13

The nurse cut the cast off with a buzzing saw while Lucas gripped the exam table like he was on a rollercoaster. His face was twisted in concentration, like he was trying really hard not to look scared.

"You okay, bud?" I asked gently.

"I'm being so brave right now," he whispered, eyes wide behind his glasses.

Lip stood behind him, arms crossed, smirking. "You gonna want a trophy after this or just a parade?"

Lucas didn't answer. He was too busy staring at the cast as it peeled away from his leg like a giant hard shell. The skin underneath was pale and soft-looking, with tiny dark hairs that had grown weird and patchy.

"Ew," Lucas said immediately. "It's like a chicken leg. A dead chicken leg."

Lip looked at me and mouthed, He's not wrong.

"Can I walk?" Lucas asked, poking the bony part of his knee.

"Carefully," the nurse answered. "It'll feel weak for a little while. Take it slow."

He stood up and took a few awkward steps, then looked back at me, proud and beaming. "I'm walking so normal right now."

I smiled and nodded, even though he was limping like a baby giraffe. "Totally. Olympic-level."

"I'm gonna run so fast tomorrow," he said as we left the clinic.

"You are not running tomorrow," I said.

He groaned dramatically. "You guys never let me do anything fun."

Lip nudged his shoulder as we walked toward the car. "You just got your leg back, dude. At least let it remember how to be a leg first."

—

That night, after we dropped Conner and Lucas off at the Gallaghers for a sleepover, the house was too quiet.

I curled up on the couch while Lip made popcorn in the kitchen, the kind with way too much butter and the smell that fills the whole house. He came back with the bowl, plopped down next to me, and handed me the remote.

"Movie or show?"

"Doesn't matter," I said. "I'm not really watching it anyway."

He gave me a look. "You good?"

"Yeah."

He paused. "Liar."

I sighed and put the remote down. "I think I might be pregnant."

Lip didn't say anything at first. He just blinked. Then set the popcorn bowl down on the floor like it was suddenly made of glass.

"...Shit."

"Yeah."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Are you sure?"

"I'm late. Like a week. And I've been kind of nauseous in the mornings."

"Did you take a test?"

"Not yet. I bought one today."

He nodded slowly. "Okay. So... what now?"

I looked at him. "I'm gonna take it."

He stood up. "Okay. Let's... okay."

—

The bathroom was too bright. I hated how quiet it was in the house now — like it was holding its breath with me.

Lip stood in the doorway while I ripped open the box and read the instructions three times like I'd never seen them before. I had. I'd even joked about it once at work. But it wasn't funny now.

"Want me to wait out there?" he asked.

"No. Just... stay."

He did.

The test sat on the counter, face down. The timer on my phone ticked down the seconds like it was mocking me.

"Are you freaking out?" I asked.

He thought about it. "A little. Are you?"

"A lot."

He reached over and laced our fingers together. "I got you."

"Even if I ruined both our lives?"

"You didn't ruin anything."

I looked at him. "You're not ready to be a dad."

He shrugged. "Nope. But I'd still show up."

That part didn't surprise me. Lip always showed up — for me, for the boys, even for people who didn't deserve it.

"I don't want it to be positive," I said quietly.

"I know."

"I'm not ready. I want to... I don't know. Breathe. For once."

He nodded.

The timer went off.

I didn't move.

Lip reached over and flipped the test over for me. His eyes scanned the tiny window, then flicked up to meet mine.

"Negative."

I let out a breath so sharp it made my chest hurt. I leaned back against the wall and slid down to the floor.

Lip joined me there, knees drawn up, shoulder against mine.

Neither of us said anything for a while.

Eventually, I laughed — a soft, tired laugh.

He tilted his head toward me. "What?"

"I almost threw up on the L yesterday because some guy was eating pickles out of a bag."

Lip grimaced. "Okay, that's valid."

"And I thought it was morning sickness. But no. Just a man eating pickles on public transit."

He shook his head. "Chicago's finest."

I looked over at him. "You know we're never gonna tell Lucas about this, right?"

"Please," Lip said. "He'd name the baby Leg Jr. and insist on being the godfather."

That made me laugh for real.

He nudged me. "Hey."

"Yeah?"

He hesitated. "I'm glad it was negative. But if it ever isn't... I'd still be here."

I leaned my head on his shoulder. "I know."

And for the first time in days, I let myself relax.

We weren't perfect. We weren't ready. But we were here.

And somehow, for now, that was enough.The Gallagher house smelled like pizza, weed, and too many people.

It was already loud by the time Lip and I walked in, and I could hear Carl yelling something about fireworks in the backyard. Conner and Lucas were somewhere upstairs, probably destroying Fiona's furniture with toy swords.

I barely made it two steps into the living room before I spotted Mickey leaning against the fridge, arms crossed like he lived there.

I raised a brow.

"Well," I said, tossing my bag on the couch, "are the Gallaghers hosting a Milkovich family reunion tonight or what?"

Mickey's eyes snapped up, and that familiar smirk tugged at his mouth. "Relax. I was invited."

"Yeah, so was the mold in the bathroom," I muttered, brushing past him.

Lip snorted behind me. He didn't say anything to Mickey, but he moved in close, his hand brushing the small of my back like it was second nature. I could feel the tension in him, the way his body subtly shifted between me and Mickey — protective, casual, but very intentional.

"I didn't know you were coming," Mickey said to me.

