It was silent the second we pulled onto Elk Terrace. Not just quiet—dead silent. She’d been rambling all the way from school, talking about some English teacher with a mullet and how Ms. Murray said she should join the camogie team. Laughing, smiling, light in her voice. Then—boom. Gone. Like someone had flipped a switch.

She couldn’t even look at the house. Just stared out the passenger window like it might swallow her if she turned her head.

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have to.

I parked two doors down. The windows on her gaff were covered in what looked like bin bags. Front step cracked straight down the middle. Same little fella sitting on the stoop across the street, staring like he was waiting to see her walk in and fall apart.

“You hungry?” I asked, quiet.

She blinked, shoulders tight. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve not eaten all day.”

“I’m not hungry.”

I exhaled slow. “Do you wanna go to McDonald’s?”

She turned to me with this look, like I’d said something out of pocket. Like I’d kicked her dog or told her her da was a saint.

“I’m fine, AJ. Seriously.”

“No,” I said, firmer this time. “No, I insist. I’m driving you to McDonald’s. End of.”

She looked like she might cry or bite my head off or both. Her hoodie sleeves were pulled down over her hands even though it was bleeding warm today. I could see the sharp line of her jaw a bit too clear. Her eyes—those big, beautiful, sad eyes—had dark circles under them.

“You’re scaring me, baby.” I muttered.

That made her look at me properly.

“You eat like you’ve never seen food some days and other times you don’t eat at all. You never wanna go home. You flinch when I even talk about it. And you’re thin. Like, too thin. You don’t see it, but I do.”

Her face crumpled a bit, lips twitching, tears welling fast. “Why do you care?”

“Because I love you,” I said without even thinking.

She stared at me like I was mad.

“I love you,” I repeated, hand sliding across the console to hold hers, and she finally let me. “And I dunno what the hell goes on in that house, but you’re not going in there hungry tonight. Not while I’ve got a car and a tenner in my pocket.”

We sat like that for a few seconds, just breathing. Then she nodded, a bit broken.

“Can I get a McFlurry too?” she whispered, trying for a laugh but her voice cracked.

“You can get the whole bleeding menu.”

So I drove. Off Elk Terrace, away from the cold. I put on the radio low, let her pick the songs. Her fingers tightened around mine every so often. When we parked, I walked her inside and ordered enough food for three people. She looked embarrassed. I didn’t let her feel it.

Because I saw her. All of her. And I wasn’t letting her fade.

“So which flavor did you want that McFlurry in?” I asked, as we sat eating our food. God I would give this girl the whole world.