14

The boys were at school, and the house was finally quiet for the first time in three days. Which meant one thing: I could actually go shopping—properly this time. No interruptions. No chasing after Lucas or pretending not to see Conner sneak a soda into the cart. Just me, the list, and maybe a snack if I deserved it.

It was nice out, too. Sixty-five degrees. Not too hot, not too cold. That perfect kind of weather where the South Side doesn't feel like it's trying to kill you.

Lip walked beside me, our fingers laced together. For once, the silence between us didn't feel like tension. It just felt... calm. Easy.

And then, because my brain has zero filter when things feel easy, I blurted, "Do you ever want kids?"

Lip blinked at me, caught off guard. "Shit, I mean... I don't know. I don't really wanna willingly bring a kid into this fucked-up world. And also, I just know I'd screw it up somehow. Or pass on the alcoholic gene or somethin'."

He looked serious, but there was a softness in it. Like even though it scared the hell out of him, he wasn't running from the thought. And maybe the part that made my chest tighten was that he talked like it'd be a we decision.

"You?" he asked, glancing at me.

I shrugged. "Not for a while. Like, mid-twenties maybe. When I'm not raising Conner and Lucas anymore. But... yeah. I think I do. Someday."

He nodded, staring ahead again. We didn't say anything else after that. We didn't need to.

When we got to the store, I left him outside. I told him it was so I could get in and out faster, but really, I just wanted a few minutes to breathe and not get distracted by him pretending not to sneak junk food into the cart.

It was a quick trip—milk, bread, some produce, and a pack of Twizzlers that neither of us would admit we kind of hated.

I stepped out with two paper bags, and immediately spotted him. Same spot I left him in, leaning against the brick wall like he was part of it. But this time, someone else was standing way too close.

Mandy Milkovich.

She had her hand on his arm, her voice low, too familiar. My stomach twisted.

"Come on, Lip. Being in a relationship never stopped you when you were with Karen," she purred, giving him a look I'd seen way too many girls give him.

"This is different," he said, jaw tight. "She's not Karen. And she's not you. She hasn't fucked half of Chicago."

I shouldn't have smiled. But I did.

"Oh please," Mandy said, unfazed. "Like you haven't. Just one more time. For old time's sake."

That was it.

"Mandy, I'm pretty sure there's a line of guys willing to fuck your worn-out vagina. And somehow, you picked the one with a girlfriend."

Lip let out a short laugh, the cigarette still dangling from his lips.

Mandy whipped her head toward me. "Stop acting like you're better than me, Bishop. At least I don't fuck my boss for extra pocket money."

My vision went red.

"Shut the fuck up, Mandy," Lip snapped.

I turned to him, handed over the bags. "Hold this."

Before she could flinch, I landed a clean punch right to her nose. Blood spurted instantly.

"Fuck you!" she hissed, stumbling back with her hand over her face.

"Lip already does," I said, smiling sweetly.

"Let's go." I touched Lip's shoulder and he followed without hesitation, tossing the half-smoked cigarette to the curb.

We walked in silence for a while. I could feel my pulse still racing, but not from adrenaline—just the weight of what had just happened.

"Did I overreact?" I finally asked, glancing at him.

He grinned. "Nah. I think it was kinda hot."

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't help the laugh that slipped out. "I'm serious."

"So am I." He bumped his shoulder against mine. "You looked like you were about to rip her throat out. It was... intense. Sexy. Also, I really like when you say 'vagina' all mad like that."

"Oh my God," I groaned.

"What?" He smirked. "It's a good word. Vagina. Real punch to it."

"Shut up," I said, elbowing him.

We were halfway down the block when he stopped and turned toward me.

"I meant what I said, you know," he said. "You're not them."

My throat caught. "Yeah. I know."

He reached for one of the bags and took it from me, carrying it like it was nothing. Then he looked at me again.

"Still wanna have kids someday with me, even if I'm a little fucked up?"

I raised a brow. "You're a lot fucked up."

"Fair."

"But yeah," I said. "Still do."

He smiled like he was trying not to. And I let myself lean into his side a little as we walked the rest of the way home.

By the time we got home, my knuckles were throbbing.

I dropped the bags on the kitchen counter and flexed my hand. "Okay, maybe I should've thought that punch through a little more."

Lip came up behind me, catching my hand gently. "Let me see."

"It's fine—"

"Erin."

I sighed and let him hold it up to the light. He ran his thumb across my bruising knuckles, soft in a way that didn't match the roughness of his voice earlier.

