. “It’s just that not everything is a lead-up to a disaster. Sometimes good things are just… good.”

Ethan’s throat worked. “That sounds nice.”

“It is nice,” Buck said, brushing flour from his hands. “And I think you’re allowed to want it.”

They stood there in silence for a beat—just the soft hum of the oven kicking on, the scents of citrus and paprika curling in the air around them. Ethan opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again.

Buck didn’t push.

He just smiled, a little crooked, and asked, “You wanna do the egg wash on the next one? Or should I keep flexing my artistry?” Ethan grabbed the brush without hesitation. “Give me the next pie. I’ve got something to prove.” Buck chuckled, stepping back. “Now that’s the spirit.”

And just like that, the quiet moment folded itself back into motion—simple, steady, warm. One pie after another. One moment at a time. Sometimes, the shoe didn’t drop. Sometimes, you just got a clean counter, a good marinade, and someone to remind you that you didn’t have to brace for impact every time you exhaled.

The oven had long since cooled. The final pie rested on the counter beside a row of foil-covered containers, each neatly labeled with a sticky note. The kitchen was clean, quiet—still holding onto the faint scent of cinnamon, garlic, and something that had started to feel like calm.

Buck stretched his arms overhead with a faint groan, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright. I should head out. Gotta be up early, and I’m pretty sure I’m half-covered in flour.” Ethan glanced up from where he was organizing the fridge. “You sure you don’t want to crash here? Couch’s free.”

Buck smiled, soft and grateful. “Tempting. But I didn’t bring clothes, and I’m not about to roll into the BBQ in day-old jeans and pie crust dust.”

“You could borrow something,” Ethan offered with a smirk.

“I think we’d both be emotionally scarred by that wardrobe swap,” Buck said. “I’ll suffer through the drive across town. Besides, this is your sanctuary. I’m not here to take over the whole damn loft.”

Ethan huffed a quiet laugh, then shut the fridge. “Well, thanks for the help. The pies look way less tragic with your handiwork.” Buck grinned. “And your marinade skills have officially raised the bar.”

He stepped toward the door, keys in hand. “I’ll swing by early tomorrow. Grab some of the food. We can carpool if you want.” Ethan leaned against the island, arms folded loosely. “Seeing as how I still don’t have a car? Yeah. I’ll take you up on that.”

“Then I’ll be here at nine,” Buck said. “Don’t make me knock five times like a sitcom character.”

“No promises.”

They stood there for a beat longer, just a little reluctant to break the rhythm of the evening.

“Night, Buck.”

“Night, Ethan.”

Buck slipped out, the loft door clicking quietly behind him. Ethan exhaled, slow and even, the silence settling back around him. The city buzzed faintly beyond the windows. But inside, for the first time in a while, things felt still.

And enough.

The ride over was quieter than Ethan expected—not awkward, just calm. Buck hummed along to something on the radio, fingers tapping the steering wheel in a relaxed rhythm. The backseat was packed with Tupperware, foil trays, and a bakery box filled with Ethan’s hard-won collection of pies, cushioned by Buck’s gym towels to keep everything from shifting.

Ethan stared out the window as they wound through Mar Vista, watching as the houses turned familiar. He recognized the street. The wide, leafy one with the cracked sidewalk. The one that led straight to Maddie’s house. His pulse kicked up a notch.

“You’re not gonna pass out on me, right?” Buck said lightly, eyes still on the road.

“I’m good.”

“You sure?”

Ethan hesitated. Then nodded once. “Just… haven’t done a big group thing with them yet. Not like this.” Buck turned into the driveway and parked. “It’s not a thing. It’s a backyard, a grill, and a couple of kids probably making a mess in the sprinkler. You’ll be fine.”

“I brought five pies.”

“That’s five more than anyone asked for,” Buck said with a grin. “So congratulations, you’re already the favorite.”

They stepped out into the warm late-morning sun, the kind that promised a scorcher by afternoon. Voices drifted from the backyard—Maddie’s laugh, Chim’s louder reply, and the unmistakable squeal of a child. Somewhere, a sprinkler hissed to life. Ethan followed Buck around the side gate, arms full of dessert.

The yard was already full of motion. Jee-Yun tore barefoot across the grass, a popsicle in one hand, pink water shoes in the other. Hen stood near the grill with Chim, playfully arguing about charcoal technique. Bobby was setting out folding chairs near the patio table. May, dressed for the heat in a tank and cutoff shorts, was refilling a cooler with soda cans.

Maddie looked up first.

She smiled instantly—bright, a little nervous—but it reached her eyes.

“Hey, there you are,” she said, brushing her hands on a dish towel and coming over. “Need help?”

“I’ve got it,” Ethan said, adjusting the box. “Mostly.”

“You brought pies?” May asked, peeking over his shoulder.

“Five,” Buck said proudly. “Ask him about the lemon curd one.”

May gave Ethan a once-over, nodding in approval. “Ambitious. I respect it.” Hen wandered over next. “You’re already more useful than half the people here,” she said, taking a tray from Buck. “Glad you made it, Ethan.”

“Me too,” he said. And mostly, it felt true.

They set the food out, rotating dishes to make space. Maddie hovered nearby—close, but not too close—like she was still gauging the right distance between affection and hesitation.

“You sleep okay?” she asked quietly.

Ethan nodded. “Yeah. Buck helped with the prep. Didn’t burn anything.”

“He’s good for that,” she said with a faint smile. “Helping.”

Before Ethan could answer, Jee zoomed past, yelling something about watermelon. Maddie turned instinctively, half-laughing, half-calling after her. The moment passed. By noon, the yard was full of easy chatter and sizzling food. Chim had taken full command of the grill, barking orders like it was a fire scene. Jee-Yun and Denny were engaged in a chaotic water balloon truce that seemed to involve more shouting than strategy. Mara was curled in the shade with a graphic novel, earbuds in, but smiling occasionally at the chaos.

Ethan leaned against the edge of the patio railing, a cup of lemonade in hand. Watching. He was still figuring out where he fit in the moving parts of this place—when to speak, when to just… be. But so far, no one had made him feel like he didn’t belong. Buck sidled up beside him, sipping from a bottle of Mexican Coke. “Not too overwhelming?” Ethan shook his head. “Just enough chaos to keep it interesting.”

“Welcome to family.”

Ethan glanced over. “Is it always this loud?”

“Only on the good days.”

The sprinkler hissed again. Laughter carried across the yard. And for a brief, flickering moment, Ethan let himself lean into the noise. Let himself believe he had a place in it. The backyard buzzed with the steady rise and fall of spring conversation, the kind that blurred together in waves of laughter, clinking ice, and the distant squeal of sprinklers. The grill hissed behind Chimney, Buck darted in and out of the kitchen ferrying dishes, and somewhere near the tree swing, Jee-Yun was deep in a popsicle-fueled sugar rush.

Ethan hovered near the patio, still half in observation mode, lemonade cup in hand. He hadn’t fully settled in, but he hadn’t bolted either, and that felt like progress. Athena caught his eye and approached with a knowing smile, sunglasses pushed onto her head. “You’re still vertical,” she noted. “Good sign.” Ethan gave a small huff of amusement. “Trying to pace myself.”

“I’d recommend it,” she said, gesturing behind her. “There’s still a solid three hours of grilling, chaos, and child negotiations ahead of you.”

May followed a moment later, soda in hand, her expression curious but friendly.

“You two haven’t met properly, have you?” Athena asked.

Ethan shook his head. “Not officially.”

“May Grant,” she said, offering a hand with easy confidence. “Nice to meet you.”

“Ethan Bennett,” he replied. “I think I might’ve seen you on campus last week? I was finishing up some admissions paperwork.”

May tilted her head thoughtfully. “Probably. I’m there most days, even during the summer. Pre-law. I help with some of the orientation and student support stuff—first-gen programs, that kind of thing.”

Ethan nodded. “That tracks.”

“You starting in the fall?”

“Most likely. Just finishing the transfer requirements. It’s kind of a weird timeline.”

May grinned. “Welcome to the club.” A beat passed, and then she gave him an approving once-over. “You’ve got a good read on the room. That’s rare around here.”

“I’ve had practice,” Ethan said simply.

From across the yard, Mara tore past, hair in a frizzy ponytail, water gun in hand and yelling something at Denny about battle alliances being sacred. She skid to a halt nearby, aiming at Jee-Yun with mock menace before noticing Ethan.

“Who’s the new guy?” she asked, skeptical but curious.

“Mara,” Hen called from the porch with a warning note.

“I’m Ethan,” he offered, crouching slightly to her level. “Brought five pies.”

Mara blinked. “Five?”

“Yeah. Apple, lemon curd, triple berry, cherry, and key lime.”

She considered. “Okay, you can stay.” Athena chuckled. “Twelve going on committee chair.”

“Who does she get that from?” Ethan asked.

Karen, passing by with a tray of drinks, grinned. “Oh, that’s all Hen.” Denny joined them a minute later, nodding toward Ethan. “You play any games?”

“Video games or strategy games?”

“Both.”

“I’m decent,” Ethan said.

“Cool. You can help me convince Mara to stop overthinking every move in water-gun battles.”

“I make no promises.”

It surprised Ethan how quickly the rhythm settled. There were still nerves under the surface—he didn’t know these people, not really—but they’d taken him in like a missing puzzle piece they already knew where to place. Not with big declarations or over-the-top welcomes. Just… inclusion.

And as the afternoon stretched on and the sunlight slanted gold across the table, he realized that no one was expecting anything of him except to show up. To exist in the space. To be present.

He could do that.

He was doing that.

Buck nudged him gently as he returned from a run to the kitchen. “You’re doing good.”

