16

"Put the cereal down, Lucas," I warn, as he hovers over a giant family-size box of Cookie Crisp.

"But it's got a wolf on it."

"That's not a reason to buy it."

He lifts the box higher. "It is to me."

I give him a look, but grab the box anyway and toss it in the cart next to the ramen and off-brand mac and cheese. Conner is already begging for a different kind of popsicle while pushing the cart in lazy circles like he's high on sugar before even eating it.

The store smells like sour milk and cheap detergent, but the boys are laughing, and for once, it's nice. Simple. I can almost pretend things aren't a total mess.

I glance at my phone again.

Still nothing from Lip.

Earlier I'd texted:"Wanna come to the store with us?"

His reply:"Nah Busy rn"

Cold. Barely a sentence. No "sorry," no smiley, not even a damn period.

I grit my teeth and fake a smile for the boys. "Alright, pick your stuff. We're heading out."

⸻

We're walking back home, bags in hand and sticky heat clinging to our necks, when Conner says, "Can we stop by Carl's real fast? I wanna show him my new comic."

I should say no. I should go home, blast music, and drown this weird feeling crawling up my spine.

But instead, I say, "Fine. Ten minutes."

We head up the Gallagher porch. I shift the bags into one hand and knock, but the door swings open on its own.

"Carl?" Lucas calls, running in first.

"Stay where I can see you," I say automatically.

I walk inside and—

Something's off.

It's quiet. No yelling, no TV, no chaos. Just the faint sound of something thudding. Rhythmic.

And then I hear it. A moan. High-pitched. Familiar.

No.

I move slowly down the hall, toward the stairs, heart climbing into my throat. The boys veer off toward the kitchen, but I keep walking. I know that voice. I know that laugh.

Karen.

The bedroom door is cracked open. I don't mean to look, but I do.

And what I see—

Lip.Karen.Fucking.

He's behind her. Hands gripping her hips like he's drowning in it. Her head is thrown back, moaning his name like she owns it. His mouth is open. His eyes are closed. His jeans are halfway down.

The breath leaves my lungs.

My first instinct is to run.

But instead, I push the door open harder.

The sound slams them both back into reality.

Karen jumps and gasps, covering herself half-assed with a blanket. Lip turns his head, sees me standing there, and freezes.

"Erin—shit—wait—"

My voice is too calm. "You said you were busy."

Lip pulls away from her, scrambling for his boxers. "This isn't what it looks like—"

"No?" I laugh, dead in the eyes. "Because it really looks like you're inside your ex right now."

Karen doesn't even flinch. "Well, not anymore."

That does it.

I spin on my heel and storm down the stairs.

He follows me, shirt half-on. "Erin! Wait! Can you just—listen for a second?!"

I spin around on the porch. The boys are still inside—thank god.

"Fuck you, Lip," I say. "Seriously. Fuck. You."

"I didn't plan it like that! She came by and things just—"

"'Things just' what?" I spit. "You slipped and fell into her?"

His jaw clenches. "You don't get it."

"No, I do. You blew me off to fuck her. That's it."

"Erin, come on, it didn't mean anything—"

"Oh, that makes it so much better, right? You cheat on me, but hey, at least it was meaningless."

His eyes darken. "You think you're some angel? You think you're perfect?"

"Don't do that," I snap. "Don't turn this into me. You're the one who couldn't keep your dick in your pants for one goddamn day."

He steps toward me. "I fucked up, okay? I know I fucked up."

I laugh. It's sharp and bitter. "Well, if you can fuck Karen, I'll fuck Mickey."

Silence.

His face goes blank. Then it twists into something ugly. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me."

"Don't play games with me, Erin."

"Who says I'm playing?"

His voice drops. "If you even look at Mickey—"

"What? You'll do what? You already lost me."

His mouth opens, then shuts.

We stare at each other like strangers.

I don't say anything else. I walk away.

He doesn't follow.The second I get through the front door, I set the grocery bags down on the counter and just stand there, staring at nothing.

My chest is tight. My skin's too hot. The whole house feels too quiet, too clean, too wrong.

Upstairs, I can hear the boys talking in their room, their little voices filling the silence, unaware that my whole world just cracked in two.