"You clocked her good," he muttered, half-impressed, half-concerned.

"She deserved it."

"I know. Just don't break your damn hand over someone that irrelevant."

I smirked. "Would you still love me with a broken hand?"

"I'd love you if you broke both your hands and beat someone with your forehead."

I laughed, leaning into him. "That might be the most romantic thing you've ever said to me."

He grinned and tilted his head down to kiss me—slow and lazy, like we had all the time in the world. I melted into it, fingers curling into the front of his shirt.

Then we heard a knock on the door.

"Jesus Christ," I mumbled against his lips.

He pulled away with a groan. "If that's Mandy back for round two, I'm jumping out the window."

I opened the door, and luckily—it was just Ian.

"Hey," he said, already stepping inside. "Fiona told me to come check if you guys were alive. Something about Lip fighting someone over tampons?"

Lip blinked. "That was not the story."

I grabbed one of the bags off the counter and shoved it at Ian. "Here. If you're gonna show up uninvited, you're helping put groceries away."

Ian held up his hands. "Okay, damn. Domestic vibes in here today."

Lip dropped onto the couch. "It was peaceful. Then you showed up."

I went back to the counter, tossing the pack of Twizzlers at Lip's head. "Catch."

He caught it without looking. "Why do we keep pretending we like these?"

"Tradition," I said, grabbing one and biting off the end. "Also, they taste slightly better if you eat them while being smug."

Lip bit into one, made a face, then nodded. "Still garbage."

Ian laughed from the kitchen. "You two are weird."

I looked at Lip, who looked back at me like he'd already forgotten anyone else was in the room.

"Yeah," I said. "We are."The bedroom door shut behind us with a soft click.

That's all it took.

Lip was on me like he'd been holding back all day. His hands found my waist, mouth crashing into mine before I even made it to the bed. I kissed him back hard, fingers curling into his hoodie as he backed me toward the mattress.

He pulled away just long enough to breathe. "You keep lookin' at me like that in public, Bishop, people are gonna think I'm yours or something."

"You are mine," I shot back, tugging him down again.

He groaned into the kiss, like he felt that all the way down. We hit the edge of the bed, and he guided me down onto it without letting go. His weight settled against me in that perfect way—not too heavy, just warm, solid, familiar. His hands slipped under the back of my shirt, fingers tracing my skin like he needed to remind himself I was real.

The room smelled like my shampoo and the detergent Lip always complains about, but I wouldn't switch it for anything. Not when moments like this felt like the only thing that made sense lately.

His mouth trailed from mine to my jaw, then down to the curve of my neck. I felt him pause there, his breath hot against my skin. Then the pressure—soft at first, then more purposeful. He didn't say anything, didn't warn me. He just stayed there, lips working slowly like he knew exactly what he was doing.

I let my hand tangle in his hair, my chest rising and falling under him.

Then he pulled back just enough to look down at me, his forehead nearly touching mine.

"You ever think about what this would've been like if we met in, like... normal circumstances?" he asked, voice low, eyes on mine.

I blinked, caught off guard—but not in a bad way.

"I don't know," I said. "I probably would've thought you were cocky and avoided you."

He snorted. "Yeah, that tracks."

I smiled. "And you probably would've tried to sleep with me just to prove you could."

He grinned wider, leaning down to kiss me again, slower this time. "Still kinda doing that."

I rolled my eyes. "But I think I still would've ended up here with you. Eventually."

There was something in his eyes then—something softer than usual. Like he believed me, but maybe didn't think he deserved it. He didn't say anything, just kissed me again. Deeper. Like that was his answer.

His hands slipped lower, fingers splaying across my hips, pulling me closer. Everything about him felt urgent and steady at the same time, like he was fighting not to rush but also couldn't help it. His lips moved back to my neck, trailing lower, then back up—another kiss, then another. And one of them definitely left a mark.

I didn't stop him.

I didn't want to.

His hand moved under the hem of underwear, fingers slowly insert in me, warm and careful and—

"Erin, do we still have—OH MY GOD!"

Conner's voice shattered the moment like a brick through a window.

Lip jumped so fast he nearly fell off the bed. I grabbed the edge of my shirt and yanked it down, heart in my throat.

"Conner!" I shouted. "You have to knock!"

He just stood there, horrified, holding a juice box like it had betrayed him. "You guys were—EWW! Lips hands were in your pants!"

