11

Thanksgiving is in full swing at the Gallagher house.

We invited Grandma, but she said she had a tradition with a college friend that involved a cabin, hot cider, and a pie fight. We didn't ask for details.

The house is already bursting—voices bouncing off the walls, Monica wandering in and out of the kitchen like she lost something (probably her sanity), and Frank dead asleep in a recliner that doesn't even belong to them. It's every bit the circus I expected.

"Carl and Conner shot a bald eagle in the yard!" Debbie shouts as she barrels through the front door, red-cheeked and out of breath.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I ask, trailing her into the kitchen.

Fiona whips her head up, knife in hand, mid-carve on what looks like a turkey made entirely out of Spam and hot dogs.

"Carl, that's illegal!" she yells. "You can't just shoot the national bird! Jesus, Carl!"

Debbie shrugs out of her coat. "Told them not to. Conner dared him. Said it was lookin' at them funny."

Fiona exhales hard. "I'm gonna end up on a federal watchlist before dessert."

"That looks good, though," I say, nodding at the meaty monstrosity on the counter.

She grins. "Right? You'd almost think it's real."

"Almost."

"But seriously—I'm gonna kill Carl."

"Have you seen Lip?" I ask, glancing around.

"Out back," she says. "Been out there a while."

I nod and slip outside.

It's cold enough to bite. Lip's sitting on the back steps, cigarette dangling from his fingers, hoodie pulled up, eyes skyward like he's waiting for the universe to just give out.

"You good?" I ask, sitting beside him, shoulder pressed to his.

He doesn't answer right away. "Yeah. It's just weird... everyone here. All at once. Like nothing ever happened."

"Nothing around here's ever normal," I say. "Especially not this house. But you're doing good."

He nods, but the way his fingers tap against his knee says he doesn't believe me.

I reach over, take his hand in mine, and squeeze. "Seriously. Try to enjoy it, okay? Even if it's a shitshow."

He finally looks at me. "God, you're annoying."

"What the hell did I do" I say, and let out a half laugh.

"You just always know what to say. That's what i love about you"

He leans in and kisses me—slow, warm, grounding. That familiar calm spreads through me like heat from a fire.

"I am pretty great," I murmur when we break apart.

I rest my head on his shoulder. He slips his arm around my waist, and for a minute, everything feels still.

Until—

SLAM.

"Lip! Erin!"

Carl, Conner, and Lucas tumble out the back door like a stampede.

"What?" I ask, not moving from Lip's side.

"Kev and V just got here!" Carl says, bouncing on his heels.

"We'll be in soon," Lip calls back, barely glancing over.

But they linger.

"You guys gonna smooch again?" Lucas asks, nose scrunched.

"Why?" I laugh.

"'Cause you always kissin'. You kiss in the kitchen. You kiss in the hall. You kiss in the store."

"I like her face," Lip says flatly.

"Ew," Conner mutters.

"But kinda nice," Lucas adds. "I guess."

Carl snickers. "Bet they're gonna go upstairs and do weird stuff."

"Oh my god, go back inside!" I groan, burying my face in Lip's shoulder as I laugh.

The boys finally turn and barrel back inside, door slamming behind them.

Lip raises a brow. "Sneak away?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

⸻

Upstairs is quiet.

We barely make it to his room before we're all hands and mouths. Lip's fingers find skin under my shirt like he's trying to memorize every inch. His hoodie hits the floor. My shirt follows.

When we hit the mattress, it's all heat and breath and closeness. He moves slow, careful, like he's not just touching me—he's holding on.

When he slides into me, I feel everything else fall away.

"I love you," he whispers into my neck.

I don't say it back—I just pull him closer and let it mean everything.

⸻

After, we lie tangled under the blanket, breathless and warm.

"Think we've got ten minutes before someone comes knocking?" I mumble.

"I give us five," Lip mutters into my hair.

He's still half on top of me, hand resting on my stomach. I'm about to tell him to get up and find pants when—

Click.

The door creaks open.

"Hey, Fi said come get you—"

A pause. A beat of silence.

Then:

"NAKED BUTTS!!"

Lip freezes. I freeze.

Lucas stands in the doorway, eyes wide, little hand slapped over his face—but his fingers are spread.

