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When they reached the third date, Buck was still being careful. That alone should have told him how much this meant. Careful was not his default. Buck tended to throw himself into things headfirst, all momentum and feeling, trusting that wanting something badly enough would be enough to make it work. It had never really been enough. He had learned that the hard way, through a string of relationships that burned bright and fast and left him standing in the wreckage afterwards, wondering what he had done wrong this time.
With Eddie, he did not want wreckage, he wanted forever.
Dinner had been easy. Laughing over a tray of chips and paper napkins, talking about Christopher’s latest obsession and a call Eddie had handled that morning that still sat heavy in his chest whilst Buck was at a doctors appointment. Buck liked that they talked about real things. He liked that Eddie did not dodge seriousness, but did not rush it either.
When Eddie pulled into a small car park a few streets from Buck’s place, Buck felt that familiar flicker of nerves, the good kind. Anticipation without dread. The engine shut off, leaving the quiet hum of Los Angeles around them, distant traffic and the faint sound of music drifting from somewhere nearby.
“Third date complete,” Buck said, glancing over.
Eddie smiled. “Yeah.”
Buck turned in his seat, angling himself closer. He could feel the pull between them, the gravity that had been there since the first date and had only strengthened with time. Eddie waited, patient as always, giving Buck the space to choose.
Buck leaned in.
The kiss was slow, deliberate. Eddie tasted like salt and vinegar, his mouth warm and already familiar. Buck rested his hand at the back of Eddie’s neck, thumb brushing over skin, grounding himself in the reality of it. This was not a rush. This was something he wanted to do right.
Eddie’s hand slid to Buck’s jaw, gentle but sure, and the kiss deepened. Buck felt the spark of heat low in his stomach, the instinctive urge to press closer, to let things escalate the way they always had before. His knee had shifted without him noticing, angling in, close enough that he could feel the heat of Eddie’s leg through the centre console. It would have been easy to tip forward, to let muscle memory take over. Too easy.
He did not.
Not because he did not want to. Because he wanted this more.
He had fucked things up before by moving too fast, by letting chemistry substitute for foundation, by assuming that intensity equalled permanence. With Eddie, he was terrified of doing the same thing, of waking up one day and realising he had bulldozed something good in his haste to feel wanted.
Eddie seemed to sense the shift, easing the kiss back without being asked, staying close but not pushing. It made Buck’s chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with lust.
It struck him, distantly, that this was how it seemed to be going with Eddie. Not grand disasters or dramatic revelations, just these small, suspended moments where Buck had to decide who he wanted to be.
A car engine broke the moment.
The sound cut sharp through Buck’s awareness, and instinct kicked in before conscious thought. He pulled back quickly, heart spiking, just as headlights swept across the car park and flooded the interior of Eddie’s car with light.
Eddie reacted instantly, hands dropping away, posture shifting as if they had rehearsed this.
Buck twisted in his seat, squinting through the glare. “Oh shit,” he breathed.
Eddie glanced over. “What?”
Buck recognised the truck as it slowed, dread and disbelief tangling together. “That’s Maddie,” he said. “And Chim.”
Eddie froze, then let out a quiet, incredulous laugh. “Of course it is.”
The truck pulled into a space nearby, headlights lingering just long enough to make Buck acutely aware of how flushed his face felt, how close they still were. They had pulled apart in time. He knew that. Still, his pulse raced as if Maddie might somehow see straight through the car door. Maddie had always been terrifyingly perceptive. Buck had the sudden, irrational certainty that she would take one look at him and know exactly what had been happening, when, and for how long.
Buck slumped back as the engine cut off. “I would never survive that,” he said weakly. “She would tease me forever.”
Eddie shook his head, smiling despite himself. “Yeah. That would be brutal.”
They sat in silence for a moment, listening as Maddie and Chimney climbed out, laughing about something, oblivious. Buck waited until they disappeared into the building before he finally let himself relax.
He turned back to Eddie, suddenly self conscious. “Sorry,” he said. “About earlier. Me stopping all the time.”
Eddie met his gaze, expression open. “You don’t have to apologise.”
Buck swallowed. “I just… you know I have a history of rushing things. Of thinking if I go all in fast enough, it’ll work out.” He huffed a quiet laugh. “It usually doesn’t. And I really don’t want to screw this up.”
Eddie’s face softened. He reached out, resting his hand over Buck’s. “Then we won’t rush,” he said simply. “We’ll do this the way that actually works.”
Something in Buck loosened at that. He nodded, squeezing Eddie’s hand back. “Yeah. Okay.”
They did not kiss again before Buck got out of the car. The moment had passed, but the feeling had not. Buck walked home with his heart still beating fast, not from the near discovery, but from the certainty settling in his chest. The faint taste of citrus lingered at the back of his mouth, persistent and grounding, like a promise he was willing to wait for.
This mattered.