“I’m standing in a yard.”

“Exactly,” Buck said. “Like I said—killing it.”

Ethan let the warmth of it settle across his shoulders like the sun. He was on his way back from the cooler—two lemon sodas in hand—when he nearly collided with Karen, who’d just finished pulling a tray of grilled vegetables from the side table.

“Sorry,” Ethan said quickly, stepping aside.

Karen smiled warmly. “No harm. But I will take one of those sodas if you’re handing them out.” He passed her the top can with a faint grin. “One lemon soda, as requested.”

“Ah, so you do take bribes,” she teased.

“Only if they come in citrus,” he said. “I don’t know how else I’m supposed to make friends around here.”

Karen gave a knowing hum and took a sip. “You’re doing just fine, kid. It’s hard to earn the trust of this crew, but you’re already well on your way.” He looked down, sheepish, but the compliment settled nicely.

“Karen Wilson,” she added, offering her hand properly this time. “Hen’s better half. Though she likes to say I’m the better one.”

“Ethan Bennett,” he replied, shaking her hand. “But I think I’ve heard just enough stories to believe her.”

Karen laughed, and just then, Bobby stepped into their orbit, a glass of sweet tea in hand and his usual measured calm already in place.

“Hope he’s not causing trouble,” Bobby said with a gentle smirk.

“Not unless being overly polite counts,” Karen said.

“Still early in the day,” Ethan added, dryly.

Bobby clapped a hand lightly on Ethan’s shoulder. “I’ve been meaning to catch up with you—how’s the CERT training going?” Ethan’s posture straightened just a little. “It’s going well. I’ve got the written part coming up soon. Hen’s been drilling me on medical protocols. Chim’s been working me through equipment checklists.”

“Hen said you’ve been sharp about it,” Karen noted. “Real fast learner.”

“He is,” Bobby said without hesitation. “Honestly, if you weren’t already locked into pre-med, I’d probably be trying to talk you into the academy.”

Ethan flushed a little at that. “I think I’m still better with charts than I am with ladders.”

“Trust me,” Bobby said, “half the job is reading people and staying calm under pressure. You’ve already shown you’ve got that instinct.”

Ethan ducked his head, clearly trying to play it off—but there was a spark of pride in his eyes that hadn’t been there a few weeks ago. Karen caught it too. “You ever want a second career path,” she said, tipping her soda toward him, “you’ve already got a few votes of confidence.”

“I’ll keep that in my back pocket,” Ethan said, his smile small but real.

They stood there a little longer, sipping their drinks while the laughter and low crackle of the grill filled in the background. No pressure, no spotlight—just conversation.

Just belonging.

The house was still, the kind of comfortable quiet that settled in late in the day. Eddie moved from the kitchen into the living room, towel slung over one shoulder, just as Jacob shifted slightly on the couch, laptop open, brow furrowed in thought.

“You’ve been glued to that screen for the last hour,” Eddie said, settling onto the arm of the couch. “What’s got your gears turning now?”

Jacob hesitated a beat before tilting the laptop so Eddie could see. A UCLA program guide was open in one tab—but tucked just behind it was something else: LAFD EMT Academy – Info Session Dates. Eddie let out a small hum. “Bit of a change of direction.”

“Kind of,” Jacob said, shrugging. “I still want to finish my degree. But I’ve been thinking about what comes after.”

“Biochem’s not exactly overflowing with job listings, huh?”

Jacob shook his head, a tired smile pulling at his mouth. “Not unless I magically land a research grant or start a PhD. Which—I don’t have time or money for right now. Someday, maybe. But not now.” Eddie nodded. He knew what it meant to shift gears out of necessity, to make peace with not now.

“So I’m looking at options,” Jacob went on. “Realistic ones. Once we’re in LA, I’ll need work. And paramedicine’s starting to feel like the best bet. I mean, I’ve already got most of the science background. Bio, micro, anatomy and physiology. Took CPR and first aid when I was lifeguarding in high school.”

“Wouldn’t be your first time doing hands-on care,” Eddie said, thoughtful.

“Exactly. It doesn’t feel like starting from scratch. Just… picking the pieces back up.”

Eddie was quiet for a moment, absorbing that. “It’s a good field. And it’s not just about the work—it gives you a foundation. Life experience. Adaptability.” Jacob gave a small nod. “Yeah. That’s what I’m thinking.” A pause stretched out between them. Jacob closed his laptop, resting his arms on his knees.

“I’ve been looking at LA programs,” he added quietly. “For EMT certs. And… I don’t know, man. I think that’s where I want to be. Long-term.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“There’s nothing left for me here,” Jacob said simply. “And like you told me earlier—sometimes people just need help. And love. I think I’ve found that here. With you. With Chris.”

Eddie exhaled, soft around the edges. He stood up slowly, hand tapping Jacob’s shoulder on his way past.

“Then we’ll figure it out,” he said. “Get you set up with a program that works. You’ve already done the hard part—showing up.”

Jacob’s smile was small, but steady.

“Now,” Eddie added, already heading for the kitchen, “you’re on tortilla duty. And if you burn them this time, I’m calling the foreman to give you a talking to.”

“No pressure or anything,” Jacob called after him, grabbing the spatula.

Eddie grinned as he stirred the pot, the rhythm of home clicking into place behind him. Eddie leaned over the stove, giving the stew one last stir, and then glanced toward Jacob with a thoughtful look.

“Sounds like I’m finally gonna have to finish the bedroom above the garage,” he said. “Been dragging my feet on it long enough.”

Jacob looked up from the cutting board, mid-flip on a tortilla. “Thought Buck was staying at your place?”

“He is,” Eddie said. “Set up shop a while ago. Made it easy, knowing the house wouldn’t sit empty while Chris and I were gone.”

Jacob frowned, flipping another tortilla. “So if you’re moving back, and I’m moving with you… that house’s gonna be packed.” Eddie hummed in agreement. “Yeah. You’re not wrong.”

A pause.

Then Jacob offered, cautiously, “What about Buck’s nephew? You mentioned he’s got a loft?”

“Ethan,” Eddie said, nodding. “Yeah, place used to be Buck’s, actually. Big space—mezzanine up top, open layout on the main floor.”

Jacob reached for a dish towel, wiping his hands. “You think he might be looking for a roommate?” Eddie considered it. “Could be. If nothing else, maybe he’d be open to converting the downstairs into a second bedroom. It's open enough to make it work, especially for Buck, or you.”

“Long as someone doesn’t mind giving up the privacy,” Jacob said.

“True,” Eddie admitted. “But we’ve still got some time before it becomes a problem. We don’t need to figure it all out tonight.”

Jacob gave a small grin. “Yeah. One crisis at a time.”

“I’ll talk to Buck,” Eddie added. “See where his head’s at, what Ethan’s plans are. We’ll make it work.”

There was something steady in the way he said it—like he meant it. Like no matter how tight the fit, he was already making room. Jacob nodded, returning to the stove. The tortillas were browning just right now, edges crisp, center soft. They moved in sync for a few minutes longer, passing plates and seasoning without needing to talk much.

Dinner came together easily.

It didn’t solve everything.

But it settled something.

And that was enough, for tonight.

The backyard was quieter now. Dinner had faded into dessert, and most of the guests had moved inside or migrated toward the fire pit. Ethan slipped out the sliding door without drawing attention, soda can still in hand, eyes flicking to the shadows cast by the string lights overhead. They swayed gently in the breeze, soft golden loops of light stitched between the posts.

He didn’t have a destination—just needed a little space to breathe. Past the steps, the garden path curved softly around the side of the house. At the far edge of the veranda, mostly obscured by a veil of flowering vines, he caught sight of two familiar shapes standing close together, their heads slightly bowed.

Maddie and Chimney.

He didn’t mean to eavesdrop. He wasn’t even trying to listen. But when her voice rose just slightly—strained, uncertain—it hooked something in his chest.

“I don’t know how to do this, Howie,” Maddie murmured. “He’s here. He’s right here in our lives now, and I haven’t even told him the worst part of it.”

Chim’s reply was gentle. “You will. When you’re ready.”

“I thought I was ready,” she said, her voice cracking just faintly. “I told him the easy stuff already. The things I could say without… without having to relive it. But this?” Her hand came up to press against her temple. “How do I look my son in the eye and tell him that’s how he came into the world?”

Ethan’s body went still.

He hadn’t meant to stop walking. But something inside him—like an instinct, like fear—locked him in place just out of their view. Chim didn’t speak right away.

Then softly, “Maddie…”

“He deserves the truth,” she said. “But how do I explain that I didn’t even realize I was pregnant until almost six weeks after it happened?”

Chim stepped closer to her. “Start at the beginning. If you tell him, tell him the truth. All of it. But not all at once. You don’t owe him a timeline. You just owe him honesty.”

“I’ve tried not to think about that night for years,” she said. “Tried to bury it so deep it couldn’t touch me anymore. But it’s all I can think about lately.”

Her next words were quieter. Raw.

“Doug came home drunk. Alone. I think he’d been out with coworkers—something about a big surgical save. I was in the kitchen. Studying. Or cooking. Or maybe both. It’s blurry now.”

She paused.

“I tried to push him off. But he was too strong.”

Ethan’s breath caught.

Maddie didn’t stop.

“I remember the blood in the sheets. Scrubbing them for hours the next morning, until I gave up and threw them away.”

A sound rose in Ethan’s throat and died just behind his teeth. His ears rang. His fingers tightened around the soda can until the metal creaked. He took a shaky step back, half-blind—intent on leaving, on disappearing—but the side of his foot clipped the corner of a decorative planter. The watering can beside it teetered once, then clattered loudly to the ground. The watering can clattered to the stone with a metallic rattle that echoed too loud in the quiet night.