My hands are shaking when I pull my phone from my pocket.

I don't think.

I just text.

"You up?"

Mickey replies fast."Always. What's going on?"

"Can you come over?"

There's a pause.

Then:"Be there in 10."

⸻

When Mickey shows up, he leans against the doorframe like he owns the place.

He's got a cigarette behind his ear and his hoodie half-zipped, tattoos peeking out. His eyes flick up and down my face like he can tell something's off.

"You good?"

"No."

He steps inside. "You wanna talk or..."

I shake my head and grab him by the front of his hoodie, pulling him in.

He gets it.

His mouth is rough on mine. His hands move fast, like he doesn't care why I'm doing this — only that I am. It's not gentle. It's not careful. It's two people trying to burn out something ugly and raw and messy.

I don't want soft. I want to forget. I want to make him feel what I'm feeling — even if he never knows it.

Clothes hit the floor. We don't even make it to my bed. It's the couch. The cold air against my skin, Mickey's breath on my neck, the dizzy rush of shame and anger and heartbreak tangled up in my chest.

It's fast. It's loud. It's the worst kind of good.

And then it's over.

⸻

I'm still pulling the blanket up around myself when Mickey buttons his jeans. He glances over at me, scratching the back of his neck.

"You sure about this?" he asks.

I nod, but it's automatic. I don't feel anything but hollow.

He shrugs and heads for the door.

I stay where I am, curled up on the couch with the blanket pulled tight over my body like it's armor.

But then I hear the knock.

Not on the door.

On the window.

I look up.

And there's Lip.

Outside, standing in the front yard, staring through the window just as Mickey opens the door and steps out.

The two of them lock eyes.

Mickey pauses, smirks like he's proud of himself, and gives Lip the smallest nod. "Later, Gallagher."

He walks off like it's nothing.

Lip doesn't move.

He just stares up at the window, straight at me.

I don't hide.

I don't flinch.

Let him feel it.

Let him fucking burn.

The second the door shuts behind Mickey, I feel it—like a weight hanging in the air. The kind that presses down on your chest and makes it hard to breathe.

I don't even move.

I sit on the couch with the blanket still wrapped around me, skin hot, lips swollen, my heart a dull thud in my ears. My body feels wrung out. Used. Not by Mickey—by everything.

And then comes the knock.

Hard. Sharp. The kind that says I know you're in there.

I already know it's him.

I don't get up right away. Let him stand there. Let the seconds drag.

Then I open the door.

Lip's standing on the porch, out of breath, eyes wide, still in the same clothes he fucked Karen in.

We don't speak at first.

His mouth opens, then shuts, like he doesn't even know where to start. He finally settles on:

"I'm sorry."

I stare at him. "That it happened? Or that I saw it?"

He winces. "Both."

"Not good enough."

"Erin—fuck—what was that?" he gestures wildly toward the sidewalk, where Mickey disappeared not two minutes ago. "You really went and—him?"

"You fucked Karen," I say, calm and flat. "Why does it matter what I did after?"

"Because this—us—this isn't supposed to be like that."

"No?" I laugh under my breath. "Because from where I was standing, it looked exactly like that."

He steps closer. "I fucked up. I know. I was drunk. She showed up, and I was pissed, and it was stupid—"

"No, Lip." I hold up a hand. "Stop making excuses. You chose her. You wanted her. That's not a mistake, that's a decision."

He runs a hand through his hair, pacing the porch. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I swear to god, Erin. I didn't mean for it to go that far."

"But it did, didn't it?" My voice cracks, just slightly. I take a breath and steady it. "And the worst part? You didn't even tell me. I had to see it. I had to stand in that doorway and watch you act like I didn't even exist."

Lip's face twists. "I wasn't thinking straight—"

"No," I cut him off. "You were thinking exactly straight. You just weren't thinking about me."

He looks at me like he's about to cry, like he's never felt this small.

"I'll do anything," he says. "I'll fix it. Just tell me how."

"You can't," I say.

He stares at me, completely still. His mouth opens like he's gonna say something else, but there's nothing left.

"I love you," he says, like it's supposed to make it better.