And if being careful was the price of not ruining it, Buck was willing to pay it.
A month and a half in, Christopher was keeping count, more exact then either of the adults were.
He announced it that morning over cereal, chin propped in his hands, eyes bright with significance. “It’s been six weeks and three days,” he said, like this was a fact of great importance.
Eddie glanced at Buck over the table, one corner of his mouth twitching. “Is that so?”
“Yes,” Christopher said firmly. “That means you’re officially together.”
Buck bit back a smile. “I thought we already were.”
Christopher rolled his eyes. “You can still break up before six weeks. After that, it’s serious.”
Eddie snorted into his coffee, trying to remember being that young that he felt a relationship had to last a certain length of time before being ‘serious’ but all the adults he knew were married back when he was a kid.
They went to the aquarium because Christopher had been asking for weeks, because it was warm and bright and full of things that moved in fascinating ways. It felt like the sort of day that was meant to be shared.
Buck walked next to Eddie with Christopher off just in front. occasionally bumping shoulders with Eddie, feeling that quiet, steady happiness settle into his chest. It was different from the heady rush he was used to. Less dizzying, more grounding. Like something that would still be there tomorrow.
Christopher was in his element. He darted from exhibit to exhibit, rattling off facts he had learned from books and videos, nose pressed to glass, utterly absorbed. Buck loved watching Eddie watch him, the soft pride that never quite left his face, the way his attention always circled back to Christopher like gravity.
The seal and sea lion show was loud and chaotic in the best way. Christopher perched forward on his seat, clapping enthusiastically, laughing every time one of the animals barked or splashed.
Buck leaned back slightly, glancing around. Christopher was not paying attention to them at all.
He leaned closer to Eddie, voice low. “He’s really into this.”
Eddie smiled, eyes still on Christopher. “Yeah. This might be his favourite thing ever.”
Buck hesitated for half a second, aware of the crowd, of the press of people around them, of how easy it would be to forget where they were. Then he brushed his fingers against Eddie’s hand.
Eddie’s gaze flicked to him, warm and familiar now, no surprise there anymore. Buck leaned in just enough to press a quick kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth, brief and careful, more suggestion than act.
Eddie’s smile softened. He leaned back in and returned it, just as fleeting.
Nothing showy. Nothing that would draw attention. Just a quiet, shared thing that felt like it belonged to them.
They stayed close after that, shoulders touching, knees angled in, sharing almost kisses. Buck could feel Eddie’s presence beside him, solid and reassuring, and it would have been easy to linger there, to forget about the world beyond the noise and music. He did not. He was learning the shape of restraint with Eddie, learning that closeness did not have to mean exposure.
Eddie leaned in to whisper something about how Christopher was going to want a souvenir. Buck murmured back that Eddie was absolutely buying it. Their voices stayed low, private despite the crowd.
“Dad,” Christopher said suddenly, twisting around in his seat. “That’s Denny.”
Buck froze.
Eddie’s head snapped up instinctively, heart jumping before he could stop it.
Christopher was already waving enthusiastically towards a few rows down, where Denny sat between Hen and Karen, his face lighting up as he spotted them.
“Denny!” Christopher called. “We’re here!”
Hen looked up, eyes scanning, and Buck felt that sharp jolt of panic hit him square in the chest. He and Eddie were close. Too close, maybe. Close enough that, in another second, it would have been obvious to anyone who knew how to look.
Hen absolutely knew how to look.
Buck pulled back slightly without thinking, posture shifting into something more neutral, more careful. Eddie caught the look on Hen’s face a second later.
Recognition.
Amusement.
But not surprise.
No raised eyebrows. No knowing smirk. Just the casual warmth of someone clocking something ordinary.
Karen leaned over to say something to Hen, both of them smiling. Denny waved back, bouncing in his seat.
Eddie let out a breath he had not realised he was holding.
They had not been caught. Not really.
At worst, it had looked like they were leaning in to talk, which was hardly unusual in a place this loud and crowded. Buck felt the tension ease slowly, leaving behind that faint, lingering buzz of adrenaline, the awareness of how close it had been.
Christopher twisted back around immediately, refocusing on the show. “Did you see that one?” he asked, pointing excitedly. “It waved.”
Buck nodded, heart still racing just a little. “Yeah, bud. I saw.”
Eddie leaned closer, his shoulder brushing Buck’s. “You okay?” he murmured.
Buck nodded, still slightly breathless. “Yeah. Just thought we were about to be very publicly acknowledged.”
Eddie smiled, fond and rueful. “Hen already thinks she knows everything anyway.”
“That’s what scares me,” Buck said quietly.
Eddie laughed under his breath, careful to keep it soft. “She didn’t see anything. I can tell. If she had, she’d be grinning a lot more.”
Buck glanced back down the rows. Hen caught his eye and offered a friendly wave, nothing more.