Maddie’s voice caught mid-sentence.

Footsteps scraped over brick.

“Ethan?” she called, voice tight with alarm. She stepped into view from behind the trailing vines, Chim just behind her.

But Ethan had already backed away.

Too far. Too close.

He didn’t want to see the look on her face. Didn’t want to hear another word. The ache in his chest was building into something sharp and hot. Something desperate. Maddie saw him fully now, her face blanching as her hand rose instinctively toward him.

“Ethan—wait, I can explain—”

He took another step back.

“No,” he rasped. “Don’t.”

“Please,” she said, frantic now. “You weren’t meant to hear that, I just—I was trying to figure out how to tell you, and I didn’t know how—”

But Ethan was already turning. His legs carried him down the back steps before he could think twice. Onto the path. Around the side yard. Out through the narrow gate that creaked with rust but didn’t slow him down. He reached the front lawn in seconds. Then the sidewalk. Then the dark curve of the neighborhood street. His breath burned as he ran, feet pounding the pavement. He didn’t know where he was going. Just that he couldn’t stay. Behind him, the front door slammed open.

Chimney appeared on the porch, scanning the shadows, calling his name.

“Ethan!”

But Ethan didn’t stop. Didn’t turn. By the time Chim reached the sidewalk, Ethan was already gone—vanished into the deeper dark where streetlights thinned, and the curve of the block cut him from view. Chim stood there for a second, hands on his hips, breath tight. Then he let out a deep sigh. Quiet. Frustrated. Helpless. He turned and walked back through the open gate, back toward the veranda.

Maddie was still standing there—arms folded against herself, her breathing uneven. She hadn’t moved. Chim didn’t say anything at first. Just stepped close and wrapped an arm gently around her.

“He’s gone, isn’t he?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

Chim didn’t lie. “Yeah.”

Maddie’s shoulders hunched.

“I’ve lost him again.”

The porch light flickered faintly above them, casting pale arcs onto the street. The shattered planter still lay in pieces near the steps, soil scattered like an echo of the chaos that had just erupted. Maddie hadn’t moved since Chim returned from the sidewalk, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her gaze was fixed on the gate, now swinging gently in the breeze.

“He’s gone,” Chim said again, breath coming faster. “I called his name. He didn’t even turn.”

Maddie sank onto the bench, her voice barely audible. “I thought we were alone. I didn’t know he was out here.”

“He shouldn’t have had to hear it like that,” Chim said, crouching beside her.

Buck stepped out of the house just then, his face shifting from casual curiosity to concern at the sight of them both. “What happened?” Maddie looked up, stricken. Her mouth opened, but the words caught. Chim turned slightly toward Buck, trying to ease the weight of it.

“Ethan overheard something,” he said quietly. “He stepped outside and heard Maddie and me talking about… the past.”

Buck frowned, confused. “What about it?” Maddie’s voice was strained. “I was trying to tell Chim… I’ve never talked about it out loud. Not with anyone. But the first time I tried to leave Doug, back in 2004—it wasn’t just about being afraid. It was because of what he did to me.”

Buck froze.

He stared at her.

She didn’t say it outright.

But he understood.

The air went still.

“He heard?” Buck asked, voice low.

She nodded once, sharply. “I didn’t see him until it was too late. I didn’t even get to explain—I barely said anything—and then he ran.” Buck’s eyes narrowed, not with anger, but with an intensity that bordered on protective. “Which direction?”

“Down the block. Chim went after him, but—” Maddie shook her head. “He’s fast.”

“I’m getting the truck,” Chim said, rising. “Hen and I’ll start driving the streets.”

“I’ll stay,” Karen said softly from behind them. “Maddie shouldn’t be alone right now.”

Hen came out of the house, keys already in hand. She nodded once at Buck, then followed Chim to the driveway. Buck lingered a second longer on the porch, his fingers curling around his phone. He moved to the edge of the steps, dialed. No answer. Again. Again. Forty-five minutes later. Fourth try.

Click.

“Please stop calling me, Buck. I really can't do this right now.”

Ethan’s voice—tight, brittle.

Buck’s chest tightened. “Ethan. Just—just tell me you’re safe.” A pause. And then, “I’m fine. I just… I need to think.” And in the background—faint, but unmistakable—came the sound of rolling waves, arcade bells, the mechanical clack of an old coaster starting its loop, and seagulls crying overhead.

The call dropped.

Buck stared at the phone, then turned, already heading for the car. “I know where he is.” He didn’t wait for Maddie to respond. He just moved—fast and steady—like he’d done a thousand times before. Because this? This he understood. And he wasn’t going to let Ethan face it alone. Maddie caught up to him just as he reached the front sidewalk. Her arms were wrapped around her torso, fingers white-knuckled against her sleeves, eyes wide and shimmering.

“I’m coming with you.”

Buck turned, already shaking his head.

“Maddie—no.”

“I need to see him—Buck, please—”

“That’s the last thing he needs right now.”

She faltered, mid-step.

Buck’s voice wasn’t unkind. Just steady. Firm. Certain in a way that cut straight through panic and into purpose.

“He’s not thinking clearly. You showing up right now? It’s only going to make it worse.”

Maddie blinked hard. Her lips parted, like she wanted to argue—but the words didn’t come. Buck took a step closer, voice softening as he met her gaze.

“I’ve been where he is. That headspace? The shame, the spiral… the way everything suddenly feels too big to carry.” He swallowed. “I’ve lived there, Maddie. I know the map. And I know how to get him out.”

Maddie’s shoulders crumpled slightly. She didn’t speak—just nodded, tearfully.

“I’ll text you when I’ve got him,” Buck said gently. “Okay?”

She nodded again, this time more firmly. Buck squeezed her arm once—quick, grounding—and then turned without another word. He jogged down the sidewalk to his truck, yanked the door open, and slid behind the wheel. The engine roared to life.

And with a squeal of tires against curbside gravel, he peeled onto the street, the headlights cutting through the dark like a promise. He was going to find Ethan. And he was going to bring him home.

The streets of Los Angeles blurred past in hazy streaks of neon and shadow, the engine humming beneath Buck’s hands like a second heartbeat. Traffic was light, the city settling into its late-evening lull. Ethan wasn’t far, but the silence in the cab pressed in tight. Buck reached for the center console, tapped the screen, and brought up his favorites. Eddie’s name was already at the top. It rang twice before he picked up.

“Hey,” came the familiar voice—rough-edged with fatigue, but alert. “Everything okay?”

Buck exhaled through his nose. “Define okay.”

A pause. “What happened?”

Buck switched the phone to speaker, resting it in the cradle beside the wheel. “Ethan overheard something he shouldn’t have. Maddie was telling Chim about… how he came to be. Doug.” Eddie didn’t answer right away.

“He ran,” Buck continued. “Just took off. Wouldn’t answer calls. I got him on the fourth try—only for a second—but I heard the background noise. Ocean. Seagulls. Arcade bells. I know where he is.”

“Santa Monica,” Eddie murmured.

Buck nodded, even though Eddie couldn’t see it. “Exactly.”

Another quiet pause.

“You going after him?”

“Already en route.”

“Good,” Eddie said. Then added, “You know what to say?”

“That’s the thing,” Buck said with a small, bitter laugh. “I don’t. I don’t know what the right thing is. I’ve been spinning it in my head since I got off the phone.”

“Well,” Eddie said slowly, “what would you have wanted to hear? Back when you felt like that?”

Buck didn’t answer at first. The city lights blurred past the windshield, the taste of memory rising unbidden—hospital beds, guilt-soaked nights, the weight of a thousand what-ifs.

“I would’ve wanted someone to tell me I wasn’t a mistake,” Buck said quietly. “That I wasn’t just some… product of something horrible.”

Eddie hummed, low and thoughtful. Buck glanced down at the screen. “You still there?”

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“You remember what I said, back when I told you about Chris?” Eddie asked. “About how he wasn’t planned?”

Buck smiled faintly. “Yeah.”

“Didn’t mean we didn’t want him. Didn’t mean we didn’t love the hell out of him.” A pause. “Still do. Every damn day.”

Buck’s voice was quieter now. “Chris wasn’t the other shoe dropping.”

“No,” Eddie agreed. “He was the parachute.”

They let the silence sit for a second. Not heavy—just full.

“Maybe you start there,” Eddie said.

Buck nodded slowly. “Maybe I will.” He took a right off Lincoln, the faint glow of the Pacific flickering at the edge of the windshield.

“I’ll text you when I’ve got him,” Buck said.

“Yeah. Do that.”

The call ended.

And as Buck rolled down the windows and let the salt air fill the truck, he found his grip on the wheel easing—just slightly. He still didn’t know exactly what he’d say. But he had a place to start.

The sand was cool beneath Ethan’s legs, but he barely felt it. His arms were looped around his knees, forehead resting against them, the faint crash of the tide rolling in and out like white noise pressed against the chaos in his head.

Somewhere behind him, seagulls cried beneath the glow of the pier. The air was tinged with salt, the grease of boardwalk vendors, and the faint ozone bite of a dying spring day. He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there.

Didn’t care.

Footsteps shifted the sand behind him—uneven, a little fast.

He didn’t look up.

“Hey,” Buck said, soft and tentative. “Mind if I sit?”

Ethan didn’t respond.

Didn’t tell him to leave, either. Buck took it as permission and lowered himself into the sand beside him, a couple feet away. Close enough to anchor him. Far enough to give him space. They sat in silence. The night stretched long and quiet between them. Finally, Ethan said, without lifting his head, “How did you find me?”

