3

I wake up to the smell of burnt plastic.

"Fuck," I mutter, tossing the blanket off and stumbling out of bed barefoot.

It doesn't take me long to find the source.

Conner's in the kitchen, perched on the counter with one of his stupid plastic toys hovering over the open flame on the stove. Smoke's curling up from it, thick and acrid.

"Hey! Knock that off!" I bark, rushing over. I snatch the half-melted action figure out of his hand and twist the stove knob to OFF, waving away the smoke like it'll undo what just happened.

"Mom would've let me do it," he mutters, pouting.

He always says that. It's his favorite card to play because he knows it pisses me off. I try not to show it, but it gets under my skin every damn time.

"Well, Mom isn't here. I'm in charge. Get dressed," I say, already turning away to scan the cluttered kitchen counters for the house keys. "You too, Lucas! I'm dropping you off at daycare. Conner, you're hanging out with Carl today."

"Daycare? Did we become rich?" Conner trails after me, clearly amused.

"God, no. It's at the Gallaghers'. I'm tutoring Carl, so Lucas can go for free." I finally spot the keys wedged between a cereal box and a pair of socks. I snatch them up and glance at Conner. "Now go. I'm gonna be late for work."

⸻

The workday drags like always. Between Sean "needing me in the back" every five seconds and the customers treating me like their personal punching bag, I start fantasizing about throwing myself into traffic somewhere around noon.

Sean doesn't even pay minimum wage, and I've stopped expecting him to care. Still, a job's a job. And right now, I don't have the luxury of quitting.

Mom's been gone for weeks. Disappeared without a word. I filed a report a few days ago—cops said they'd check in, but no one's gotten back to me. Not that I expected much. She's vanished before. This time just feels different. Longer. Quieter.

Since I emancipated at sixteen, I'm legally allowed to look after the boys. Doesn't make it any easier, though. Lucas misses her, even if he won't admit it. And Conner—he acts out more when she's gone. Like burning plastic on the stove just to see if I'll freak out.

I walk toward the Gallaghers' after my shift, the weight of the day pressing on my shoulders like a second job.

It's noisy on the South Side, but familiar. The sound of dogs barking behind chain-link fences, people yelling two blocks away, someone blasting music out of a rusted car. My version of white noise.

Sometimes, in rare quiet moments, I wonder how different life would be if Dad had stuck around. He owns a car dealership. Took it over when his dad died. He's doing fine, probably sipping coffee in some quiet suburb while I juggle two kids and a job that makes me want to scream. He hasn't called, not even a birthday card. Just poof—gone.

We could've had a house. A real one. Maybe I wouldn't be constantly counting quarters for bus fare. Maybe Conner wouldn't be so angry all the time.

I'm almost to the Gallagher place when I hear footsteps and a voice behind me.

"Hey."

I turn to find Lip jogging up beside me, hair messy, hoodie half-zipped.

"Wow, you really are stalking me, Gallagher," I smirk, adjusting the strap on my bag.

"Hey, I live here," he says, breathless, "and I was coming back from Karen's." He grins like he just won the lottery.

"Oh, I know that look," I laugh. "That's the Karen Look. Happens to all of you idiots. She makes you feel seen, tells you you're different, gets real close. Then bam—turns out she's sleeping with half the neighborhood and hits you with the ol' 'we weren't exclusive' speech. You spend the next three days feeling like a dumbass."

I don't even stop walking. He keeps pace, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

"That's not gonna happen," he says, lighting it with a shrug. "And besides, I don't care if she sleeps with other people."

"Sure," I mutter. "Keep telling yourself that."

We walk for a few more steps before he says, "Hey, are you staying on campus this fall?"

"Nope."

He raises an eyebrow.

"I can't. Lucas and Conner... I'm all they have. Can't exactly leave them with a woman who's currently MIA." I offer a dry laugh, trying to downplay it.

Lip nods slowly. "Yeah, I get that." He flicks ash onto the sidewalk. "Well, if you ever need anything... you've got my number."

We reach the Gallagher front gate. I open it, but Lip turns to head back the other way.

"Where you going?" I call out.

"You'll see later!" he yells over his shoulder and takes off.

⸻

When I step inside, chaos greets me.

Lucas is on the floor with Liam, both of them surrounded by an ungodly number of Goldfish crackers. Debbie's trying to sweep them up while yelling at Carl, who's attempting to duct-tape what looks like a slingshot to the back of a remote-controlled car.

"Jesus Christ," I mutter.

"Hey!" Fiona calls from the kitchen. "You made it."

"Barely." I put my bag down. "Where's Conner?"

"In the backyard with Carl's BB gun," she says casually.

"What?!"

"Relax, it's not loaded—I think."