No judgement. No teasing. Just normal.
The rest of the show passed without incident. Christopher applauded like his life depended on it, and when it was over he insisted on going to the gift shop immediately.
As they stood, Eddie’s hand brushed Buck’s again, deliberate this time. The contact lingered just long enough to make Buck’s mouth curve into a private smile.
Later, as they walked through the aquarium halls, Christopher darting ahead towards the jellyfish exhibit, Buck leaned in close. The air was cool and dim, blue light rippling over the walls.
“So,” he murmured. “Second near miss.”
Eddie hummed, amused. “Yeah.”
Buck squeezed his hand. “We’re really bad at this.”
Eddie smiled, eyes soft. “We’re getting better.”
Buck watched Christopher press his hands to the glass, his face glowing blue in the light. The image settled somewhere deep in Buck’s chest, warm and steady. He felt that familiar swell of certainty again, quiet but insistent.
They had not been caught.
And somehow, that felt like a small victory
Six months in, they were lying. Not badly. Not recklessly. Just selectively.
Bobby knew. That had been a deliberate choice, made after a long conversation and the quiet understanding that Bobby mattered. That he was safe. But also they had to because he was their Captain. Everyone else did not know, and that was a different kind of decision, one Buck was still learning how to live with. It was not shame. It was control. It was the need to keep something that was his, untouched by opinion or expectation or the weight of other people’s histories. Buck had spent too much of his life having things defined for him, taken from him, repurposed into lessons he never asked for. This was his. He wanted to hold it carefully.
Their ninety-six hours off took them back east for reasons Buck had not fully unpacked yet.
Daniel’s grave came first. Quiet, heavy, unavoidable. Buck stood there longer than he meant to, hands shoved into his pockets, staring at a name that had shaped his life in ways he was still discovering. Eddie stayed close without crowding, Christopher tucked between them, the three of them forming something steady in a place that was anything but. Buck felt it then, that sense of them as a unit. Not loud. Not performative. Just real. The wind changes as Buck leans into his little family and to him it feels very much like approval from the big brother he doesn’t remember but misses.
The bank in Harrisburg came next.
Buck had learned about the trust in an offhand phone call with his father weeks earlier, delivered with the same careful distance his parents applied to most things, which probably meant his mother was there because when she’s not his father has been more warm to him recently. His paternal grandfather, a man he barely remembered, had set it up the day he was born. Not for college. Not for emergencies. For his future. For whatever he chose to build, whether his parents approved of it or not. It had been done quietly, without explanation, and left in the care of a bank on Market Street in Harrisburg, the sort of place that had been there forever and fully intended to stay that way.
Solid. Traditional. The kind of institution that still required you to show up in person and prove who you were. The same bank some of his school friends parents used.
The process took most of the day. Forms. Identification. Questions that made Buck feel like he was justifying his right to something that had been waiting for him his entire life. He wasn’t asking permission. He was demonstrating that he now met the conditions written decades ago, by someone who had believed he would get here eventually.
It was the figure on the final statement that caught him off guard.
It was more than he had expected. Not because anyone had added to it, but because it had been allowed to sit, to grow, to compound quietly over time. Buck stared at the page longer than necessary, a strange mix of gratitude and disbelief tightening in his chest.
Eddie noticed immediately. He didn’t ask how much. He didn’t make a joke or try to soften it. He just shifted closer, their knees touching, and rested his hand briefly over Buck’s where it lay on the table.
“That’s a lot to take in,” he said quietly.
Buck nodded. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it.”
“You don’t have to know today,” Eddie said. Steady. Certain. “You don’t have to do anything with it until you’re ready.”
Christopher coloured patiently beside them, humming under his breath, absorbed in his own small world. Buck watched the two of them and felt something settle, slow and grounding. This was his future too, whether the bank recognised it or not.
When they finally stepped back out onto Market Street, Buck felt wrung out and strangely hollow, the weight of it sitting heavy and quiet inside him. Not just the money. The knowledge that someone had planned for him long before he knew how to plan for himself, and that he didn’t have to face what came next on his own.
Phillip called the next day. “If you’ve got time,” he said, voice careful, “I’d like you to stop by the house. There’s something I want to show you.”
Buck agreed before he could think too hard about why.
They drove under a wide, pale sky, the road stretching out ahead of them. Buck narrated as they went, pointing out places that had loomed large in his childhood and now looked impossibly small. Eddie listened like it mattered, asking questions that made it clear he understood this wasn’t just a tour. It was a confession. Christopher leaned forward between the seats, absorbing it all.
Hershey felt unchanged. The same neat order. The same measured calm. The same smell of chocolate as he drove past certain places like the old factory that was shut down shortly before he left.
They parked outside the house Buck had grown up in.
“This is your house?” Christopher asked, already unbuckling.
“Yeah,” Buck said. “This is it.”
Eddie didn’t move. He watched Buck instead.