"Oh my god, Lucas—OUT!" I yelp, diving for the blanket.

"YOU GOT NO CLOTHES!" he shrieks. "I SEEN LIP'S BOOTY!"

Lip scrambles to yank the blanket up. "Jesus—Lucas, GO!"

"I SAW ALL THE BOOTIES! TOO MUCH BOOTY!"

He spins in frantic circles before darting out and slamming the door behind him.

From the hallway:"LIP AND ERIN WERE NAKED! ON PURPOSE!!"

I groan, face buried in my hands.

Lip flops back onto the bed, red-faced. "Well, that's not going away."

I laugh so hard I almost choke. "You think he's scarred?"

"He's five. It's either trauma or bragging rights."

A shout echoes from the hall:"I SAW A BOOTY AND A BOOB!"

I wheeze, burying my face in Lip's chest.

"Maybe we just live up here now," I mumble.

He kisses my head. "We live here forever."

⸻

Downstairs, the chaos continues.

The table's packed—piles of food, too many people, and somehow every single child is wearing a turkey hat. The noise is deafening.

Lip and I sit, fingers intertwined under the table.

"I wanted to give a toast," Frank says, tapping his glass with a fork.

"Oh god," Lip mutters.

Frank stands. "I wanna thank everyone for gathering here today. All our friends, family, lovers... may we all get full, drunk, and have great sex!"

He downs his drink in one gulp.

Steve, thank god, brought an actual turkey. The eagle was spared—or at least buried discreetly.

"Can someone go get the knife for the meat?" Kev calls.

"I will," Monica chirps, standing up and disappearing into the kitchen.

From across the table, Lucas pipes up, "Erin, what's that on your neck?"

Lip glances at me and immediately cracks up.

"Well, Lucas," he says, smug, "that's a hickey."

"Is that why you guys were naked in Lip's bed?" Lucas asks, all innocence.

I laugh so hard I nearly spit out my drink.

"Debs, grab the salt from the kitchen and check on Monica, would you?" Fiona says.

Debbie skips off.

Ten seconds later, a scream cuts through the noise.

Everyone jumps.

Lip's out of his chair before anyone else. I'm right behind him.

We hit the kitchen at the same time.

Monica's on the floor.

Blood pours from her wrist. A knife lies beside her.

Steve's already at her side, yanking off his shirt to wrap her arm.

"Someone get me a fucking towel!" he yells.

Kev bolts.

"Come here," I whisper, pulling Conner and Lucas to me, turning their heads into my sides so they don't have to see.

Debbie's frozen beside Lip, eyes wide.

No one's crying—but the silence is worse. Fiona's on the phone with 911. Steve's muttering under his breath while V presses her hand over the bloody wrap.

"Monica," Lip whispers, crouching next to her. "Hey. Hey—keep your eyes open."

She's still conscious, barely.

"I didn't mean to ruin dinner," she mumbles, lips pale.

"You didn't," Lip says quietly. "You didn't ruin anything."

The sirens echo in the distance.

Frank finally stumbles into the kitchen, blinking at the scene. "What the hell—"

"Frank, shut up," Fiona snaps.

He does.

⸻

The paramedics come fast.

They load Monica onto a stretcher while Fiona gives the rundown. Steve rides with her. The rest of us stand in the front yard, coats thrown over pajamas, awkward and cold.

Lip's quiet.

When the ambulance pulls away, Fiona pulls him into a hug.

"She'll be okay," she says. "She's done worse."

He nods but doesn't answer.

I take his hand, fingers tight in mine.

We go back inside.

The food's cold. The turkey hats are off. Debbie's got Lucas on her lap now, whispering something about superheroes who wear capes and how brave he was.

Conner climbs onto the couch and pulls a blanket over his head.

The house is still full—but quiet. Like everyone's afraid to be too loud.

I glance at Lip.

He meets my eyes, then tugs me toward the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Fiona calls softly.

"Just upstairs for a minute," I say.

She nods.

We head up, not talking, not touching until the bedroom door clicks shut.

And then, slowly, Lip pulls me in.

Not for sex.

Just to hold me.

Just to be held.

⸻

Thanksgiving with the Gallaghers.

Nobody died.

That's the closest we get to a win.