I nod once. "Yeah. You had a funny way of showing it."

And then I shut the door in his face.

LIP POV

The door slams so hard I swear I feel it in my chest.

I don't move.

I stand there on her porch like a fucking idiot, watching the door like it might open again if I just wait long enough. But it doesn't. And it won't.

Because I don't deserve that.

I walk off her porch, heart thudding like a war drum, and pull out my phone with shaking hands.

I scroll to her name.

Karen.

Of course she's still in my contacts. Of course she's still just there, like a landmine waiting to go off.

I call.

It rings twice before it hits voicemail.

I don't hesitate.

"Fuck you, Karen."

My voice is already shaking. Rage boiling over.

"You know what? You're a toxic, manipulative, lying little whore. That's what you are."

I pace the sidewalk, yelling into the phone like she's standing in front of me.

"You crawl back into my life the second I'm doing okay — the second I actually care about someone — and you blow it up. Because that's all you know how to do. You can't love anybody. You don't even want me — you just want to ruin me."

My throat tightens but I don't stop.

"I should've slammed that fucking door in your face. I should've told you to go fuck yourself the second I saw your smug little smile. But no, I was drunk and pissed off and stupid, and you knew exactly how to use that. You've always known."

I'm practically spitting now, my voice ragged.

"You're not just a whore, Karen. You're a fucking virus. You get in people's heads and rot them from the inside out. You don't care who you hurt. And I hope to god you never get another second of my time, because you don't deserve anyone."

I stop walking.

Just stand there, breathing heavy, the phone still hot against my ear.

"I mean it. Lose my number. Lose my name. Fucking choke on the memory."

Click.

I hang up. Block her number. Delete the contact.

Gone.

For good.

I stare at the phone screen, chest still heaving, but this time, it feels like something's shifted. Like a wound is finally bleeding clean.

⸻

The Next Day

I haven't slept.

I can't.

I just keep seeing her face — Erin's face — the moment she saw me and Karen. That frozen, disgusted, numb look. I don't even think I've seen that look in the mirror before. And I've hated myself a long time.

I walk up her porch and knock, heart pounding. Not hard. Just enough that she knows it's me.

A pause.

The door opens.

And there she is.

Puffy eyes. Hoodie over pajamas. Arms crossed, mouth a hard line.

I swallow.

"I'm not here to fight," I say, quietly.

She doesn't speak.

"I just—I need to say this. And then you can slam the door in my face again if you want."

Still nothing. She's listening, though. So I keep going.

"I fucked up, Erin. Not just a little. Not some 'oops, I got drunk' mistake. I made a choice. A fucked-up, selfish, disgusting choice. And you didn't deserve to see that. You didn't deserve any of it."

I take a breath, eyes burning.

"I blocked her. Karen. Called her every name in the book and then blocked her number. I should've done it a year ago. Hell, I should've never answered the door yesterday. But I did. Because I was pissed and I didn't know how to handle... us. How much you mean to me."

Her arms are still crossed, but her jaw tightens.

"I know I wrecked something good. I know that. And I'm not gonna stand here and tell you I didn't mean it or that it didn't happen. It did. But I also know I've never given a shit about someone the way I care about you. And losing that — losing you — it's killing me."

A long silence.

She looks at me. Not crying. Just tired.

I lower my voice. "I love you, Erin. I don't deserve a second chance. But I want one."

ERIN POV

He says all the right things.

All the things I needed to hear yesterday.

His voice is low and cracked and real. For once, it doesn't feel like Lip's just trying to smooth something over or buy more time with his charm. It feels... raw. Like he means it.

And that makes it worse.

Because I want to forgive him.

But every time I close my eyes, I see him on top of her.

I see him choosing her.

And now I don't know if I'm angry... or just done.

I stare at him, arms still crossed.

"I don't know what you want me to say," I whisper.

He flinches.

"I'm tired, Lip. Tired of always getting hit first and asked to understand later. Tired of being the one who has to forgive, while you get to break shit and come back like nothing happened."

"I'm not asking for that," he says. "I'm asking for a chance to fix it."

I nod slowly. "And I'm asking for time."

He nods.

I close the door.

Not a slam this time. Just... closed.

For now.