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Eddie's key clicks in the lock, just like he hoped it would.
It's not like he'd thought Buck would give him a fake key, like some fake phone number you give out at a bar, but there's been some small, cloying part of him that says that he and Buck aren't as close as they used to be. And that, because Buck hasn't been coming around as often, that he wouldn't want Eddie around as often either.
But two days ago, in that glass locker room, he'd turned around and slid a key into Eddie's palm.
New door, new key, he'd said on a soft smile.
"I'm gonna go out back," Chris says, breezing through Buck's house with the confidence of someone who's been here before. Because he has—on nights where Eddie has to work without Buck, instead of Buck going to Eddie's, Chris comes over here. A bit of that teenage flexibility, that taste of independence.
But this is Eddie's first time here.
Hen'll be over in an hour or so, and Eddie was gonna do dance and stretching with her at his own house, but Chris was convinced Buck's house would be better. Plus, it was a shorter drive for Hen, so at the end, it was a no-brainer. But still—
Eddie steps through the doorway, yoga mats rolled up under his arms, and closes the door behind him. There's a painting to his left that reminds him of Chris's Finding Nemo phase, hearing the echoes of just keep swimming in the same voice that used to ask if dogs know that they're dogs. Buck's living room is full of arches and painted brick, with plenty of room on the mantle. There's so much art, it doesn't remind Eddie of any version of his house—except, of course, the two prints taken right from his walls.
There's a pillow with a duck in a cowboy hat.
Good, he thinks. Buck deserves whimsy.
He takes a slow walk through the house, knowing that eventually, he'll stumble through the door to the backyard that Chris found so easily. The dining room table is big, seating six easily, but there are only five chairs. The bathroom is spacious, made of warm brown tiles, with grab bars installed next to the toilet and a chair in the shower. The kitchen, easily the most run-down room in the house, is also the busiest—boxes of tea, jars of spices, and a big pile of garlic in a bowl on the counter.
He's struck by the photos on the fridge. Maddie and Chimney's wedding announcement makes total sense—he's got one of those too. And the photo strip from May's graduation is precious, and it makes Eddie's heart warm to see the photo of him and Chris tucked in among the others. But it's that last one—that photo of Chris and Buck—that gives him pause. He's seen the photo before, tucked around corners of Buck's old life, but he doesn't remember taking it. He wonders, for a moment, who did.
He can see Chris in a deck chair out the kitchen window, the door to the backyard not far behind.
He looks at home here.
With his hand on the door handle, he thinks, fleetingly, that he might someday too.