Buck exhaled through his nose. “Heard the West Coaster. The arcade. The gulls. Thought about where I’d go, if I were you. Didn’t take long.” Ethan gave a faint nod. That tracked. Another pause, longer this time.

“The other shoe dropped,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Buck didn’t answer. Just breathed out softly.

Because yeah—hadn’t it?

“I didn’t mean to hear it,” Ethan said. “I just stepped outside. And there it was.”

Buck stayed quiet. Let him talk.

“I’m just another thing that happened to her,” Ethan said, and this time his voice cracked. “Not someone she wanted. Just… the aftermath.”

Buck’s chest ached. He turned slightly, eyes on the younger man beside him—shoulders rigid, jaw tight, like he was holding back something massive.

“That’s not true.”

“You weren’t there,” Ethan said. “You didn’t hear how she said it. Like she was ashamed to even tell Chimney.”

“She wasn’t ashamed of you,” Buck said, gently but firmly. “She was ashamed of what happened. Of what Doug did. And how long she’s been carrying it by herself.”

Ethan’s silence sharpened.

“I know it’s not exactly the same,” Buck added, “but... I want to tell you something. Something Maddie probably hasn’t had the chance to.”

Ethan shifted slightly, just enough to show he was listening.

“There was a brother before me,” Buck said. “His name was Daniel. He got sick—leukemia. My parents decided to have another baby... not because they wanted one. But because they needed a donor. Bone marrow. Cord blood. Something to save him.”

Ethan turned, eyes searching.

“But it didn’t work,” Buck said. “Daniel died. And I grew up never knowing why I felt so... extra. Like I didn’t belong. Turns out, I was a savior sibling. Conceived for a purpose. And discarded when that purpose didn’t pan out.”

“Jesus,” Ethan muttered.

Buck gave a small shrug. “For a long time, I thought I was a fluke. That I was a mistake who never should’ve existed.” He met Ethan’s gaze fully now.

“But I’ve learned... just because you weren’t brought into the world the way you wish you were... doesn’t mean you’re not worth being in it.”

Ethan looked down. His hands fisted in the hem of his hoodie, knuckles white.

“I keep thinking… if I’m the result of what Doug did, how could Maddie not hate me, even just a little? How could she not feel like she has to be in my life out of guilt?”

Buck shook his head. “That’s not what this is. She didn’t just accept you, Ethan. She loved you. Chose you. Even when it broke her.” Ethan stayed quiet, but his breathing faltered.

“I think,” Buck said, “you and I both grew up with this idea that we were burdens. Reminders. But that doesn’t make it true.”

He waited a beat, then added softly:

“You are not the worst thing that ever happened to Maddie.”

Ethan’s breath hitched again. His face turned slightly toward the water, like it would steady him.

“You know,” Buck said, after a beat, “you’re a lot like her. The way you carry things. Quiet, but not soft.”

Ethan huffed, barely a sound. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Absolutely.”

The quiet stretched again. But this time it wasn’t hollow.

It was shared.

Ethan drew his knees closer, but his voice was steadier when he asked, “Does the feeling ever go away? That… waiting for everything to collapse?”

Buck was quiet for a long beat. Then:

“It gets quieter. The more you build around it, the smaller it gets. Eventually, it’s just… noise. Not thunder. Not something that knocks the floor out from under you. Just a sound you stop flinching at.”

Ethan didn’t reply. But he nodded.

And that meant something.

He plucked at a loose thread in his sleeve, gaze still on the ocean. “It just… hurts. Because for a minute, I thought maybe things were going okay. That I wasn’t a mistake. And then—”

He stopped himself.

Buck filled the space. “And then the lie you’ve told yourself your whole life felt like it got confirmed.” Ethan blinked. The words hit too close. Too real.

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

They sat like that for a little while longer—Ethan letting the words settle, Buck letting them breathe. Eventually, Buck said, softer now, “I’ve talked with Maddie. About that time. When she was in New Haven. About the pregnancy.” Ethan stiffened but didn’t stop him.

“She told me she was angry. At Doug. At everything. She felt trapped. The pregnancy didn’t feel like a miracle—it felt like more chains.”

Ethan swallowed hard.

“But then you were born. And all of that cracked open. Because you weren’t a reminder of him anymore. You were you. You were a baby—her baby. Breathing, crying, warm and real. And nothing about you was his. Not your voice, not your smile, not the way you slept on her chest and made these little snuffling sounds.”

Ethan looked at him, startled.

“She told me that,” Buck said with a small smile. “Said you sounded like a baby bear.”

A breath escaped Ethan, almost a laugh. Buck leaned forward, elbows to his knees again. “She doesn’t regret you. Not for a second. You’re the one good thing that came out of all that trauma. Her light in the dark.” Ethan blinked fast. Then nodded, once.

“She still thinks that,” Buck added.

Ethan didn’t speak. But the air around him felt less sharp.

“I’m gonna take you back to Maddie’s,” Buck said after a quiet stretch.

Ethan hesitated. But this time, there wasn’t panic in it. Just a breath of reluctance.

Then: “Okay.”

Buck stood first, brushing sand from his jeans. He reached out—not pushing, just steady.

Ethan let him.

Once he was upright, Buck placed his hands gently on Ethan’s shoulders. Just enough pressure to ground him. To say I’m here.

“You good?”

Ethan nodded, even if it wasn’t fully true. Buck gave a quiet squeeze, then guided him slowly up the beach, toward the sidewalk.

No rush.

Just presence.

And when they reached the truck, Buck opened the door and waited.

Ethan climbed in.

And the night moved forward—with both of them inside it.

The sound of the front door clicking open was so quiet Maddie almost missed it. She was pacing the living room for the twelfth time—barefoot now, wine forgotten on the coffee table, her hands tugging at the hem of her sweatshirt as if it might hold her together. Karen had long since moved to the kitchen, giving her space while Jee-Yun slept in the back room, mercifully undisturbed by the chaos of the evening.

Chimney and Hen were still out in the truck. Searching. Maddie turned, heart leaping, as the door opened the rest of the way.

It was Buck.

And—behind him—Ethan.

He looked exhausted. Pale in the hallway light. His shoulders curled slightly inward, his hands shoved in the pocket of his hoodie. But he was there. He’d come back. Maddie’s breath caught in her throat. Ethan’s eyes flicked up to her, then quickly down again. Buck stepped in first, nudging the door shut behind them. “He’s okay,” he said softly. “He just needed air.” Maddie nodded, too quickly. “Okay. Yeah. Okay.” She looked to Ethan, her voice trembling as she said, “Can I—can we talk?” Ethan hesitated. Then gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod.

“I’ll be in the kitchen,” Buck said, already stepping away to give them space. “Text Chim and Hen, let ’em know he’s back.”

Maddie waited until Ethan fully stepped into the room, then gestured toward the couch. “You don’t have to sit, but—just... whatever’s comfortable for you.” Ethan hovered for a beat. Then lowered himself onto the edge of the sofa, hands clasped loosely between his knees. Maddie sat beside him—careful to give him a cushion’s worth of space. Ethan sank down, slow and stiff, like whatever was holding him upright was finally giving way. Maddie sat too—but left space between them. She didn’t reach for him. Not yet.

The silence sat heavy between them. Not angry. Just... careful.

Ethan broke it first.

“I know why you left,” he said. “I understand it. I’ve had time to... process it.”

Maddie waited. She could hear the but before he said it.

“But part of me still wonders... if there’s some piece of you that still hates me. Or resents me. Even just a little.”

Her breath caught. “Ethan—”

“I know it wasn’t my fault,” he said quickly. “I do. But I’m still the result of something horrible. Of someone horrible. And I just—” He exhaled. “I don’t know how someone looks at that and doesn’t feel something ugly.”

“I don’t,” Maddie said, voice firm. “Not for a second.”

He looked at her, wary.

“I hated Doug,” she continued. “I still do. But never you. Never anything about you.”

When he didn’t answer, she shifted forward and reached beneath the coffee table, pulling out the small white box she’d brought out earlier in the evening. She set it gently on the cushion between them.

“I’ve kept this for twenty years,” she said softly. “It’s all I had of you.”

Ethan looked at the box, hesitant. She lifted the lid, fingers shaking only slightly, and pulled out the first photo.

“You were six weeks old here,” she murmured, handing it to him. “That little blue hat—I left it with you. I always hoped someone kept it.”

Ethan took the photo with both hands. Stared at it for a long beat. Then: “I’ve never seen pictures of me this young before.” His voice cracked slightly at the end.

“The earliest ones I have are from kindergarten,” he added, quieter. “That was my first good placement. Before that... I don’t think anyone ever took any.”

Maddie blinked rapidly, the ache blooming in her chest. She reached into the box again. “This was your first bath at home. You screamed bloody murder until I figured out you hated the temperature. You liked it warmer.” Ethan gave a tiny huff—almost a laugh, though there was no humor in it. He stared at the photos, transfixed.

She kept going—pulling out each one slowly. The little onesie with the firetruck and dalmatian. The grainy photo from the old disposable camera she’d used to document the things she thought she might forget.

“You always looked at me like you knew me,” she whispered. “Like you saw me. Even then. You’d calm down whenever I held you. There was this sound you’d make, when you were drifting off on my chest—like this tiny little snuffle. Like a bear cub.”

Ethan swallowed hard. His thumb brushed over the corner of the photo, gently.

“I never wanted to let you go,” Maddie said. “But I had to. Because if I didn’t... I didn’t think either of us would survive.”

Ethan didn’t look up. But the way he held the photo—carefully, almost reverently—said enough.

“I don’t hate you,” Maddie said again. Firmer now. “Not even a little bit. You are not a regret. You’re not a scar.”