“They don’t know about us,” Buck said quietly. “And they’re traditional.”
“I know,” Eddie said.
Buck leaned in and kissed him. Once. Twice. Again. Fast and soft, like he was bracing himself. Eddie laughed under his breath, hands finding Buck’s waist.
“Buck,” Eddie murmured.
“I’m nervous,” Buck said, kissing his cheek, his jaw. “I need this.”
“You’re okay,” Eddie said, kissing him back once, careful but warm.
Christopher cleared his throat pointedly. “I can still see you.”
Buck pulled back, grinning despite himself. “Right. Sorry.”
The front door opened.
Buck froze.
His father stood there, hand on the handle, eyes scanning them. Buck. Eddie. The way they stood just a fraction too close. The way Eddie’s hand dropped a beat too late. For one awful second, Buck was sure this was it.
Then Phillip smiled politely. “You made good time.”
Buck forced a steady breath. “Yeah. Traffic was good.”
Eddie stepped forward smoothly, offering his hand. “Good to see you again, sir.”
Phillip shook it without hesitation. No pause. No suspicion. Nothing to suggest he had seen more than two men arriving with a child.
They hadn’t been caught. Not really.
The storage unit came after some lunch and showing Chris and Eddie around the house.
Phillip didn’t mention it until they were already on the road. He gave directions quietly, in between trying to get to know Chris and Eddie.
“Your mother doesn’t know about this,” he said eventually. Not defensive. Just factual.
Buck nodded. He understood, his dad has kept it from her for a reason and he wasn’t about to let it slip now.
The unit was climate-controlled and meticulously organised, labelled Evan Buckley in Phillip’s careful block letters. Phillip unlocked it and stepped aside, letting Buck cross the threshold first.
Inside were boxes he hadn’t known existed.
Trophies he’d assumed were gone. Soccer medals dulled with age. School certificates with gold stars still clinging to the corners, spelling tests graded in neat, looping handwriting. Phillip opened one box and handed him a thick folder.
“Copies,” he said. “From the hospital, I requested them for you to add to your medical history especially if you end up injured again. It slipped my mind when your sister mentioned you being injured but then we were told it was surgery so I spoke to the team who did the transplant. They didn’t give me anything that would have changed the outcome.”
Buck recognised the language even if he didn’t remember the day itself. His name. His blood type. The bone marrow donation. Clinical pages documenting something that had happened when he was one year old, old enough to be shaped by it without understanding it.
“They’re yours,” Phillip said. “They always were.”
Buck just nodded and set the folder aside carefully.
Phillip hesitated, then crossed to the back of the unit and pulled away a tarp.
A red bike was there.
Smaller than Buck remembered. The paint chipped from when Buck didn’t know how to brake, the chain rusted, the bell still slightly crooked on the handlebars.
His chest tightened.
“I learned on that,” Evan said quietly.
“I know,” Phillip replied.
The memory surfaced without warning. Maddie running alongside him, one hand on the seat, one on the handlebars. Her voice bright and breathless. I’ve got you, Ev. Keep pedalling. Don’t look down. The sudden terrifying freedom when she let go. The scrape on his knee he hadn’t felt until afterwards.
Beside the red bike stood another one. Blue. Newer. Buck recognised it instantly.
“That’s the one I brought home,” Phillip said. “That day, do you remember?”
The day Margaret had shouted. The day she’d said they couldn’t keep it, couldn’t look at it, couldn’t pretend. The day Phillip had taken Buck by the hand and left the house with the red bike still in the garage and the blue one strapped into the boot instead.
“I didn’t think it was fair,” Phillip said quietly. “To take it from you.”
Buck stared at the two bikes standing side by side. One belonging to a brother he never knew. One given to him in its place. Memory and substitution, parked inches apart.
Phillip moved to a smaller box tucked beneath a shelf.
“This is Daniel’s.”
Inside were the things of a very young child. Plastic dinosaurs with teeth worn smooth. A stuffed dog missing one eye. Board books with bent corners and crayon marks along the edges. Drawings in uneven lines, suns pressed into every corner of the page. Stick figures holding hands. One had Evan written beside it in careful, misspelled letters, the E backwards.
Phillip handed him a thick envelope.
Photographs spilled into Buck’s lap. Daniel grinning with a gap-toothed smile. Daniel sitting on the red bike, helmet crooked, feet barely brushing the ground. Daniel leaning close to Buck on Maddie’s hip, Buck barely more than a toddler, Daniel’s arm slung around him like it was instinct.
There were more than Buck expected especially after Maddie told him they got rid of everything.
“Where are the ones with Maddie?” he asked quietly.
Phillip didn’t hesitate. “She took those herself.”
He nodded. That made sense.
He sat down hard on the edge of the unit, breath leaving him all at once. Eddie was there immediately, close without crowding, one hand warm and steady at Buck’s back. Christopher slipped between his knees and leaned in, quiet and trusting.
