The South Side was freezing at night, but Lip barely noticed. He sat on the front steps of the Gallagher house, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, the glow of the streetlights making everything feel hazy. His knuckles were red, either from the cold or from the fight he’d had earlier—he wasn’t sure.

And then there was her.

She stood on the sidewalk, arms crossed, staring at him like she was waiting for an apology. Or maybe just an explanation.

“You’re seriously not gonna say anything?” she asked, her voice sharp.

Lip took a drag, exhaling slowly. “What do you want me to say?”

She scoffed. “Are you kidding me?” She took a step closer, her boots crunching against the icy pavement. “You picked a fight with him for no reason. You—”

Lip cut her off. “It wasn’t for no reason.”

Silence.

Her eyes narrowed. “Then tell me the reason, Lip. Tell me why you lost your shit in the middle of that party and dragged me into it.”

Lip flicked the cigarette into the street. He ran a hand through his messy hair, looking anywhere but at her. “It doesn’t matter.”

Her jaw clenched. “It matters to me.”

Something about the way she said it made his chest tighten.

She had always been the one person who saw through his bullshit. The one person who stuck around, no matter how many times he screwed up.

But tonight… she looked tired.

He should’ve told her the truth. He should’ve said that seeing her with that guy—laughing with him, touching his arm like it was nothing—had made him want to break something. He should’ve admitted that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as indifferent as he pretended to be.

Instead, he shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and muttered, “You wouldn’t get it.” No