Finally, Ethan turned his head toward her.

“You’re my son,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “You always have been.”

The words landed like a soft strike to the chest. Something that hurt and healed all at once. Ethan blinked a few times, then nodded—slow, but sure. A few minutes passed in quiet. Ethan was still holding the photo, his fingers soft on the edges, his eyes tracing every detail like it might disappear. Maddie had settled back, watching him, not pushing for anything more. The veranda door creaked open again.

Buck stepped in, eyes sweeping over them. He lingered on the sight of Ethan with the baby box and gave Maddie a small nod. Her eyes said thank you. His said always. He cleared his throat gently. “Alright,” he said. “We should get going.”

Ethan looked up, blinking like he’d only just remembered there was a world outside the living room. “I can just head back to my place. I’m fine.” Buck didn’t flinch. “No, you’re not.” Ethan bristled, almost out of habit. “I’m not gonna do anything, Buck. I just—”

Buck cut him off with a quiet, steady voice. “You ran off tonight, didn’t answer your phone, scared the hell out of everyone, and you’re barely standing upright right now.” Ethan opened his mouth, some reflexive rebuttal ready.

But Buck didn’t stop.

“I know that headspace. I’ve lived in it. When everything’s too loud and too quiet at the same time, and you’re convinced you need to be alone—but really, that’s the last thing you need.”

Ethan hesitated.

Buck softened, but stayed firm. “You’re staying with me tonight. Chris’s room’s open. You can shut the door, not talk, not do anything. But you’re not going back to that loft by yourself.” Ethan deflated slightly, like someone had let the air out of whatever argument he was building.

“…You sure?” he asked, quieter now.

“Positive.”

Ethan looked down at the box in his hands. “I don’t have anything with me.” Buck didn’t miss a beat. “I’m sure you will survive, kiddo.” The corner of Ethan’s mouth twitched—just slightly—but it was something. A breath that almost became a laugh. He nodded, quiet but compliant. Buck stepped forward and placed a hand lightly on Ethan’s shoulder. “Come on.”

Ethan turned to Maddie. She was watching him with eyes still red-rimmed, but steadier now—like she could finally breathe again. There was no pressure in her face, no demand. Just love. And maybe a little fear, still, but it didn’t outweigh the rest.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” she said, voice soft.

Ethan gave a small nod. “'Night.” Then he followed Buck out the door, the baby box tucked carefully under one arm. He didn’t say anything as they stepped onto the porch, and Buck didn’t push. The air was cooler now, quieter. And as they made their way to the truck, there was a stillness in Ethan’s steps—exhausted, yes, but not aimless anymore. It wasn’t over. But it was a place to rest.

The smell of dinner still lingered in the air—faint hints of garlic and simmered tomatoes softening into the walls of the house. The overhead lights were dimmed, leaving the living room and kitchen bathed in a warm, lived-in glow.

At the kitchen table, Chris and Jacob sat across from each other, a chessboard set neatly between them. The pieces had been arranged and rearranged enough times tonight that the game no longer resembled its starting position. Chris nudged a bishop forward without hesitation. Jacob stared at the move for a second, then leaned back with a groan. “You’re seriously good at this.” Chris shrugged, half-smiling. “I was in the chess club.”

“Yeah, your dad mentioned. Didn’t know it made you a little grandmaster.”

Chris gave a sheepish shrug. “I didn’t enjoy it for a while. Felt like too much pressure. But now that I’m just doing it for fun… it’s kinda nice. I’m remembering why I liked it in the first place.” Jacob nodded, impressed. “No pressure makes all the difference.”

Eddie stepped into the room then, fresh from a call out on the porch, his phone slipping into his back pocket. He watched them for a second—smiling at the rhythm they’d found—before speaking.

“That was Buck,” he said, slipping the phone into his back pocket. “He found Ethan. He’s alright.”

Chris looked up quickly. “He is?”

“Yeah. He ran off for a while—Buck tracked him down at the pier. They talked.” Eddie’s voice softened. “It’s been a rough night for him.”

Chris nodded, quiet for a moment. “I heard… he thought he was a mistake.” Jacob glanced over at him, but said nothing. Chris shifted in his chair, fingers idly brushing one of the captured pawns. “I get it. Kind of. I mean… I wasn’t exactly planned either. When you and Mom found out, it was a surprise.” Eddie blinked—caught off guard by the clarity of it, but not thrown. “Yeah,” he said. “You were.”

“But you still wanted me,” Chris said. “Even if I did come out of nowhere.”

Eddie stepped closer to the table, crouching slightly so he could meet Chris’s eyes. “The second we knew you were coming… you were everything. That didn’t change. Not once.” Chris nodded. “I think Ethan needed to hear something like that.” Jacob shifted, the silence stretching with meaning.

“I’ve had moments like that too,” he said finally. “Where you wonder if you’re just another thing someone had to survive.”

Chris looked at him, quietly.

“But then,” Jacob continued, “you end up here. Across a chessboard, getting your butt handed to you by your cousin.”

Chris smirked. “You’re not that bad.” Jacob grinned. “You’re just being nice.” Eddie stood, giving Jacob a playful nudge on the shoulder. “You’re not wrong, though.” Jacob looked up. “About being bad at chess?”

“No,” Eddie said. “About parenting. I’m figuring it out. But I’m glad you’re here. Both of you.”

Chris offered a small smile. “We’re glad, too.” Jacob nodded, then turned back to the board. “Alright. I’m going to win this next one.” Chris raised a brow. “You’ve said that three games in a row.”

“I’m just building suspense.”

They reset the pieces, the rhythm of movement easy now—just background to something more important. Eddie watched them for another moment, heart lighter than it had been all evening. And this—he thought—this was what healing looked like.

The house had fallen into a hush again. Karen was gone. Buck and Ethan too. Chim was in the back room, finally trying to get some sleep after hours of adrenaline and worry. Jee-Yun’s white noise machine hummed softly through the baby monitor, the signal glowing faintly blue on the coffee table.

Maddie stood in the middle of the living room, arms crossed loosely over her chest, unsure whether to sit, lie down, or just keep standing. Her eyes were dry, but her heart still beat with the ghost of everything that had happened. She turned toward the couch—and saw it.

The baby box.

Still sitting there, half-open. The photos and keepsakes inside just slightly jostled from where she and Ethan had gone through them earlier. She moved toward it slowly. Sat down beside it, letting her hand rest on the edge before lifting the lid again. The photos were just as she remembered them. Just as she’d kept them for years.

The one of him in the firetruck onesie. The one where he was lying on her chest, swaddled and pink-cheeked, both of them half-asleep in the hospital bed. The grainy mirror selfie she’d taken in the New Haven apartment, wearing a wrap sling and cradling a sleeping infant against her heart. Her fingers brushed each one, reverent.

Then she paused.

The photo of him in the blue hat—the one she’d shown Ethan first—was gone. Maddie blinked. Rifled gently through the others to be sure.

It wasn’t there.

She let out a soft breath of surprise—then smiled. He must’ve taken it. Slipped it into his pocket without thinking, or maybe without even meaning to. But he’d held it like it was something sacred. Like it was proof of a history he hadn’t dared believe he was allowed to claim.

Let him keep it, she thought. He deserves to have something from before.

Her hand drifted to her stomach, resting over the small but steady curve there. And then—soft and unmistakable—she felt it.

A kick.

Maddie stilled, breath catching in her throat. It wasn’t the first time. Not even the first time today. But somehow, this one landed differently. She sat back against the cushions, cradling her belly gently, as the baby shifted again—faint but real. Moving. Alive.

She closed her eyes.

Twenty years ago, she had felt this same flutter. This same life moving beneath her skin.

And now—again.

The ache in her chest didn’t vanish, but something else rose to meet it. Something warmer.

Hope.

For the son who had come back. For the child who hadn’t yet arrived. For the family that was, somehow, becoming whole again—however unexpectedly, however imperfectly. She looked back down at the box. Smoothed her hand over the worn cardboard lid. Then set it gently on the side table, within reach but no longer clutched tight to her chest. There was still a lot to mend.

But she could feel it, even now—something shifting. Something steady. She sat in the quiet, one hand on her stomach, the other resting on the couch beside her.

And she breathed.

The house was quiet. Afternoon sun filtered in through the living room blinds, casting angled stripes across the floor. Eddie sat at the dining table with his laptop open, a half-drunk mug of coffee at his elbow. Chris and Jacob were out back, the occasional echo of laughter drifting through the screen door. Eddie’s fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before he finally started to type.

Subject: Inquiry Regarding Re-enrollment for Christopher Diaz

To: Administration – Durand School

Hello,

My name is Eddie Diaz. My son, Christopher, previously attended Durand School before our temporary relocation to El Paso. He was always happy there—felt supported, seen, and encouraged. With our family planning to return to Los Angeles in the near future, I wanted to reach out and ask what the process would be like for re-enrolling him this fall.

Chris has been continuing his education here in Texas and would be re-entering as a rising freshman. I’d be happy to provide transcripts, IEP documentation, and anything else needed.

Please let me know if you’d be open to a conversation, and thank you in advance for your time and consideration.

Best regards,

Eddie Diaz

He sat back for a moment after sending it. A long breath out. The school had been such a good fit for Chris—one of the first places that didn’t make him feel like his needs were a burden. The faculty had been kind, patient, but never condescending. They’d pushed him when he needed it, but knew when to offer grace. It had taken a lot to leave.

But maybe now… they could come back to something familiar. Something that felt like home. Outside, Chris’s voice rang out again, this time followed by Jacob’s easy laugh. Eddie glanced toward the sound, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Yeah. It was time to go home.

