11

I'm in the kitchen trying to scrub dried pasta sauce off a cheap pan when the front door slams.

Heavy footsteps. Then the sound of Conner dropping his backpack way too hard onto the floor.

"Hi," he yells, like I don't already know he's here.

"In the kitchen," I call.

He rounds the corner, dirt on his jeans and a juice pouch in one hand. "Carl says hi. He also said not to drink the blue stuff in their fridge. Again."

"Good to know," I mutter, still scrubbing.

"Oh, and Lip was there."

That makes me freeze for just a second. I go back to scrubbing, slower now. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. He looked like... kinda homeless. Like, if a raccoon was a person."

I huff out a breath—half laugh, half ache.

"I think he misses you," Conner adds casually, digging into the fridge for string cheese. "He asked if I still live with you. I was like, duh."

I turn to look at him. "What else did he say?"

Conner shrugs, peeling the plastic off the cheese. "Just... stuff. Like, 'How's she doing?' and 'Does she hate me?' and 'Does she still make that weird face when she's mad?'"

I raise an eyebrow. "I don't make a weird face."

"You kinda do."

I roll my eyes. "What else?"

"He said he was sorry. Then Carl threw a football at his head and said he was being a wimp."

Of course he did.

I lean against the counter and rub the back of my neck. "Did he ask you to tell me any of this?"

Conner shakes his head. "Nope. I don't think he even knew I'd say anything. But he looked really sad. Like, eyes-baggy sad. Like when you cried during that movie about the dog that dies—"

"Okay," I cut him off quickly. "Got it."

He sits at the table, swinging his legs. "You should talk to him. He's like... a mess. And you're way less mean than you look, so."

I narrow my eyes at him. "That supposed to be a compliment?"

He shrugs. "You like him, don't you?"

I say nothing.

Conner finishes his cheese and tosses the wrapper in the trash. "I'm just saying. He looked like he missed you. And I think he really, really doesn't wanna be a dad with that Karen girl."

I blink.

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah," Conner says with a mouthful of air. "He said he didn't even know if it was his, and he looked like he was gonna puke. Like, full-on gross face."

I stare at the floor for a second.

Something inside me twists. Not like relief. Not exactly. But something.

"Thanks," I say quietly.

Conner shrugs. "I just want you to stop looking like you're gonna punch a wall every time someone says his name."

I snort, ruffling his hair. "You're a little shit, you know that?"

"Yup."

He scampers off to find Lucas, leaving me alone in the kitchen.

I stare at the clock on the wall.

5:22 p.m.

I'm not ready.

But I'm done hiding from it.

The sun's gone down, but the South Side is still humming.

I pull on a hoodie, shove my hands in the pocket, and head out before I can talk myself out of it. My heart's pounding like it's not sure if I'm about to walk into a fistfight or a funeral.

Lip texted me an hour ago:

Lip Gallagher: I'll be out front.

He is.

Sitting on the Gallagher steps, hoodie on, cigarette burning low. He looks up when he sees me—really looks—and for a second, neither of us says anything.

I stop at the bottom of the steps.

"You gonna say something, or should I turn around now?"

He lets out a breath, flicks the cigarette into the street, and stands. "Thanks for coming."

I fold my arms across my chest. "Conner said you looked like a raccoon."

He gives a small, tired laugh. "He's not wrong."

"Also said you looked like you were gonna puke when Karen came up."

He shifts, hands in his pockets. "Yeah. That tracks."

Another pause.

I finally step up onto the first step. Still not close, but closer.

"I'm not here so you can make me feel better," I say.

"I'm not asking you to."

"I'm still pissed."

"I know."

His voice is low, raw, like he's trying not to crack open too fast. The porch light flickers behind him.

"I didn't know how to tell you," he says. "Not without fucking everything up."

"Well, mission accomplished."

He nods. Doesn't argue.

Then, quietly: "It's not mine. Karen told me. I guess she thought I'd be relieved. I just felt... empty."

I blink. I wasn't expecting that.

"And you didn't tell me?"

"I didn't think it mattered," he says. "I figured you already hated me. What difference would it make?"

"A lot," I say.

Silence.

"I miss you," he adds, like it hurts to say. "I miss the way you called me out on my shit. I miss the way your voice gets all sharp when you're annoyed. I miss how everything felt... not like this, when I was with you."

I stare at him. "You still don't get it, do you?"

He frowns. "Get what?"

"It was never about Karen. Or even the pregnancy," I say, voice breaking a little. "It was the way you shut me out. Like I didn't matter. Like what we had didn't matter."

He steps forward. "It did. It does. I just—I fuck things up. That's what I know how to do."

