7

Christmas had come and gone.

Conner and Lucas had a great day, and that made me happy. Genuinely happy. They tore through presents, ate cookies for breakfast, and spent the evening next door at the Gallaghers, laughing with Carl and Debbie like they didn't have a care in the world.

But I couldn't stop thinking about that picture Lip gave me.

I must've stared at it for hours yesterday—me and the boys, caught mid-laugh at some cookout, and Lip in the background, looking at us like we were the only thing that mattered. Like he loved us.

And maybe he did. Or does.

But he ruined that. The second he butt-dialed me, the second Amanda was in his bed, the second they had sex—whatever he felt disappeared under that.

All of it went away.

And now I don't know how I'm supposed to feel.

Do I have the right to be mad? Yes. I think I do. But then why do I miss him when it's quiet? Why do I still feel that ache in my chest when I remember his voice?

Should I forgive him and just act like none of this happened?

No. I can't. Because if I'm going to let someone close again, I need to trust them. And I don't know if I can trust him anymore. Not fully.

The house was clean for once. Quiet too. Lucas couldn't do much with the cast on, but he did what he could—stacking his new Legos carefully on the coffee table, watching movies, coloring with Conner. The two of them had finally crashed after lunch, sprawled out on the living room rug, mouths open, limbs tangled together in sleep.

I slipped out the front door and sat on the steps.

The snow was starting to melt, but the air was still sharp enough to bite at my nose. The street was mostly quiet—just the sound of someone's radio in the distance and Carl yelling something about a snowball launcher from the other side of the block.

I pulled my knees to my chest and just sat there, hands tucked into my sleeves, breath fogging up in front of me.

Then I heard footsteps crunching on the sidewalk.

I didn't look up right away. But I knew it was him.

Lip.

He slowed when he reached the gate, like he wasn't sure if he should keep going or not.

"Hey," he said finally.

"Hey," I replied without looking at him.

He hesitated. "Can I sit?"

I nodded toward the step beside me.

He sat, rubbing his hands together, exhaling like it was taking effort to stay still.

"Boys okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said. "Sleeping now. I think they finally crashed from the sugar high."

He smiled a little. "They had a good Christmas."

"They did."

We sat in silence for a while, watching the street. Someone's wind chimes clinked gently on the porch across the road. A dog barked somewhere far off.

Lip shifted beside me.

"I go back tomorrow," he said, voice quiet.

I looked over at him. His face was still a little pale from the cold, his nose red. "Back to school?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Just for the rest of break. I've been putting off this lab work... figured I should try to get ahead."

I nodded, letting that settle in. The idea of him being far away again made my stomach twist, and I hated that it still did.

"You're actually going?" I asked.

"Yeah. Trying to, anyway."

"Good." I meant it, even if it hurt to say.

He looked over at me, eyes searching. "I wasn't sure if I should come by. I just... I didn't want to leave without saying something."

"What would you even say?"

He let out a breath. "I don't know. I'm sorry? Again. I miss you? Still. That I understand why you don't trust me. That I'm not asking you to forget it happened—I just hope maybe... someday, you'll remember something good, too."

My throat tightened, but I didn't say anything right away.

I looked down at the step between us. Our knees weren't even touching, but it felt like we were too close anyway.

"I remember the good stuff," I said quietly. "That's the problem."

He nodded.

Another long silence.

"I'm not ready," I said finally. "I don't know when I will be."

"I'll wait," he said simply. "As long as it takes."

"I'm not promising anything."

"I'm not expecting anything."

We sat like that a while longer, just watching the light fade from the sky.

No big speeches. No dramatic kiss. Just the kind of quiet where things still felt possible, even if we weren't there yet.The Next Morning

It was still dark when I woke up.

The kind of early that felt like the world was still asleep, the sky that deep, purplish gray before the sun even thinks about rising.

I moved quietly through the kitchen, careful not to wake the boys. Lucas was on the couch again, his leg propped up. Conner had curled up next to him sometime during the night, one hand still gripping his new LEGO guy.

I made coffee and stood by the window, the mug warming my hands while I stared out into the street.

I wasn't expecting him to say goodbye.

I figured he'd just go. That was kind of how things worked with Lip—fast exits, half-finished thoughts. But still, a part of me kept watching the sidewalk like maybe I'd catch a glimpse of him.

And then I did.

He was walking with his bag slung over one shoulder, hoodie up, head low like he didn't want to draw attention. But he paused at the edge of the Gallagher yard and looked up at our place. At my window.

He didn't wave. Just stood there for a beat.

Then he kept walking.

I didn't move. Didn't open the door. Didn't call his name.

But it hurt anyway.

⸻

Later that morning, after the boys woke up and demolished what was left of the cinnamon rolls, I wandered next door with a tray of leftovers and an excuse to not think too hard.

Fiona was sitting at the kitchen table, barefoot and sipping from a chipped mug. She looked tired, but it was that post-holiday tired—satisfied, maybe. She nodded toward the chair across from her.

"Sit," she said. "You look like you need coffee and a minute."

I handed her the tray. "You got both?"

She smirked. "Always."

I sat down, curling my fingers around the mug she slid to me. The warmth helped. A little.

"He left, didn't he?" Fiona asked gently.

I didn't answer right away. Just nodded and stared into the steam.

"You see him go?"

"Yeah."

"You talk yesterday?"

"Kind of."

She waited. Didn't push.

"I'm mad," I said finally. "I'm still so mad."

"You should be."

"But I miss him too."

Fiona nodded like she understood all of it. "That doesn't go away just because he messed up."

I looked at her. "You think I'm being stupid for holding back?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I think you're being smart. You got kids to protect. A heart that already took some hits. You're allowed to want more than someone showing up with sad eyes and half-promises."

I swallowed hard.

"But," she added, "Lip's not all bad. He's just... broken in the way people around here get broken. Doesn't mean he doesn't love you."

My throat tightened. "That's the thing. I know he does."

"Then it's just about whether you can live with what he did."

I blinked fast, looking down at the mug in my hands.

"I want to trust him again," I said. "I just don't know if I can."

"Then don't rush it. Let him show you, not just say it. Lip doesn't do a lot of things right, but if he means something, he'll fight for it. Even if it's messy."

We sat in silence for a bit.

"Thanks," I said finally.

"For the coffee?"

"For not telling me what to do."

Fiona smirked. "That's the job, isn't it? Big sister to all the broken girls on this block."

I gave her a small smile. "You're not so broken."

She raised her brows. "Wanna bet?"

And for the first time that day, I laughed.

Just a little.

But it helped.