Eddie stepped away from the laptop and moved toward the back door, drawn by the voices outside. He leaned against the frame for a moment, watching the scene unfold in the yard.

Chris sat at the patio table, eyes locked on the chessboard, his face the picture of focus. Across from him, Jacob let out a long groan as he moved his knight—only to immediately realize he’d fallen into a trap.

“No,” he muttered. “Wait—wait, I didn’t see that.”

Chris smirked and moved his queen. “Checkmate.”

“Again?” Jacob threw his head back with a theatrical sigh. “That’s five in a row. You’re a menace.”

Chris laughed, and Eddie couldn’t help smiling.

“Maybe stop walking right into his openings,” Eddie said, stepping out onto the patio.

Jacob held up both hands. “I’m trying to keep it interesting.” Chris shot him a skeptical look, then turned to his dad. “What were you working on?” Eddie walked over and dropped into the open chair beside them. “Sent an email to Durand. Figured I’d check in about getting you re-enrolled for the fall.”

Chris lit up. “Really?”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah. You always felt at home there. Thought we’d get ahead of things, see if they’ll hold your spot.”

“I miss that place,” Chris said. “And my friends. I didn’t think I’d say that when we first left, but…”

Eddie ruffled his hair lightly. “Yeah, I get it.” Jacob shifted in his seat. “I sent off my transcript this morning. College of Charleston to UCLA. All my credits should transfer.” Chris perked up. “So you’re definitely coming with us?” Jacob gave a small smile. “That’s the idea.” Eddie glanced over at him. “Any word on scholarships?”

“Some might carry over. The admissions office said they’ll get back to me in a couple weeks.” He paused, then added, “Feels good, actually. Taking steps forward.”

Eddie nodded, settling into the chair beside them. “We’re making good time. It’s only mid-March. At this rate, the house’ll be ready for sale by early July.” Chris leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Then we’re outta here?”

“That’s the plan,” Eddie said. “Back to LA. New schools. New routines.”

“Same people,” Chris said.

Jacob looked over at him and smiled. “Best part.” Eddie let himself relax into the chair, listening to their voices carry into the early evening. The house still had repairs to go. There were logistics to manage, lists to finish, things to let go of. But for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t doing it alone. And LA wasn’t just a goal on a timeline anymore. It was a home waiting for them.

Ethan stirred beneath the quilt, the sunlight already slipping low across the blinds. For a moment, he stayed still—tucked into the familiar quiet of Chris’s room, trying to orient himself. The house was calm. The faint sound of laundry tumbling. A drawer opening, somewhere in the kitchen. The clink of a mug. Then came the soft knock. Then Buck’s voice, gentle through the wood: “You decent?” Ethan blinked. “Uh—yeah. Come in.”

The door swung open, and Buck stepped in holding two mugs. He offered one out. “Figured you’d want something warm. It’s decaf—I’m not trying to spike your anxiety or anything.” Ethan gave a small huff and took the mug. “Thanks.”

“Cream’s already in there,” Buck said, plopping down into the armchair across from him. “Didn’t know how much sugar you liked, so I guessed.”

Ethan took a sip. Just right.

“You guessed correctly.”

Buck leaned against the doorframe, sipping from his own mug. “You slept hard.”

“Guess I needed it.”

Buck nodded. He didn’t pry, didn’t push—just gave Ethan the space to come back to himself at his own pace.

“Eddie and I were talking last night. We’re planning to FaceTime later while we each make dinner. Kind of a long-distance thing. Chris and Jacob will be there on his end.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Like… cooking together?”

“Exactly,” Buck said. “Kind of a tradition we started when he moved. Helps the distance suck less.” He took another sip, then added, “I figured… if you’re around tonight, maybe you’d want to join. Make a thing out of it. It’d be nice.”

Ethan blinked, surprised by the offer. Not by the invitation, necessarily—Buck was always kind—but by how natural it sounded. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he was already expected. He hesitated, but only for a moment.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Okay. That sounds nice.”

Buck nodded, satisfied. “Good. Chris’ll be excited. He’s been asking about you.” That tugged a small smile out of Ethan. “He barely knows me.”

“He thinks you’re cool,” Buck said with a shrug. “That’s all it takes at that age.”

Ethan chuckled under his breath. Then quieted again, watching the steam curl from the top of his mug. He looked around the room again—Chris’s room—and then back at Buck.

“Yeah,” he said, voice soft but certain. “Okay. I’d like that.”

Buck smiled, the kind of quiet expression that meant more than words.

“Cool,” he said, pushing off the doorframe. “We’ll start around five. I’m thinking grilled flatbreads and roasted veggies. Unless you’ve got something you’re craving?”

Ethan shook his head. “That sounds good.” And just like that, he left Ethan to the slow quiet of the room, the soft hum of a house that, for now, was beginning to feel a little bit like home. After Buck’s footsteps faded down the hall, Ethan swung his legs off the bed and let the mug warm his hands for a few seconds longer before standing.

The house was quiet, save for the low, rhythmic hum of the dryer. He padded down the hall barefoot, familiar enough with the layout by now not to need to linger at any of the doorways. The bathroom door creaked softly as he closed it behind him.

The shower was hot. Steaming, even. It helped shake off the last of the sleep, and the tension that had been clinging to him since the night before. He let the water hit the back of his neck for longer than necessary, one hand braced against the tile. When he finally turned off the spray, he stood there for a beat, eyes closed. Then came a soft knock. Gentle. No voice.

He cracked the door open, steam curling into the hallway. Folded neatly on the floor: a gray hoodie and a pair of navy LAFD sweatpants. A small tag on the hoodie’s collar read DIAZ. Eddie’s, clearly. Buck must’ve figured they’d be a better fit—leaner cut, closer to Ethan’s own build.

Ethan’s chest tightened, just a little—but in that complicated, grateful sort of way. He scooped the clothes up and shut the door again. Back in Chris’s room, the light had shifted again—sun filtering in at an angle now, warm and lazy across the floor. He dropped the hoodie and sweatpants onto the edge of the bed, then reached for his phone on the nightstand.

One new message.

Maddie:
You can keep the photo. It’s yours.

He stared at it for a second. Then, thumbed a response.

Ethan:
Thanks. I didn’t mean to take it. I didn’t even realize I had.
But… thank you.

He set the phone down and opened his wallet—sure enough, the baby photo was tucked between the leather folds. A little creased now, but still intact. Still… him. Ethan stared at it for a long moment. The little blue hat. The soft, round face. Eyes barely open, arms curled into himself like the world was still too big to unfold into. He didn’t look anything like the version of himself he usually pictured when he thought of the past. But somehow, he still recognized that baby.

And slowly—quietly—he felt the corners of his mouth tug upward.

Not a grin.

Just something small.

Something real.

The porch was quiet in the late afternoon warmth, the air thick with the soft buzz of distant lawnmowers and the occasional bark from the neighbor’s golden retriever. The wind chimes on Maddie’s eaves twinkled faintly with every passing breeze.

Buck sat on the top step, Jee-Yun balanced on his knee, her small backpack slung over one shoulder. She was busy rearranging the tiny army of plush toys she’d insisted on bringing for the sleepover—each one being placed with great care inside the little tote Buck had brought along. Bunny, then Dino, then Cat-Cat. Maddie hovered behind them for a minute, arms crossed loosely over her belly.

“She’s excited,” she said, offering a small smile.

Buck glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “I think we’re both gonna be asleep by eight.”

“Parenthood,” Maddie deadpanned, easing herself down onto the step beside him.

They sat there quietly for a moment, watching Jee-Yun’s meticulous sorting. Then Maddie exhaled slowly, the smile slipping away.

“I really thought I lost him.”

Buck didn’t ask who she meant. He didn’t have to. Maddie’s eyes were distant now, trained on the driveway. “When Chim said he’d run—I didn’t even think. I just... spiraled. All I could see was that night. The station. Leaving him there. And this time, it wasn’t going to be my choice.” Buck shifted slightly, enough to face her more fully.

“But it didn’t happen that way,” he said gently. “You didn’t lose him.”

Maddie blinked, looking down at her hands. “I might’ve.”

“But you didn’t,” Buck said, more firmly now. “He came back.”

She looked at him, finally. Her eyes were tired, rimmed faintly red, but steady.

“He took a photo,” she said after a pause. “From the baby box. One of the ones I thought he’d leave behind.”

Buck raised a brow. “And?”

“And I’m glad,” Maddie said. “He should have one. He deserves more than just a couple stuffy school photos, or some from a foster placement he's long forgotten.”

Buck reached over and gently bumped her knee with his. “You’ve got time to give him more. That’s the whole point, right?” She nodded, her jaw tightening briefly before she exhaled again.

“I keep thinking I’ll get used to this,” she admitted. “To being his mom. But it still feels like it could all fall apart. Like he might wake up one day and decide it’s too late.”

Buck’s voice was soft when he answered. “He won’t.” Maddie gave him a skeptical look.

“He won’t,” Buck repeated. “You know how I know? Because he’s just like you. Overthinks everything. Doubts everything. But he still shows up.”

She gave a quiet laugh through her nose, shaking her head. “That a compliment?”

“The highest form,” Buck said, nudging her with his shoulder.

They fell into silence again, the kind that didn’t require filling. Jee-Yun stood, clutching her backpack triumphantly, clearly satisfied with her packing.

“Ready?” Buck asked, hoisting her gently up with one arm.

“Yup!” she chirped, then patted his shoulder like a seasoned traveler.

Maddie rose too, slower than usual, pressing a hand to her side where the baby had just shifted.

“You’ll text me?” she asked, watching as Buck settled Jee into the carseat.