"Well maybe try learning something else," I snap. "Because I'm not some fucking side character in your sob story, Lip. You don't get to crash through my life and leave when it's inconvenient."

He's quiet for a second, then says, "You were never just a side anything. I just didn't think I deserved you."

I swallow hard.

"You didn't."

That hits him. His face folds just slightly—like he's been punched in the ribs.

I sit down on the top step. "But that doesn't mean I didn't want you to try."

He hesitates. Then sits beside me.

Close, but not touching.

Neither of us says anything for a while. The night air smells like exhaust and bad decisions. A siren howls in the distance.

"I'm not good at this," he says finally.

"I know."

"But I want to be."

I nod slowly, still staring out at the street. "Then show me."

He looks at me. "How?"

I finally meet his eyes. "Start by walking me home. And don't say anything stupid."

His mouth lifts—just a little. "No promises."

We stand. We walk. No hand-holding. No dramatic music.

But it's something.

Maybe the start of something.The streets are quieter than usual, the kind of calm that makes you brace for something worse. But tonight, it's just the two of us.

Lip walks next to me, hands in his hoodie pocket, shoulders hunched like he's waiting for me to change my mind and shove him into traffic.

I don't.

We walk in silence for the first few blocks. I think he's trying to pick the exact right moment to speak—like if he screws up again, that's it.

So I break it first.

"You know what pissed me off the most?"

He glances over. "Pretty sure the list is long."

"Yeah, but this was near the top," I say, kicking a loose rock on the sidewalk. "You're the first person I ever let see... all of it. The good, the mess, the fear. And instead of being there, you made me feel stupid for trying."

He slows a little. "I didn't want to make you feel anything like that."

"Well, you did," I say simply.

He nods, like he knows he can't talk his way out of it.

We pass a closed laundromat with flickering neon lights. His voice is quieter now.

"You know, when I found out about Karen, I wasn't scared because I thought I'd be a dad. I was scared because I thought that was what my whole life was gonna be. Getting stuck. Fucking up. Being another Frank."

I look at him. "So you pushed away the one thing that wasn't that."

He glances at me, eyes soft. "Yeah."

We walk a little more, just the sound of our steps and the occasional car rolling past.

Then he says, "I'm sorry I hurt you, Erin."

I let the silence sit a second before answering.

"I know."

—

When we reach my house, the porch light is still on. Lucas must've left it for me, even though he's not supposed to touch switches. It's crooked and flickering, but it's home.

Lip stops at the bottom step.

"You want me to go?"

I pause.

"I want you to come up. Just... no expectations."

He nods. "Deal."

I open the door, and we step inside quietly. The TV is still playing some cartoon rerun—volume low. Conner's passed out on the couch with a bowl of popcorn on his chest. Lucas is curled up on the armchair with his arms tucked into his shirt like a turtle.

Lip watches them for a second. Then, like something hits him in the chest, he whispers, "Damn. They got bigger."

"Yeah," I say. "Time keeps going even when everything else falls apart."

He walks over, careful not to step on a Lego. Then he does, and nearly yelps.

I cover my mouth to hide the laugh. "That's what you get."

He winces and flips the middle finger at the floor. "Why are these things everywhere?"

"Lucas," I say. "He's building some robot thing."

Lip looks down at the sleeping kid in the chair. "He used to run from me when I said hi."

"He still does," I say, smiling.

He grins a little, but it fades into something softer. He's quiet for a second.

"I miss this," he admits.

I nod.

"I know."

Then, from the couch: "Lip?"

Conner's voice, groggy and confused. He blinks awake, rubbing his eyes.

"Hey, buddy," Lip says gently.

Conner sits up fast, popcorn spilling everywhere. "You're here."

"I am."

He grins sleepily. "Told her you looked like a raccoon."

Lip snorts. "Appreciate that."

Conner yawns, already falling back onto the cushions. "You staying for waffles in the morning?"

"I—" Lip glances at me.

I shrug. "Guess we'll see."

Conner's already asleep again.

I head to the kitchen and grab two mugs. "We've got terrible coffee. You want some?"

Lip follows me. "I've had worse."

I hand him a mug and lean against the counter, watching him take a sip like it might actually kill him.

He coughs. "What is this?"

"Gas station-grade garbage."

He laughs under his breath. "Tastes like regret."

We stand there, drinking the worst coffee in the world like it's something sacred.

After a long moment, Lip says, "I don't know where we go from here."

I shrug. "Neither do I."

He looks at me, eyes searching.

"But I'm not ready to give up," I add.

His shoulders drop, like something's unclenching in him.

"Yeah," he says. "Me neither."