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Buck doesn’t lift his head from the pillow when he hears someone knock on his front door.
It’s a courtesy knock, because he’s not getting up from the couch to answer the door and everyone knows he’s not getting up. To do anything.
He hears a key in the lock and then the door opens.
It’s Eddie. And that’s new. Buck can see him walk straight into the kitchen through the slats of the staircase. The staircase Buck won’t be able to go up for weeks because of his stupid leg and the stupid titanium rod in it and the cast that goes all the way over his knee.
“You awake, Buck?” Eddie calls through the loft.
Awake. Asleep. What does it matter at this point? He’s on the couch 23-hours a day. He is become Couch.
“No,” Buck grumbles and tugs the heavy blanket Maddie had left up under his chin.
He listens to Eddie pad around the kitchen, opening cabinets and drawers. Dishes clatter and silverware clinks. Buck wants to go back to sleep.
“Sit up,” Eddie commands, coming into the living room with his hands full of bags and takeout boxes.
Buck hasn’t felt hungry in a week, but the loft fills with the aromatic scents of turmeric, lemongrass, chili pepper, garlic. Buck’s mouth waters for the first time since he was crushed.
He starts to push himself up to a seated position, but dull, aching pain flares through his leg, from his bruised femur all the way to his toes, and he can’t stop the groan that bursts through him.
A hand lands on his shoulder, steadying him. And then Eddie is looming over him, using his big hands and his considerable strength to tug Buck upright and get him situated against a mound of pillows.
Buck watches as Eddie grabs another pillow off the armchair and gently lifts his shattered leg onto it. His touch his careful, practiced, competent.
“Good?” Eddie asks and Buck nods.
“I didn’t know what you liked,” Eddie says, opening takeout boxes on the coffee table. “So, there’s a lot.”
There’s spicy lemongrass shrimp fried rice. Crispy pork curry. Pad Ka Thi veggies in coconut sauce. Short rib noodles. Tom Yum soup. And more that Buck knows he’s not going to be able to eat all at once.
“So?” Eddie gestures to the feast.
Buck clears his throat. “Uhm, anything. Whatever you’re having.”
Eddie rolls his eyes. “I brought this for you. Chim said you liked Thai. Tell me what you want, and I’ll make you plate.”
Buck swallows as something heavy lodges in his chest. He hasn’t wanted to see anyone, has been snapping at his sister to leave him alone even though he’s half-helpless on crutches and carefully timed medication.
But Eddie. Eddie makes him feel like he can start crawling out of the hole he’s burying himself in.
“Uh, guess I’ll start with the noodles and fried rice?”
Eddie nods, smiles a little, and reaches for a spoon.