I rush to the back door just in time to see Conner and Carl grinning over a target drawn on a pizza box.

"CONNER!"

He flinches, spinning around. "What?!"

"No guns!"

"But it's not even real—"

"I don't care! Inside. Now."

He stomps past me, muttering something under his breath. I shoot Carl a glare and he just grins.

Back inside, Fiona's holding out a mug of coffee like a peace offering.

"Thanks," I mutter, taking it from her.

She gives me a look. "You okay?"

I exhale and shrug. "Just tired. Long day. Still haven't heard from my mom. Sean's a dick. The usual."

"You want to talk about it?"

"Nope."

She nods like she gets it. Probably does.

Just as I sit down on the couch, my phone buzzes. A text from Lip.

check the front porch

I raise an eyebrow, walk to the door, and open it.

Sitting on the steps is a brown paper bag. Inside—three instant ramen packs, a giant Snickers bar, and a note scribbled in Lip's messy handwriting:

figured you haven't eaten. don't say i never do anything nice.

I can't help but smile—just a little. It's unexpected. Kind of weird, too. I mean, Lip and I only met a few days ago. I didn't think he even noticed me beyond the chaos at the Gallagher house.

Behind me, little footsteps thud against the porch.

"Who's that from?" Lucas asks, tugging at the hem of my shirt.

"My friend," I say, sliding the note into my back pocket before either of them can read it. "Looks like we've got dinner tonight, boys."

"Hell yeah!" Conner yells, pumping his fist in the air like he just won the Super Bowl.

"Watch your mouth," I mutter out of habit, though I'm grinning. "But yeah... hell yeah." I hold up my hand and give him a high five.

The boys take off into the house, already arguing over which ramen flavor is better. I hang back on the porch, pull out my phone, and hesitate for a second before tapping Lip's name.

It rings twice.

"Hello?" he answers, voice a little guarded like he's expecting someone else.

"Hey... it's Erin. I just wanted to say thanks," I say, keeping my voice even.

There's a pause. "For what?"

"The ramen. The candy bar. The note." I pause. "I wasn't expecting that."

"Oh. Yeah," he says quickly, like he suddenly regrets leaving it. "Wasn't a big deal. You just looked like... you could use it."

"I did," I admit. "It was a good guess."

There's silence on the line for a beat too long. I clear my throat.

"Well, uh, thanks again. That's dinner tonight. The kids are hyped."

"Good," he says. "Cool. Glad it's useful."

I don't know what else to say. We barely know each other, but this small thing—it meant more than I expected it to.

"Alright, well... see you around, I guess," I say.

"I'm dropping Carl off later, remember?" he says quickly. "For the tutoring thing."

"Oh. Right. Yeah. I'll be home."

"Cool. See you then."

He hangs up first. I stare at the phone for a second, then tuck it into my pocket and go back inside.

⸻

The kitchen's a disaster—again. Lucas is pulling bowls down from the shelf that's way too high for him, and Conner's already ripped the ramen packs open and dumped the seasoning everywhere like it's glitter.

"Okay, move," I say, stepping in. "I'm making it, or we're all gonna end up with food poisoning."

As I boil water and try to salvage what's left of the seasoning packets, I keep thinking about the paper bag on the porch. About Lip, and how he barely knows me but still went out of his way to help. It throws me off. Most people don't do that—not without an angle.

Maybe he's just... decent. Or maybe he gets what it's like to be stuck cleaning up someone else's mess.

Either way, I tuck that thought away and serve up the noodles. It's not much, but the boys eat like it's a five-star meal.

Later, when the house is quiet and they're finally asleep, I sit on the couch with the uneaten Snickers bar in my hand, staring at the note again.

don't say i never do anything nice.

I smile to myself.

Okay, Gallagher. Point taken.

It's just after six when there's a knock at the door.

I'm still half-drying a plate with a rag when it happens, the boys already on the floor in front of the TV watching some cartoon that's way too loud. I nudge Lucas with my foot as I pass.

"Turn it down before you blow out the speakers," I say, but I'm not really mad. It's the first time they've been quiet all day.

When I open the door, Lip's standing there with Carl next to him, both of them looking like they just walked out of a dumpster and didn't bother brushing off.

"Hey," Lip says, hands in his hoodie pockets.

"Hey," I say back, stepping aside to let them in.

Carl pushes past me immediately, tossing his backpack on the floor like he owns the place.

"Make yourself at home, I guess," I mutter under my breath, shutting the door.

"Thanks for doing this," Lip says, scratching the back of his neck.

I shrug. "It's fine. I said I would. Lucas gets to go to daycare out of it, so I'm not exactly doing it out of the kindness of my heart."

"Still," he says, looking around like he's trying to read the room—or maybe just figure me out. "You got your hands full."

"You have no idea," I mutter.