I pressed the heels of my hands to my face. "Oh my God."

Lip ran a hand through his hair, completely red in the face. "Hey, buddy—"

"Don't call me buddy right now! I'm emotionally scarred!"

I pointed toward the door. "Out. Now. Go before I make you eat broccoli for breakfast"

Conner let out a noise like he might actually throw up and bolted.

"I'm telling Lucas!" he yelled over his shoulder. "And Fiona!"

Lip flopped back onto the bed beside me, staring at the ceiling.

"That was..."

"Mortifying?"

He groaned. "I was gonna say 'impeccable timing,' but yeah, that too."

I laughed so hard I nearly cried.

We eventually walked downstairs after the embarrassment wore off just enough that we could both keep a straight face.

Conner was sprawled across the couch, arms behind his head like he owned the place. The second he saw us, he didn't miss a beat.

"Are you guys coming down here to make babies or what?"

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You wouldn't have had to see anything if you knocked," I shot back, arms crossed.

He looked at me with all the smugness of someone who'd caught their older sister doing the one thing they'd never let her forget. "I wouldn't have had to see it if you weren't doing it in the first place."

"Watch your mouth, mister," I said, glaring. "And I'm an adult. I can do what I want."

"You're barely an adult," he muttered under his breath.

"I'm done arguing with a fourth grader," I said with a groan. "I'm going to shower. Don't come up unless someone's dying."

"Fine, go rinse off the shame," Conner called as I turned the corner.

Lip laughed behind me. I flipped him off without looking.

⸻

The second the hot water hit my back, I exhaled.

Finally—five minutes of peace.

I let the steam curl around me, eyes closed, forehead resting against the cool tile. No yelling. No Mandy. No boys busting in without knocking. Just quiet—

Creeeeak.

I didn't even open my eyes. "This better not be a Bishop."

A pause.

"Or a Gallagher," I added with a sigh.

"Damn," Lip said, voice full of fake hurt. "I don't even get an exception?"

I turned toward the sound, just in time for the curtain to whip open. He stood there fully clothed, grinning.

"You here to stare or...?"

"You look good," he said simply.

Then he started to walk away.

I called after him, "You wanna join me or just give me Yelp reviews from the hallway?"

He turned around, already pulling his shirt off. "Well shit—yeah."

By the time he stepped in, the room was thick with steam and something else heavier. Familiar. Magnetic.

He reached for me without hesitation, hands on my waist, mouth on mine like we hadn't just been interrupted an hour ago. The water ran down both of us in slow rivulets, soaking our hair and skin, making everything feel softer—warmer.

There wasn't much talking. Just the sound of the water, our breathing, his lips brushing across my collarbone, the feel of his hand in my hair. He kissed down my neck, lingering just long enough in one spot to make me gasp—but neither of us acknowledged it. We didn't need to.

For a few perfect minutes, nothing else mattered.

⸻

Later, we were curled up on my bed, hair damp and skin warm, wrapped in towels under my blanket. My head rested on his shoulder, his fingers tracing lazy patterns down my arm.

"You ever think we're a little... backwards?" I murmured.

"In what way?"

"Most people our age sneak around to do stuff like this. But we're sneaking around so a nine-year-old doesn't walk in and give us PTSD."

Lip laughed. "Honestly, the kid's got a good head on his shoulders. I respect the hustle."

I rolled my eyes. "He's gonna tell Lucas and the next time I come downstairs it's gonna be like a tribunal."

"Guess you're just gonna have to wear a turtleneck until summer."

"Guess you're just gonna have to sleep on the floor."

He snorted. "Like hell I am."

⸻

We came back downstairs an hour later—fully dressed, fully composed—and sat on the couch like we were just a normal couple. Like nothing ever happened.

Lucas took one look at me, then tilted his head. "Erin, why is your neck purple?"

I froze.

Conner didn't even blink. "Hickey. Lip gave it to her. It's gross."

Lucas wrinkled his nose. "What's a hickey?"

"It's when people in love attack each other with their mouths," Conner explained like he was on Discovery Channel.

Lip coughed, trying to cover his laugh. I smacked his leg.

"Okay, no more talking about my neck," I said, standing up and grabbing the remote. "And if either of you mentions this at school, I swear to God I will replace all your Halloween candy with carrots."

Lucas gasped. "You wouldn't."

"Try me."

They shut up after that—but not before I caught Conner mouthing "hickey" to Lucas with a devilish little smirk.