9

I wake up in an unfamiliar place. The second I open my eyes, I see Lip with his ear pressed to the wall, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched.

"What the fuck are you—" I start, but he cuts me off.

"Shh. Listen," he whispers and tugs me closer.

I don't even question it. I press my ear to the wall beside his and try to make out the muffled voices coming from the next room.

"So how long are you planning on staying here and playing house?" a deep voice says. Lip had said her name was Bob?

"Did you see those kids' faces? Did you see the way they looked at me?" The second voice is higher, almost panicked, and unmistakably Monica. My stomach knots.

I glance at Lip. His face is stone cold, except for the slight twitch in his jaw.

"I'm not supporting six kids. We get the DNA results tomorrow. It'll prove Liam isn't Frank's."

Lip flinches, hard.

"Shh," Monica tries, but Bob keeps talking like she doesn't even hear her.

"That way, if the shithead changes his mind, he can never take Liam back."

"Will you be quiet? They're sleeping," Monica whispers sharply.

"We're gonna make a great family, baby," Bob purrs. "I'll take care of you and Liam like Frank never could."

Their footsteps creak down the hallway. Silence settles in the room.

"Fuck," Lip whispers, his voice low and hoarse.

"You don't really think she's gonna take him, do you?" I ask gently, my hand moving to the back of his head. He lets me.

He lets out a heavy breath. "If she tries... we'll put up one hell of a fucking fight."

His eyes find mine, and I can see it. He's scared. Furious. But underneath all that—just a kid trying to protect his family.

He drops down from the top bunk and jerks his head for me to follow. I do.

Downstairs, it's chaos. Kids shouting, cereal boxes flying, Monica wandering the kitchen like a tourist in her own life.

"Coffee," Lip mutters like it's any other day, like none of that upstairs shit happened.

"Yeah, sure," I say with a half-smile.

He pours me a cup and leans in. "Just act normal."

Carl barrels over. "Lip, can you sign this?"

"Nope. Monica, Carl needs something from you," Lip yells over the noise.

"What's this?" Monica asks, confused, holding the slip like it's written in Latin.

"Permission slip," Lip says as he grabs cereal and pours a lazy stream of milk into the bowl.

"Oh, you're going to the aquarium! When's the trip?"

"Today. I need ten dollars," Carl says, digging through his backpack.

"What do you need ten dollars for?" Bob pipes up, bouncing Liam on her knee like she owns him.

"Admission fee," Carl says plundering through his backpack.

"The school don't pay for that?" Bob says, feeding Liam like it's her kid.

"Nope," Lip says without missing a beat. "They need money for food."

Bob scoffs. "Grab him an instant oatmeal and a Pop-Tart. Makes a great lunch."

I nearly choke on my coffee. Lip just keeps chewing.

Monica forgets to pack lunches. Bob keeps making herself at home. Somehow, the kids finally pour out the door. Carl, Ian, and Debbie gone for the day.

The second the door closes behind them, Lip drops his spoon.

"I don't care what the fucking DNA test says. You're not taking Liam."

Bob lets out a laugh—sharp and condescending. "We'll see about that."

"Yeah," Lip snaps, stepping forward. "We will."

She stands up, eyeing him, like she's sizing him up for a fight. "Are we having a problem, Philip?"

Lip doesn't flinch. "Let's see. You're squatting in my house, screwing my mother, and planning to kidnap my baby brother. Yeah, we're having a problem."

She steps in closer, and I shoot to my feet without even thinking. Her energy feels like a loaded gun.

"Bob, stop," Monica says quickly, getting between them.

"And congratulations, Mom," Lip spits, backing up. "You always knew how to pick 'em."

He turns and walks to the door. "Come on, Erin."

I don't hesitate. I follow him.

"Lip! Wait!" Monica calls, scrambling after us.

We step outside. The air hits like cold water.

"You okay?" I ask, my voice low.

"Yeah, I'm just fucking fantastic," he mutters, still walking.

"Lip!" Monica yells behind us.

"Just ignore her," he says through clenched teeth, speeding up.

"Lip, wait, please. We haven't had a chance to talk!"

"Don't worry about it," he says, not even glancing back—but she cuts in front of him, blocking his path.

"I do. I worry about you."

He stares past her like she's not there. I can see the tears building, but none fall.

"I think about you all the time. I miss you. There's so much I wanna ask you." She sounds almost... excited. Like this is a reunion, not a return from years of abandonment. "How's school?"

That gets a sharp laugh from him. Bitter and short.

"You were always so smart. My Lip," she says like that word still means something. "I know you can do anything. I'm sorry I hurt you."

She reaches for him, her hands soft on his shoulders. "Please look at me."

He finally speaks.

"Next time you think about stopping by... don't," he says, shaking her off. "You've fucked up our lives enough already."

He grabs my hand and walks.

⸻

We walk for blocks in silence. He doesn't let go. His grip is tight. Not crushing, just... holding. Like if he lets go, everything will break.

I don't say anything until we hit the corner near my place.

"You wanna come inside?"