“I can have all of this shipped to you,” Phillip said after a moment. “Your house in Los Angeles. The boxes. The bikes. Whatever you want.”
Buck looked up, startled. “Both of them?”
Phillip nodded. “They belong with you.”
He hesitated, then added, “And if Christopher wants one, I’d like to buy him a bike too. Something that suits him. Maybe you could teach him the same way Maddie did you and Daniel. Maybe a different colour.” A pause. “If that’s alright.”
Buck felt something give in his chest. Not breaking. Opening.
“Yeah,” he said. “I think you’d like that, huh bud?” Looking at Chris who nodded in agreement.
They packed everything carefully. Daniel’s things folded in among Buck’s, like they had always belonged together.
As they locked the unit behind them, he glanced back once more at the soon to be empty space. Maybe he could pass his bike to Maddies’s baby, Daniel’s would stay at home but he can pass his down.
Memory, he realised, wasn’t something you lost. It was something other people carried for you until you were ready to take it.
And this time, he was.
By the time Buck realised that being introduced to Eddie’s aunt and grandmother came with obligations, it was already far too late to back out. It only got more important when they started dating.
Family meals were not optional. If they were off shift, you were expected. Eddie’s abuela had been very clear about that, smiling warmly while delivering it like a rule carved into stone.
So when the team ended up working Friday night, movie night was moved without debate. Saturday instead of Friday. Which meant that on Sunday afternoon, Buck and Eddie arrived together at Abuela’s house, Christopher already unbuckling in the back seat, eager to get inside.
Eddie parked at the curb and shut off the engine, fingers lingering on the wheel. Buck glanced over.
“You good?”
“Yeah,” Eddie said, then paused. “I mean. Yes. Just… remember, we’re keeping it low-key.”
Buck smiled softly. “I know.”
Eddie had told his grandmother months ago. He had said the words plainly, explained that he was gay, that Buck was his boyfriend. She had taken it in stride, nodded, kissed his cheek, and asked if Buck ate enough just like she did whenever he came over when they were just friends.
That hadn’t magically erased Eddie’s discomfort.
He had been the same way with Shannon. Public affection, especially around family, tied him up in knots. It wasn’t shame. It was habit. It was respect, maybe, or nerves, or something he had never fully unpacked.
Either way, kisses stayed in the car.
Eddie turned towards Buck. “Quick.”
Buck laughed. “That’s what you said last time.”
Eddie leaned in and kissed him anyway. Soft. Familiar. Buck’s hand came up automatically, fingers brushing Eddie’s jaw. Eddie kissed him again. And again.
“I thought we were being subtle,” Buck murmured.
“We are,” Eddie said, kissing him once more. “The car is parked. That’s subtle.”
Buck snorted, smiling into the kiss.
Eddie was very clearly trying to get as many in as possible before they had to go inside. Buck could feel the tension in him, the way he was stockpiling affection like it would get him through the afternoon.
What Eddie forgot, as he often did, was the kitchen.
Specifically, that Abuela could see the street from the kitchen window if she happened to be there. And that she usually was, around this time.
Buck pulled back just enough to look at him. “You know she can see the car if she’s in the kitchen.”
Eddie hesitated, then shrugged. “She’s probably busy.”
Buck opened his mouth to argue, then didn’t, because Eddie was kissing him again and Buck was not immune to that.
From the back seat, Christopher cleared his throat loudly.
“Dad.”
Eddie barely pulled back. “Two seconds.”
“You said that already,” Christopher said, unimpressed.
Buck laughed under his breath. “He’s keeping track.”
“I need four hours’ worth,” Eddie murmured, brushing one last kiss against Buck’s mouth. “Minimum.”
Christopher shifted in the back seat, already reaching for his crutches.
The front door opened.
Abuela stepped out onto the porch with startling speed, scanning the street like she had been waiting for them.
“Bisabuela!”
Christopher had already swung his legs out of the car, crutches clutched confidently in his hands.
Eddie froze.
Buck was acutely aware of how close they had been seconds earlier, how little time there had been to rearrange themselves into something innocuous. How Eddie’s hand had only just dropped away.
Eddie straightened, heart pounding, and climbed out of the truck. Buck followed a beat later, schooling his expression into something neutral and polite.
Abuela’s gaze flicked between them.
Not sharp this time. Not surprised.
Knowing.
It lingered just long enough for Buck’s pulse to jump, long enough for Eddie to still like he was bracing for a comment that never came. Her mouth twitched, not quite a smile, not quite anything Buck could name. Then her attention shifted, smooth and deliberate, away from whatever conclusion she had just reached.
“Buenas tardes,” she said warmly, nodding to Eddie, then to Buck. An acknowledgement. Nothing more.
Then she opened her arms.
“Mi niño.”