"Yeah, I figured that out from the look on your face."

He didn't respond, just took a drink from his beer and wandered off toward the kitchen.

From the couch, I heard Mandy's voice ring out, sing-song and smug: "Well if it isn't the lovebirds."

Lip and I turned as she stood up from where she was lounging with a slice of pizza in hand, one eyebrow raised like she owned the whole damn house.

She made a slow show of looking Lip over, then tilted her head at me.

"I was wondering when you two were gonna show up."

"Why?" I said, already annoyed.

Mandy smiled, wide and fake. "Just curious. Lip and I go way back, you know. Childhood and all that."

Lip leaned against the back of the couch, deadpan. "Yeah, not all of it was good."

"Ouch," she said, clearly not wounded.

I didn't wait. I walked over, grabbed Lip by the front of his hoodie, and tugged him down onto the couch. Then, very deliberately, I sat on his lap, curled an arm around his neck, and kissed him slow. Deep.

He kissed me back without hesitation, one hand slipping around my waist like it was muscle memory.

When I pulled away, Mandy was blinking at us, still smiling but tight.

"Cute," she said, grabbing another slice.

"Thanks," I said sweetly. "We practice."

Lip leaned forward, resting his chin on my shoulder, his voice calm but firm. "You know, if you're here to cause drama, you can go."

Mandy raised her brows. "Relax, Gallagher. I'm not trying to fight anyone."

"No?" I said. "Then maybe stop drooling."

That actually made Mandy laugh. "Okay, Bishop. You've got some bite tonight."

"I'm in a great mood," I lied. "Nothing like spending the evening with your ex-fling, your boyfriend's ex, and a six-year-old with a fresh limp."

Lip laughed softly under me. His hand rubbed my back, grounding.

Mickey came back in from the kitchen with another beer and glanced over at us.

His eyes lingered on me for half a second too long.

"Something wrong, Mick?" Lip asked, voice low but steady.

"Nope," Mickey said. "Just enjoying the show."

I smiled tightly. "Glad you're entertained."

Mickey shrugged, then turned to leave. "I'll be outside. Less perfume and lip gloss out there."

The door slammed.

Mandy cleared her throat. "Well, this has been super fun."

Lip didn't even look at her. He was watching me, his thumb grazing slow over the top of my hand.

"You okay?" he asked under his breath.

I nodded, leaning back against his chest. "I am now."

We sat there like that, tangled together on the couch while the chaos of the Gallaghers moved around us — yelling, footsteps, bad music, kids screaming somewhere upstairs.

But I didn't care.

He was warm. He was mine.

And I didn't need to say it out loud to make it clear to anyone watching.

The Gallagher house was too loud — too many voices, too many memories. After everything, my head felt like it was buzzing. Mandy's smug smile, Mickey's sideways glances, the test earlier. It all sat heavy behind my ribs like I hadn't fully exhaled all day.

Lip caught my hand without a word and led me out the back door.

The screen creaked and slammed behind us. The air outside was cooler, calmer. It smelled like damp grass and smoke from whatever Carl was lighting on fire two yards over.

We didn't go far — just past the porch steps, down into the side yard where the house lights didn't quite reach. It was quiet there. Dark and still.

Lip sat down on the edge of an old cinder block near the fence and pulled me between his legs, arms looping around my hips like a reflex. I sank into him, my hands resting on his shoulders, his breath warm against my shirt.

Neither of us said anything for a moment.

Just breathed.

His voice was soft when he finally spoke. "You okay?"

I nodded.

Then I shook my head.

"I don't know," I admitted. "I just... that whole thing with the test today—it scared me. And then we walk in and Mandy's eye-fucking you like I'm not even there, and Mickey's acting like we've got unfinished business."

Lip's hands slid down my sides and settled on my waist. "I didn't look at her."

"I know."

"And I didn't care about Mickey looking at you."

I raised an eyebrow. "Didn't seem like you didn't care."

He smirked. "Okay, I cared a little. But mostly 'cause he knows better."

"I haven't hooked up with Mickey since forever, Lip."

"I know that, too."

"But sometimes it's like everyone around us is just... waiting for something to go wrong."

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against my chest. "They can wait all they want. I'm not going anywhere."

I ran a hand through his hair, fingers brushing against the nape of his neck. He relaxed into it instantly, like he hadn't even realized how tense he was until now.

"You mean that?" I asked, quieter.

He looked up at me. "Erin. We just thought we were having a baby together. You think I'm scared of a couple exes?"

A soft laugh escaped me. "Okay, fair."

He pulled me closer, lips brushing my stomach through my shirt. It wasn't a kiss so much as a pause—something tender that made my chest ache.

"I wanted to say something earlier," he mumbled. "When you were holding the test. I just didn't know if it was the right time."

I tilted his chin up. "What?"

"I wasn't scared for me," he said. "I was scared for you."

"Why?"

"Because I see how hard you're fighting to get out. And I didn't want anything—not even me—to take that away from you."

I swallowed hard.

"You wouldn't," I said.

"Good."

I kissed him. Soft and slow. The kind of kiss that doesn't ask for anything—just gives. The kind you lean into when there's nothing left to say but stay.

When we pulled apart, I stayed pressed against him, his arms locked around me like the only safe place in the world was right here.

"We're gonna be okay," he said against my shoulder.

"Yeah," I whispered. "We are."

And maybe for the first time in a while, I really believed it.