He just nods.

Inside, the house is quiet. My brothers must still be with dad. I lead him to my room and close the door behind us.

He sits on the edge of my bed, hands tangled in his hair.

"She thinks she can just waltz in and play mom," he mutters. "Like we're some fucking movie."

I sit beside him. "She doesn't get it, Lip. Not really."

He looks at me, and for a moment, there's something raw in his eyes. Not anger. Not sarcasm. Just this wounded, exhausted kid carrying too much.

"I used to wait for her," he says. "Every night. I thought maybe today was the day she'd come back and fix everything. And then I stopped hoping. And now she's back, and it's worse. It's worse than when she left."

I lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder. "You don't have to hold it all on your own, you know?"

He lets out a slow breath. "Yeah. I do."

I reach over and lace our fingers together. "Well, too bad. You've got me now."

He looks at our hands, then up at me. There's that half-smirk again. Faint. But real.

"I've made out with you like twice and now you're my emotional support system?"

I grin. "Pretty much."

He lets out a dry laugh and squeezes my hand.

Then, quietly: "Thanks... for not making me feel like I'm losing my shit."

"You're not," I say. "You're just feeling things you haven't let yourself feel in a while."

He nods. "Yeah. That's the problem."

I lean in and kiss him. Not rushed. Not hungry. Just soft and real.

He kisses me back, and for the first time since we left the Gallagher house, I feel him start to breathe again.

We stay like that—his hand in mine, his lips barely brushing mine back—until the moment fizzles out into quiet. His forehead rests against mine for a second, like he's trying to anchor himself.

Then he pulls away.

"Sorry," Lip mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't... I'm not really good at this shit."

I let out a soft breath. "It's okay. You don't have to be."

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. I can tell he's not just tired—he's unraveling in pieces, quietly.

"What they said... about Liam. That test," I say gently, trying to give him space but still nudge him out of his own silence. "You don't believe it, do you?"

His jaw tightens. "I don't give a fuck what the test says. Liam's my brother. That's it."

The words are clipped, but the way he says my brother—like it's something sacred—makes me ache for him.

"She's not taking him," I say.

"She's gonna try." His voice is low. "And you saw Frank. He's too high to even notice if Liam vanished. It's gonna be up to us. Me."

I sit next to him again, closer this time. "You're not alone."

He shakes his head. "Don't say that. You don't get it."

"Then explain it."

His voice rises, fast and sharp. "You wanna understand? Try watching your mom disappear over and over and still getting your sister out of bed for school while you're working nights and trying to keep your kid brother fed. Try waking up every day knowing no one's coming to fix it. That's what it's like. That's what you're stepping into."

I flinch, but I don't back away. "I do understand Lip. My mom is dead because of that shit. So I do understand. And i'm not trying to fix it. I'm just trying to be here."

He stares at the floor. "That's worse."

"Why?"

"Because if you stick around... I'll start to think I can rely on you. And that's when people leave."

His voice cracks—just a little. Barely enough to notice, but I do.

I wait a beat, then say, "I'm not Monica, Lip. I don't leave when things get hard."

He doesn't respond. Just sits there, breathing slow like he's trying not to fall apart.

The silence stretches.

Finally, he says, "I thought I stopped caring about her. But hearing her say that shit upstairs... like we're some fucking project she gets to play mom with again? Like Liam's some accessory?" He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I just wanted her to try once. Like really try. For us."

I nod slowly. "She doesn't get to come back and pretend like she was always here."

"Exactly."

"She doesn't get to act like she knows you. Because she doesn't."

He turns to look at me then. Really look.

There's pain in his eyes—but something else, too. Gratefulness, maybe. Or the realization that someone sees him, all of him, and doesn't look away.

He leans back against the headboard. "Your dad still selling the house?"

I nod. "Yeah. He says it's the only way to get us out of debt. I think he's just tired of pretending he can keep it all together."

We sit there, side by side, just sharing silence again. This time, it's a little softer.

Lip taps a finger against his knee. "You ever feel like everything's just... gonna fall apart no matter what you do?"

"Every day."

He lets out a bitter laugh. "Yeah. Thought so."

"I don't know if I believe in things getting better," I say, honest. "But I believe in choosing better. And maybe that's enough."

He turns toward me, his expression unreadable.

"You're weird," he mutters.

I smile. "So are you."

He doesn't smile back, not really, but the edge of his mouth lifts. Just a little.

Then, out of nowhere, he asks, "You think I'm a good brother?"

The question guts me more than anything he's said all day.

"I think you're doing more than most grown-ass adults would," I say. "You love those kids. That's what makes you good."

He nods slowly, looking away like he's afraid to believe me.

"I should go," he says after a while, standing.

"Lip—"

"I'm not running," he says quickly. "I just... I need to clear my head."

I don't stop him. I just walk him to the door.

But right before he leaves, he turns back, eyes serious.

"Thanks. For this. For listening."

"Always," I say.

He hesitates for a second longer, then finally walks away.

And even though I know he's not mine—not really—I can't help but hope he comes back.