“Of course,” Buck said, slinging the bag over his shoulder.

Maddie hesitated—then stepped forward and pulled him into a quick, tight hug.

“Thanks,” she said into his shoulder. “For going after him. For knowing how to bring him back.”

Buck hugged her back just as tight. “Always.” She stepped back, clearing her throat. Buck opened the car door and looked back one more time. “He’s okay, Maddie. You’re doing good.” And then he was gone, the car humming to life, backing out into the street with a wave from Jee-Yun through the window. Maddie stood on the porch for a moment longer. And, for the first time in hours, she let herself breathe.

The sun was only just beginning to dip, casting warm amber light across the ocean and giving the waves a soft, golden sheen. El Segundo Beach was quieter than Santa Monica—less polished, less crowded, more local. The hum of the city felt far away here. The air smelled like salt and warm sand, not funnel cake and engine grease.

Ethan sat cross-legged on a towel, journal propped open against one bent knee, pen tapping lightly in his hand. His sneakers and socks were beside him, the cuffs of his jeans rolled up past his ankles. He’d given up trying to keep dry after the second splash.

Jee-Yun was currently charging at a small flock of seagulls, shrieking with laughter as they scattered in all directions. Her shorts were soaked. Her ponytail had mostly come undone. She was radiating pure, chaotic joy—and Ethan had been given one very clear instruction: make sure she doesn’t drown or bully too many seagulls. So far, it was going okay.

He glanced up toward the boardwalk. Buck had jogged off in search of ice cream ten minutes ago, leaving him with a six-year-old who had no sense of fear and a surprisingly solid throwing arm when it came to wet sand. Jee paused now, feet planted at the shoreline, letting the next wave roll over her toes. She turned and grinned at him, eyes bright.

“You’re not even watching!” she called.

“I’m absolutely watching,” Ethan replied. “Very closely. I’m just writing down all your crimes so I can report them to your dad later.”

She stuck out her tongue, then turned to chase another gull, arms flailing. Ethan huffed a laugh and looked back down at the page. After a moment, he clicked the pen and started to write.

March 16, 2025

I don’t know what this is supposed to be.

Maybe just… processing.

Maybe something to remember the good moments by.

Last night was heavy. Everything cracked open.

But today—today is quiet.

The ocean’s calmer here. The light’s softer. There’s less expectation hanging in the air.

And I keep thinking: maybe this isn’t the other shoe.

Maybe this is what it feels like when things hold.

When someone catches you instead of letting you fall.

Maybe it’s okay that I don’t know what comes next.

Maybe what I have, right now, is enough.

 

A shout drew his attention up again. Jee was hopping from one foot to the other, clearly reenacting some dramatic battle with a very uninterested seagull. He shook his head and smiled.

She was something else.

And maybe—just maybe—so was he. He capped the pen, tucked it into the spine of the journal, and leaned back on his hands. The tide had crept a little closer. The breeze carried the sound of music from somewhere up the beach—guitar strings and a woman’s voice, distant but mellow. Ethan let his shoulders relax. For the first time in days, he wasn’t waiting for something to go wrong.

He was just here.

Buck reappeared from up the beach, shoes in one hand, three cups of ice cream balanced precariously in the other. His hair was wind-tousled, and there was a streak of what looked like napkin lint clinging to his forearm, but he was grinning like a man who had successfully negotiated with a very stubborn vendor.

“Alright,” he announced as he approached. “One rocky road for me, one strawberry-vanilla swirl for the seagull wrangler—” he handed it to Jee, who cheered, “—and one chocolate cheesecake for our resident philosopher.”

Ethan blinked. “You got my order right.”

“I know everything,” Buck said matter-of-factly, flopping down onto the towel beside him. “Also, you muttered it in the car when we passed the Cold Stone last week.”

Ethan huffed a quiet laugh. “Still.” Jee plopped herself between them, already halfway into her swirl. Her chin was pink and sticky, and Ethan passed her a napkin without needing to be asked.

The three of them sat in a loose, relaxed triangle, legs stretched toward the water. The sun was lower now, dipping just enough to cast everything in amber and peach tones. It made the sand glow, like it had stored up sunlight for this exact moment. Jee nudged Ethan with her knee. “Do you think that bird remembers me?”

Ethan followed her gaze to a seagull standing at what it clearly considered a safe distance. It was eyeing her with suspicious precision. She said, mid-bite. “That’s the same one.” Ethan followed her finger. “Pretty sure that’s a different one.”

“No,” she insisted. “That’s the one from earlier. He was mean.”

Buck leaned back on one arm. “What’d he do?”

“He looked at me weird,” Jee said, frowning like this was a federal offense. “And he tried to steal my chips.”

“You threw them at him,” Ethan pointed out, amused.

“That’s because he was being rude.”

Ethan, deadpan: “I think he’s planning revenge.” Jee gasped—full, open-mouth gasp—and clutched her ice cream like it might shield her.

“No! He better not! I gave him, like, three chips!”

Buck was shaking with laughter now, trying not to spill his ice cream. Jee looked between them, face pinched. “That’s not fair. I was nice.” Ethan shrugged. “Maybe you gave them to his enemy.” Jee stared at the bird, then turned back to them with all the seriousness a six-year-old could muster.

“I’m gonna be extra nice now,” she declared. “So he knows I’m good.”

Buck reached over and ruffled her hair. “Sounds like a solid plan, kiddo.” She grinned and got back to eating, feet kicking through the sand. They sat in silence after that, letting the music and the ocean fill the space. It was the kind of quiet that didn’t feel empty. Just easy. The kind that made you feel like the world had finally taken a breath. Buck leaned over to Ethan, keeping his voice low. “Pretty good view, huh?”

Ethan nodded, eyes on Jee, who was now trying to bribe a different seagull with the tiniest bite of her ice cream. “Yeah,” he said. “It really is.”

The kitchen in Eddie’s El Paso house was alive with motion—steam rising off the stove, the scent of simmering tomato sauce filling the air. The windows were cracked open to let the breeze in, and the late afternoon light spilled gold across the counters. Lasagna prep was in full swing: Eddie stirring the ricotta mixture, Chris carefully laying out the pasta sheets on wax paper, and Jacob chopping vegetables at a steady rhythm, sleeves pushed to his elbows, knife rocking in a practiced arc.

It felt… good. Domestic. Like something solid was finally forming beneath his feet. Eddie stood barefoot, sleeves rolled up, stirring with one hand and nudging Chris gently back from the burner with the other.

“Careful, buddy,” he said, even though Chris had done this before. “That’s hot.”

“I know,” Chris said, but grinned anyway, retreating with his crutch to the other side of the kitchen island. “You act like I haven’t been helping you cook since forever.”

“You used to burn toast.”

“I was seven.”

“Still counts.”

Jacob snorted from his place at the cutting board, where he was slicing fresh mozzarella. “Gonna be like this all night?”

Eddie glanced up. “Absolutely.”

The three of them had settled into a rhythm lately—an easy flow in the house that reminded Eddie more and more of what life used to feel like, back when it was just him and Chris and Buck, and the air didn’t carry quite as much weight. It felt lighter now. Hopeful. Even the heat in El Paso didn’t feel quite so oppressive tonight.

He set the knife down, wiped his hands on a towel, and reached for the laptop perched on the end of the counter. Buck was supposed to be calling any minute, and Eddie had asked him to get the setup going while he checked on the sauce.

A few seconds after Jacob propped open the screen and adjusted the camera, the call connected. Buck’s familiar grin filled the frame—along with a small blur of motion that resolved into Jee-Yun climbing onto a barstool beside him. And—someone else. A guy Jacob hadn’t seen before, leaning against the kitchen island with a cautious, curious posture.

“Hey!” Buck grinned. “Diaz crew in full force?”

“All present and accounted for,” Eddie said, stepping in beside Jacob.

Chris leaned closer to the screen. “Hi, Jee!” Jee’s eyes lit up. “Chris! Oh my gosh—I saw the biggest seagull today, and he tried to steal Ethan’s fries but I told him no way, and then Buck bought me ice cream, and we made pizza, except he calls it flatbread, which is silly, and I think seagulls are plotting against me again but this time I’m ready.” Chris laughed. “That’s a lot of updates.”

“You missed a lot of things!”

“I can tell.”

Jacob leaned against the counter, watching with quiet amusement. There was something grounding in the way Jee talked to Chris—excited, open, like she’d been waiting days just to tell him everything. Buck turned the screen slightly. “By the way—this is my nephew. Ethan, meet Jacob.” Ethan glanced up and gave a small, polite nod. And—yeah, okay. Jacob noticed.

Not in any over-the-top way. Just… registered it. The sharp lines softened by his sleep-rumpled hoodie, the way his mouth tugged a little awkwardly when he smiled. He was cute. Definitely. Jacob covered it well, offering a wave and a “Hey, man,” casual as anything.

“Hey,” Ethan replied, voice quiet but not unfriendly.

The camera on Buck’s side shifted to show their kitchen—flatbreads half-assembled, toppings spread across the counter in colorful chaos.

“We’re doing pizza night,” Buck said.

“Flatbread,” Ethan corrected, with a twitch of a smile.

Jacob chuckled. “Fancy name for pizza.”

“We’re branding it,” Buck replied, deadpan.

Chris moved across the kitchen, setting out another row of noodles on the counter while Eddie spooned sauce into a tray. It smelled incredible.

“How’s prep going?” Buck asked.

“On schedule,” Eddie said. “Maybe even ahead. We’re aiming to be back in LA by early July.”

Chris nodded. “I already started packing.”

“He has three boxes,” Jacob added dryly. “All Percy Jackson.”

“I like them,” Chris said unapologetically.