Christopher made his way over, beaming, and she fussed over him like he was the centre of the universe. As she ushered them all towards the door, one hand settled briefly at Eddie’s back, guiding rather than questioning.
“Inside,” she said lightly. “You must be hungry.”
Any further scrutiny of Buck and Eddie vanished with the click of the door closing behind them.
Buck let out a slow breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.
The house filled quickly with noise and warmth and the smell of food. Eddie kept his distance, visibly making an effort. No touching. No leaning in. No kisses.
He told himself he would not be grumpy for the next four hours.
He made it about twenty minutes.
Buck was in the kitchen, reaching for a stack of plates, when Eddie brushed past him, close enough that their arms touched. Eddie leaned in just enough to murmur, “Pantry.”
Buck didn’t even hesitate.
They ducked inside, barely closing the door before Eddie kissed him, quick and urgent and grinning into it. Buck laughed softly, kissing him back.
“Feeling better?” Buck whispered.
Eddie rested his forehead against Buck’s. “Much.”
They separated before anyone noticed.
They always did.
Only Buck and Eddie knew just how close they had come.
By the time they hit a year, the secret was long gone.
Everyone knew. The team, their families, the wider orbit that had formed naturally around the 118. Buck and Eddie were a known quantity now, settled and unremarkable in the best possible way. No whispers. No speculation. Just an easy, accepted fact that had woven itself into the fabric of things.
They still were not big on being openly coupley. It was not about fear anymore. It was habit, and preference, and the quiet satisfaction of keeping something precious close to the chest. Buck liked that what they had still felt private. Chosen. Touch stayed easy. Kisses stayed quiet. The rituals remained.
What Eddie did not know was that the week before at the latest family dinner, Abuela had pulled Buck aside while Eddie was distracted with Christopher.
It had been late afternoon, the house full of noise and warmth. Eddie was in the living room, half on the floor, half on the sofa, laughing as Christopher and his cousins narrated an elaborate and completely impossible story involving dinosaurs, firefighters, and at least one submarine. Buck watched them for a moment from the doorway, that familiar swell of affection settling into his chest.
Abuela appeared at his side without warning, as she often did.
She touched his arm lightly. Just enough.
“Ven,” she said.
There was no question in it. No urgency either. Just quiet authority.
Buck followed her down the hall and into her bedroom, feeling strangely like he was eight years old again, summoned without explanation. The room smelled faintly of lavender and something warmer underneath it. Abuela crossed to her dresser and opened the top drawer. She did not rummage. She knew exactly what she was looking for.
She lifted out a small ring box. The original one. The velvet was worn thin at the corners, the hinge a little loose with age. She held it for a moment before turning back to him.
Inside was a plain gold band. Smooth. Old. Shaped by decades of wear.
“My Edmundo wore this every day,” she said softly. “He took it off only once, when his hands were too swollen near the end.”
Buck swallowed, the weight of it settling immediately.
“In his last days,” Abuela continued, “he told me this ring was not meant to stay with me forever. He said it should go to our grandson, named for him.”
Buck’s fingers curled instinctively around the box. “Why not give it to Eddie,” he asked quietly. “When he married Shannon.”
Abuela smiled, not amused, but knowing. “Because then it was not his future yet,” she said. “That was his duty he only married her because they had an accidental pregnancy and was pressured by his parents.”
She stepped closer and closed Buck’s fingers gently around the box. “This is for when he is ready. When he chooses.”
Buck nodded, throat tight. He understood the trust being placed in him. The patience. The certainty.
The first 118 family barbecue since Ravi joined the crew meant everyone was expected to show up. Early, in Buck’s case. He liked helping with prep, liked being useful while the house was still quiet and the chaos had not fully arrived.
Usually, Eddie and Christopher joined later.
This time, they came with him.
Christopher slept through the drive, worn out after a long week of physical therapy appointments and school on top of it. His body did more work than most people ever noticed. His head tipped against the window, breath even, crutches rattling softly in the footwell with every turn.
Eddie parked carefully, shutting off the engine without a sound. The house sat still in front of them. No music yet. No overlapping voices. Just the muted calm of early afternoon.
“Well,” Buck murmured, glancing towards the front door. “Normally this is where I steal you for hello kisses in the spare room.”
Eddie smiled softly, fond. “I noticed.”
“We could take a minute.”
Eddie lifted an eyebrow. “A minute.”
“Ten,” Buck said. “Max.”
They leaned in together easily, kissing like this was something they had been doing forever. Familiar. Warm. Not rushed. Not hidden. Just theirs. Eddie’s hand settled at Buck’s jaw, thumb brushing over skin in a way Buck knew by heart.
“Bobby calls these keep it in your pants kisses,” Buck whispered.
Eddie huffed quietly. “Bobby caught you on the roof don’t forget.”
They lingered longer than intended, trading slow kisses and murmured nonsense, Buck losing track of time entirely.
