8

It had been three months.

Three months since everything changed. Since I found out about Amanda. Since Lip told me he still thought about us—and I told him I couldn't just forget what he did.

We hadn't gotten back together. Not even close. But he was still around.

Every now and then, he'd show up with something for the boys—a beat-up basketball, a comic book from a free bin. He was careful with me. Like I was glass. Like he knew one wrong move would shatter whatever thread we still had.

It was late afternoon, the kind of chilly where your breath fogs in the air, but the sun makes it feel almost okay to be outside. I sat on the front steps of the house, knees pulled to my chest, watching Lucas limp-run around the yard while Conner spun in circles on a scooter we found at the thrift store.

Lucas still had the cast, but he was adjusting. Better than I was.

I didn't hear him until he was already halfway up the walkway.

"Hey," Lip said, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets.

I looked over, eyebrows raised. "Didn't think I'd see you today."

He gave a half-shrug. "Just got in. Thought I'd say hi before heading back tomorrow."

My stomach flipped at that. I hated that it still did.

"You're still with Amanda?" I asked before I could stop myself. My voice came out even, but I felt every syllable in my chest.

Lip nodded once. "Yeah. She's good."

I looked down at my hands. "That's great."

He shifted beside me. "You look good. House looks nice."

"Thanks," I said quietly. "The boys have been doing alright."

"I've missed them," he admitted, eyes on Lucas as he tossed a snowball toward a tree.

"They talk about you," I said. "Lucas especially."

Lip gave a tight smile. "I think about you guys a lot."

I didn't know what to say to that.

After a beat, he asked, "You been okay?"

"Getting there." I let out a breath. "Some days are better than others. I've been picking up more shifts. Conner's been acting like he's fifteen, which is great considering he's twelve. And Lucas... he's still just a little kid trying to figure out why everything's different."

Lip nodded slowly. "It is different."

I looked at him for a moment. "I think what hurts the most is... not the sex. Not even the lying."

He looked at me, eyes sharp and still and waiting.

"It's that you didn't even hesitate."

He opened his mouth, but I cut him off with a bitter smile.

"It's not about being perfect, Lip. I knew what I was getting into with you. But I thought we were building something. And then you let it fall apart like it didn't mean anything."

"It did," he said quietly. "It still does."

I didn't say anything. Couldn't.

After a minute, Conner called from the yard, "Erin! Lucas fell again!"

I stood, brushing my hands off. "I should go inside."

Lip nodded. "I'll head out."

He paused before turning. "I'm glad you're okay. I really am."

I didn't respond until his back was to me.

"Take care of yourself, Lip."

He turned, gave me that lopsided half-smile he always used when he was trying not to fall apart.

"You too."

Then he was gone.

And I was left on the porch, wondering why the right thing could feel so damn wrong.

After Lip left, I helped Lucas inside, patched up his scraped hand, and made the boys grilled cheese sandwiches with the last of the bread. They didn't notice I was quieter than usual—too busy arguing about which Spider-Man actor was the best.

When they finally settled into the couch with a blanket and their cartoons, I stepped outside again. I needed air. Still too much of Lip lingering in the space he left behind.

The back alley behind the Gallagher house was muddy with leftover snow, cigarette butts, and the occasional beer can. It was South Side beautiful.

I spotted Ian behind the house, messing with a bag of dog food and a half-frozen water bowl for a stray that had been hanging around lately.

"Hey," I called out, stepping around a trash can.

Ian looked up, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Hey, you."

He grinned. "Haven't seen you in a minute."

"I've been around," I said, folding my arms. "Just laying low. You look..."

I gave him a once-over, raising an eyebrow.

"...kinda ripped, Ian. What the hell?"

He barked a laugh, flexing obnoxiously. "Been working out at the firehouse gym. You like?"

I smirked. "Damn. If Lip keeps screwing up, I might have to trade up."

Ian snorted. "Please. You couldn't handle this level of drama."

"Oh, like I haven't had enough already?" I teased.

We both laughed for a second, then the silence settled in just long enough to feel real.

He glanced at me, more serious now. "You doing okay?"

I nodded. "Yeah. No. I don't know. Some days I think I'm over it, and then I see him and it's like... everything tilts again."

Ian leaned against the back porch railing. "He loves you, you know."

I scoffed. "Not the point."

"I know. I'm just saying... he's an idiot. But he's your idiot."

I looked down at the ground, kicking a bit of slush with my shoe.

"I don't know if I want him to be anymore."

Ian didn't press. He just nodded like he got it.

And somehow, I knew he did.