Jee leaned into the screen, whispering, “I have two books!” Buck snorted. “One of them is about llamas.” Jacob was only half-listening now. His eyes flicked briefly to Ethan, who had drifted closer to the screen, watching Chris and Jee talk like he wasn’t quite sure how to join in, but still wanted to be part of it. There was something familiar in the way he lingered at the edges of conversation.

Something Jacob understood.

It was a good moment—quiet, easy, shared. And Jacob let it settle in his chest, soft and steady. Maybe this was what the start of something felt like. They continued working in tandem—ricotta being spread, mozzarella layered, sauce ladled over sheets of pasta. On the other screen, Ethan sprinkled arugula over one of the flatbreads while Jee chattered away beside him about beach shells and how she was going to open a lemonade stand with her “best friend, who she hadn’t met yet, but would definitely know when she did.”

The video call settled into a casual rhythm, both kitchens echoing with warmth and clatter.

“So,” Buck said, wiping tomato sauce from the corner of his hand, “how’s the repairs going, then?”

“Solid,” Eddie replied. “The bathroom’s finished, the roof patch held up during the last storm, and we’re about halfway through the staging.”

“Impressive,” Buck said. “You’re actually ahead of schedule?”

Eddie grinned. “Don’t sound so surprised.” Jacob leaned in slightly. “Chris has been doing recon with the neighborhood kids—gauging sidewalk bikeability and which house has the best Halloween decorations.” Chris shrugged. “It’s called research.”

“Scholar in the making,” Buck teased.

“We’ve also been looking ahead,” Eddie added, tone softening. “I reached out to Durand. Hoping to get Chris re-enrolled.”

Buck’s expression brightened. “That’s awesome.” Chris looked shyly proud. “I miss my friends there.”

“And Jacob?” Buck asked, tilting his head.

“I just sent over my transcripts,” Jacob said. “From College of Charleston to UCLA. Most of my credits should carry.”

Across the screen, Ethan perked up. “Wait—you’re gonna be at UCLA?”

“That’s the plan.”

“I’m transferring in from Yale,” Ethan said casually, like he was still getting used to the words. His fingers tapped once on the counter, more out of habit than nerves. “So… yeah. I’ll be the new kid.”

Jacob blinked once. “Same. Starting fresh.” Their eyes met across the screen—brief, unassuming. Ethan’s smile was a little crooked, a little shy. He had the kind of presence that didn’t try too hard. Just was. And okay, yeah. Jacob, once again, noticed. He wasn’t made of stone. But it was just that—noticing. A flicker. A thought that caught him off guard and didn’t quite leave.

“What’s your major?” Ethan asked.

“Biochem,” Jacob replied quickly, posture straightening a bit. “Took a break last year. Just about done, though.”

Ethan nodded, interest sparking in his expression. “I’m Biology. Pre-med track.”

“Oh. Cool.” Jacob gave a lopsided smile. “So you’re, like... smart-smart.”

Ethan let out a soft laugh. “That’s what they tell me.”

“Oh, same,” Jacob deadpanned, tossing a bit of chopped basil onto the cutting board like he hadn’t just had a full mental short-circuit.

Eddie shot him a look—subtle, amused. Jacob meant to leave it there, but something—maybe the way Ethan’s smile lingered—made his next words come out just a hair too quickly.

“Guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

Buck raised an eyebrow at that, while Eddie gave Jacob a brief, amused glance over the edge of the mixing bowl. Jacob cleared his throat. “I mean—campus-wise. You know. Same major area, sort of. Probably. Maybe.”

“Yeah,” Ethan said, lips twitching like he was trying not to grin. “Probably.”

Eddie stepped in like a pro. “Jacob’s got the science stuff down. Just don’t let him near a microwave.” Jacob groaned. “One time I forgot to add water to the ramen.”

“It caught fire,” Chris chimed in helpfully.

Ethan laughed—quiet but genuine. “Duly noted.” On the screen, Jee was now enthusiastically monologuing to Chris about her future lemonade stand, a complicated plan involving glitter cups, friendship bracelets, and an aggressive marketing strategy. Chris nodded seriously, completely engaged. “You should draft a business plan.”

“I am,” Jee said, very seriously. “On construction paper.”

“You’re gonna be unstoppable,” Buck muttered, under his breath.

Ethan grinned and shook his head slightly, stealing a glance toward the screen where Chris was now offering Jee a trade deal involving three stickers and a mini flashlight. Across the screen, Buck raised a slice of finished flatbread in mock toast. “To beach days, clubs with snacks, and two college transfers finding their people.” Eddie raised a spatula in return. “And to the lasagna not falling apart when we plate it.”

“Low bar,” Jacob said, but he smiled when Chris elbowed him gently.

And somewhere, tucked between the banter and the scent of tomato and basil and wood-fired crusts, Jacob let the moment settle. Not a turning point. Not yet. But maybe the start of something worth turning toward.

The kitchen smelled incredible.

With the final layer of mozzarella laid and the sauce bubbling softly on the stovetop, Eddie carefully slid the lasagna into the oven. He shut the door with a soft thud and set the timer, wiping his hands on a towel tucked into his waistband.

On the laptop screen, Buck was corralling Jee-Yun, who had already started licking stray sauce off her spoon. Ethan was reaching for the power button, but not before offering a quick, polite wave.

“Alright,” Buck said, “we’re gonna eat before she ends up covered in cheese.”

“Too late!” Jee chirped.

“Say bye to Chris,” Ethan said, nudging her gently.

“Bye, Chris! Bye Jacob! Bye Uncle Eddie! Bye lasagna!”

Chris grinned. “See you guys soon!” Ethan offered a parting smile, just a little soft at the corners. “Nice meeting you, Jacob.”

“Yeah,” Jacob replied, hand lifting automatically in a wave. “You too.”

The screen winked to black. A beat of quiet fell in the kitchen as the final bits of prep wrapped up. The noise of the earlier hustle gave way to something calmer, more settled. Eddie turned to Chris. “Go set the table, mijo. Dinner’ll be ready in a few.”

“On it!” Chris said, grabbing his crutches and heading off toward the dining room.

Jacob turned to follow—until Eddie’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

“So,” Eddie said, eyebrows raised, a smile just barely threatening at the corners of his mouth, “we’re not gonna talk about whatever that was?”

Jacob blinked, halfway to playing dumb.

“Whatever what was?”

Eddie just looked at him, clearly not buying it for a second. Jacob scratched the back of his neck, suddenly very interested in the basil leaves still scattered on the cutting board. “I was just being friendly.”

“Mmhmm,” Eddie said, crossing his arms. “Friendly with extra smiles and a couple awkward compliments I had to save you from?”

Jacob groaned, ducking his head. “Oh my god.” Eddie laughed, clapping a hand to Jacob’s shoulder with a warmth that took any edge off the teasing.

“It’s okay,” he said, voice dropping just slightly. “It’s good to see you smiling.”

Jacob gave a sheepish shrug, but he didn’t deny it. He didn’t really want to. Eddie squeezed his shoulder once more, then nudged him gently toward the dining room.

“Come on, Casanova. Let’s eat.”

Jacob huffed a laugh and followed. Behind them, the oven ticked softly. The house smelled like tomato and garlic and something like home. And in a few weeks, they’d all be back in LA.

Together.

The kitchen had gone mostly quiet. Jee-Yun was curled up on the couch, knocked out cold beneath a soft yellow throw blanket, one sock half-hanging off her foot. A Disney movie played low on the screen, long past her bedtime, but neither of them had the heart to turn it off.

Buck rinsed out the last mixing bowl while Ethan dried off a cutting board beside him, both of them working in easy rhythm. The flatbreads had been a hit—flour still dusted the countertop and one rogue basil leaf clung to the fridge handle.

“She really crashed hard,” Buck said, glancing toward the living room.

“She was a menace with the arugula,” Ethan replied, soft amusement in his voice.

Buck grinned. “You should see her on a sugar high.”

“I think I did,” Ethan deadpanned.

They fell quiet again—comfortable, no tension lingering from the week’s events. Just the hush of nighttime settling in. Buck leaned back against the counter, drying his hands. “You doing okay?” Ethan nodded, though it came with a pause. “Yeah. Today helped.” Buck tilted his head. “Yeah?”

“It was… normal,” Ethan said, eyes on the drying rack. “In a way I didn’t think I’d get to feel for a while.”

Buck offered a quiet smile. “That’s the goal. Normal where we can find it.” Another silence stretched, this one thoughtful. Then Ethan added, “Eddie's nephew—Jacob. He seems nice.” Buck arched a brow. “Yeah?” Ethan shrugged, a little too casual. “Good energy.” Buck’s mouth tugged at the corner. He didn’t comment—didn’t tease. Just let it sit. Ethan cleared his throat and changed the subject without really changing it. “He said he’s finishing his degree at UCLA?”

“Biochem,” Buck confirmed. “You two might cross paths.”

Ethan gave a small nod, not quite looking up. “Guess we’ll see.” Buck smiled faintly. “Small world.”

They didn’t push it.

Buck moved past Ethan to check on Jee, gently tucking the blanket higher over her shoulder. He paused there a moment, hand resting on the back of the couch.

“She’s lucky,” Ethan said softly.

Buck looked over. “How do you mean?”

“To have this. You. A safe place to land.”

Buck’s expression flickered, softened. “We all deserve that.” He stepped back into the kitchen and nudged Ethan’s shoulder lightly as he passed.

“You included.”

Ethan didn’t reply right away. But the quiet way his eyes tracked Buck said enough. They stood there a moment longer, the house still and warm around them.

Outside, the city hummed.

Inside, things held.