The soft click of a door opening broke the quiet.
“Oh,” Buck breathed.
They pulled apart instantly, hearts spiking, just as footsteps sounded on the gravel path.
“Chris?”
Harry Grant appeared around the corner, peering into the back seat when he did not get an answer right away.
“Hey,” he said gently. “Is he asleep?”
Buck reached back, resting a hand on Christopher’s shoulder. “Yeah. But you’re good.” He shook him lightly. “Chris. Hey.”
Christopher stirred, blinking blearily before recognising Harry. “What?”
Harry smiled. “I was wondering if today was a pain day.”
Christopher considered it seriously, then shook his head. “No.”
“Okay,” Harry said, visibly relieved. “Then do you wanna help me set up the games?”
Christopher brightened immediately, grabbing his crutches and climbing out. Harry instinctively matched his pace as they headed back towards the house, already talking quietly about what games were coming out first.
Eddie did not breathe until they were gone.
“That was way too close,” Buck said, slumping back.
“We almost traumatised a child,” Eddie muttered.
“Barely.”
Inside, prep started quietly. Athena was slicing fruit with practised efficiency. Bobby moved between tasks, steady and grounded. Buck was handed a knife and a bowl of potatoes without ceremony.
He settled into the rhythm of it.
He did not notice Eddie slipping back outside.
Athena did.
She joined Eddie near the railing, arms crossed loosely. “You have been hovering all afternoon.”
Eddie sighed. “I am not subtle.”
“No,” Athena agreed. “You are not.”
He hesitated, then said it. “I am thinking about proposing.”
Athena waited. “Are you asking permission,” she said, “or advice.”
“Perspective.”
She nodded. “Then here it is. You are not afraid of commitment. You are afraid of repeating grief.” She met his eyes. “Those are not the same thing.”
Eddie swallowed.
“You love him,” Athena continued. “He loves you. Christopher is happy. Bobby supports you. I support you.” A pause. “The only question left is whether you believe you are allowed to choose happiness again.”
“I am trying,” Eddie said quietly.
Athena smiled. “Then you are already further along than you think.”
She squeezed his arm and went back inside.
Later, when the house had settled into something quieter, Eddie stood outside by the grill again.
This time, Bobby joined him.
They stood side by side, listening to the muffled sounds of laughter drifting from inside. Christopher’s voice carried clearly, bright and alive.
“You’re doing good,” Bobby said eventually.
Eddie exhaled. “At what.”
Bobby smiled faintly. “At loving again.”
Eddie did not look away. “I didn’t choose to stop being married,” he said quietly. “It just ended.”
“I know,” Bobby said.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, worn box. The edges were softened with age, the hinge loose like it had only ever been opened when it mattered.
Bobby opened it.
Inside lay a plain gold wedding band.
Eddie stared. He had never seen it before. Not once. “I didn’t realise you still had it.”
“Most people do not,” Bobby said. “I kept it because Marcy was my wife. Loving Athena did not change that. Even now with Athena’s ring on my finger Marcy was still my wife just like Michael was still her husband.”
He took a breath.
“If the fire had not happened, this ring would have gone to my son. To Robbie.” He paused. “And Marcy’s would have gone to Brooke. That was always the plan, just like you kept yours for Chris.”
The words settled heavy and sure between them.
“But I lost that future,” Bobby said. “And for a long time, I thought that meant this did not belong anywhere anymore.”
He placed the box into Eddie’s hand.
“This is not for a proposal,” Bobby said gently. “And it is not for now.”
He met Eddie’s eyes.
“You are a widower too,” Bobby said. “You did not stop loving Shannon. You did not stop being her husband. But you are allowed to choose a future anyway.”
Eddie’s fingers curled around the box, breath unsteady.
“For when you are ready,” Bobby finished.
Bobby squeezed his shoulder once and went back inside
Eddie returned to Buck’s side later, steadier than before.
They did not kiss.
But Eddie’s hand lingered at Buck’s back, and Buck leaned into it without thinking.
They had not been caught.
And for once, Buck knew that whatever came next would be chosen. Carefully. On purpose.
For three years, they had kept their kisses to themselves.
It had become instinctive. A private language built out of habit and care. Hands brushing instead of holding. Leaning close without closing the distance. Kisses saved for kitchens at midnight, for cars with fogged windows, for hospital corridors when one of them had scared the other half to death. Even Christopher had mostly been spared the sight of it. Eddie had never quite shaken the instinct to keep affection contained, even when there was nothing left to hide.
Today was different.
The Lombardi house felt full in a way Buck had never quite experienced before. Not loud. Not chaotic. Just steady. Strings of lights stretched across the garden, flowers arranged simply because Abuela had said the day was not about decoration, it was about promise.
Buck stood just inside the house, palms damp, breathing carefully. Maddie hovered close, straightening his collar with gentle, practised hands.