He laughs softly, then pulls something from his hoodie pocket and holds it out to me. It's another candy bar. Not a Snickers this time—a Twix.

"What's this for?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugs. "I don't know. You just looked like you could use a second one."

I take it. "You trying to bribe me into not killing your brother?"

"Is it working?"

"Maybe."

Lip smirks, then glances toward the living room where Lucas and Conner are already teaching Carl how to work the remote like it's a high-stakes mission.

"Jesus," he mutters. "He's gonna love it here."

"That's debatable," I say, but I'm half-smiling. "He listens to you, though."

"Sometimes."

"You're lucky," I say before I can stop myself. "Having Fiona. Having... help."

He looks at me for a second longer than feels casual. Not in a creepy way. Just... seeing me.

"Yeah," he says eventually. "I know."

I nod toward the kitchen. "Tutoring's at the table. I told Conner and Lucas they could stay in the living room if they behave, but that's optimistic."

"I'll leave you to it," he says, turning back toward the door.

Before he goes, he hesitates. "Hey, uh... if you ever need anything—"

"You said that already."

"Yeah, I know." He pauses. "Still true."

I don't say anything. Just nod.

He nods back and slips out the door.

⸻

Carl sits at the table like a kid waiting for detention to be over before it even starts. He groans dramatically as I sit down across from him.

"Do we have to do this?" he whines, flopping over the table like his bones have given up.

"You want to go to juvie?" I ask flatly.

He narrows his eyes. "You're meaner than Fiona."

"Then maybe you'll listen to me."

He groans again, but pulls a crumpled math worksheet from his bag.

From the kitchen, I can still hear Conner yelling something about aliens on TV, Lucas arguing back, and for once—I don't feel like the world is completely falling apart.

Just... mostly.

It's just past eight when there's another knock at the door.

Carl's still at the table, doodling on the back of one of his finished worksheets like he didn't just spend the last hour pretending math was torture. The boys are knocked out on the couch, curled up under the same ratty blanket, a bowl of popcorn spilled across the floor.

I wipe my hands on a dish towel and head for the door.

When I open it, Lip's there again—same hoodie, same tired eyes, like he's already smoked through half a pack today.

"How was he?" he asks before stepping inside.

"Shockingly tolerable," I say, motioning toward the kitchen. "Did his work. Bitched the whole time, but did it."

"Sounds about right," Lip mutters, walking past me.

Carl perks up at the sight of his brother. "Hey, did you bring snacks?"

Lip looks at him, deadpan. "You just spent two hours eating someone else's food. Be grateful."

Carl shrugs, grabbing his backpack off the floor and slinging it over his shoulder. "Can I come back tomorrow?"

"Do your homework without whining and we'll talk," I say, pointing a finger at him.

He grins and throws up a salute. "Later, Erin."

"Later, Carl."

Lip watches his brother walk past the sleeping boys on the couch. Carl pokes Conner in the leg on the way out, but he doesn't wake up.

I step onto the porch behind Lip and close the door softly behind us, not wanting to wake anyone.

"Thanks again," he says. This time, it sounds less obligatory. "Seriously."

"No problem. He was fine. Less annoying than Conner on most days."

Lip snorts. "That's not a high bar."

A silence settles between us. Not uncomfortable exactly—just... quiet. Late-night quiet. Tired quiet. We both look out at the street, lit by flickering lamplight and lined with cracked sidewalks and garbage bins that never stay upright.

"You get any sleep lately?" he asks, glancing at me.

I laugh dryly. "Sleep's a luxury. I'm surviving on coffee and spite at this point."

"Yeah, that sounds about right." He nods, then tilts his head slightly. "So... you really doing this all on your own?"

"Yeah," I say, arms crossing over my chest. "Mom's gone. Dad's... somewhere else. I've got the boys, and that's that."

He lets out a low whistle. "That's a lot."

"Tell me about it." I pause. "But hey, at least I have a solid instant ramen pipeline now."

He smirks. "Damn right you do."

Another pause. A little longer this time.

"I could, uh..." Lip starts, then scratches the back of his neck. "I mean, if you ever need help. With Carl. Or the boys. I'm around."

I look at him. Really look.

We don't know each other. Not really. But there's something about him—sharp around the edges, but there's care underneath. A different kind of familiar.

"I'll keep that in mind," I say, not promising anything, but not pushing him away either.

He nods once. "Cool."

"Cool."

"Alright, well... see you around, Bishop."

I blink. "You know my last name?"

He smirks as he backs down the steps. "It was on your tutoring flyer."

"You actually read that?"

"Maybe."

And with that, he turns and disappears into the night, Carl at his side.

I stay there a second longer, the cold air brushing my arms, the quiet humming around me.

Maybe he's not so bad.