“You ready?” she asked softly.
Buck laughed under his breath. “Yeah. I am.”
Phillip cleared his throat. “Wait.”
Buck turned as his father moved to the small side table by the door. He opened a drawer Buck did not remember being there and took out a narrow leather bracelet. A thin strip of deep red fabric had been woven carefully through it.
“I had this made,” Phillip said, holding it out to Maddie. “From Daniel’s tie from when we christened Buck.”
Maddie stared, then reached out with hands that shook just a little. “You kept it.”
Phillip nodded. “I kept his full suit and your dress from that day too.”
He fastened the bracelet around her wrist himself, careful and deliberate. Maddie swallowed hard and pressed her fingers over it, like she needed the contact to anchor herself.
Phillip turned to Buck then and drew out two folded squares of fabric. The same red, softened by time. He tucked one into Buck’s jacket pocket, adjusting it until just the edge showed. The second Maddie placed into her dad’s jacket pocket.
“So he’s with all of us,” Phillip said simply.
Buck nodded, throat tight. “Thank you.”
Phillip met his eyes. “He should be.”
Outside, Eddie stood at the far end of the aisle. The garden was quiet now, expectant. Ramon Diaz stood beside him, solid and familiar. Eddie slipped his arm through his father’s without thinking, grounding himself in the weight of it.
“You okay?” Ramon asked.
Eddie exhaled slowly. “Yeah. Just… a lot.”
Ramon nodded once. “Good things usually are. I know I don’t say it enough but I am so proud of you.”
When the music shifted, they walked together. Eddie moved slowly, deliberately, letting the moment settle. When they reached the front, Ramon squeezed his arm once more before stepping aside, pride clear in his eyes. Letting his mother stand beside her grandson on this special day.
Then it was Buck’s turn.
Phillip offered his arm and Buck took it, the motion automatic and deeply familiar from the hugs they’ve shared recently. They stepped out together.
The walk felt unreal. Buck barely registered the faces turned towards him. He looked up and found Eddie waiting.
Eddie smiled.
Open. Unguarded. Entirely for him.
By the time Buck reached the front, his chest felt painfully full. Phillip tapped his sons heart where his eldest sons previous tie now sits before stepping away. Maddie moved smoothly into place beside him, close but not crowding.
The ceremony was simple but exactly what Buck and Eddie had envisioned.
Bobby spoke about choice. About commitment. About family being something you build, day by day, decision by decision. About staying even when it is difficult, especially then.
When Buck and Eddie took each other’s hands, the world narrowed to warmth and familiarity.
Eddie spoke first. He talked about Buck’s heart. About patience. About how loving him had taught him to stay.
Buck followed, voice catching only once. He talked about learning how not to run. About finding home in another person.
Then Bobby paused.
“There is one more thing,” he said gently.
The garden went still.
“Earlier this year, Buck began the process to formally adopt Christopher. Yesterday, that adoption was officially granted.”
Buck’s grip tightened. Eddie squeezed back, steady and sure.
“Which means,” Bobby continued, “that before these two say I do, Christopher is already a Buckley-Diaz.”
Christopher sat taller, pride unguarded.
“This family,” Bobby finished, “was already built. Today is simply the celebration of it.”
Abuela reached forward then, saying nothing. She opened a small, well-worn ring box and placed it into Buck’s hands. Her eyes were warm. Steady. Trusting.
Buck slid the ring onto Eddie’s finger with reverent care.
Bobby reached forward next, holding a ring box of his own. He opened it slowly.
“I would have passed this down to my son,” he said quietly. “But Buck is as close to a son as I have now. I would be honoured if you wore it.”
Eddie swallowed and slid the ring onto Buck’s finger.
“You may kiss your husband,” Bobby said.
They did not hesitate.
The kiss was slow. Deliberate. Certain.
Later, when the music softened and the garden glowed with evening light, Christopher found them.
He looked at Buck first. “Do you think Uncle Daniel would be happy you married my dad?”
Buck crouched immediately. “Yeah,” he said. “I really do.”
Christopher nodded, satisfied, then turned to Eddie.
“Do you think Mom would be happy too?”
Eddie’s voice was steady. “Yes.”
Christopher smiled and slipped his hands into theirs.
The first dance came later and it wasn’t much of a dance as it was swaying together.
Buck danced with Phillip, both of them quiet, holding on a little longer than necessary.
Eddie danced with Ramon, laughter soft and easy between them and showing off that his dad could move the same way Eddie was taught.
Then Eddie danced with Abuela, careful and reverent, her hand warm in his.
Buck danced with Maddie, her bracelet catching the light as she leaned her head against his shoulder.
For three years, they had kept their kisses to themselves.
Tonight, they did not.
And it was exactly enough.
There were no thoughts of those who chose not to come but all the thought of the future and those who they are carrying with them through this new stage of their life.