The living room was thick with quiet, only the hum of the old heater filling the space. Debbie rocked Liam in her arms, Carl kept pacing by the window, restless as ever, and Fiona stayed perched near Ian, her hand steady with the ice pack.
Francis lingered by the doorway, his head lowered, still listening to the faint thuds from the basement. He took a long breath through his nose, then finally turned toward the room. His eyes landed on Lip and Ian.
"Alright," Francis said, his voice calm but firm. "Both of you. Get up."
The boys looked at each other, confused. Lip slouched deeper into the couch. "For what?"
"Just get up."
Ian groaned, pressing the pack harder against his nose as he pushed to his feet. Lip followed reluctantly, dragging his sneakers across the floor. Francis nodded toward the kitchen. "In there."
Fiona narrowed her eyes. "What are you doing?"
"Talking to them," Francis answered, no edge in his tone, just flat honesty. "That's all."
Fiona hesitated but let it go. She stayed with the younger kids while Francis guided the boys into the kitchen. The old light buzzed overhead, and the table was cluttered with cups and crumbs from earlier. Francis leaned against the counter, arms folded.
He looked at them for a long moment, his expression somewhere between tired and thoughtful. Then he let out a short chuckle and shook his head. "This is all about that Karen girl, isn't it?"
Lip's smirk twitched at the corner, but he didn't deny it. Ian gave a slow nod, careful with his nose.
"Figures," Francis muttered, running a hand through his hair. He looked at Lip, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "That girl is trouble, you know that."
Lip tried to play it off, shrugging. "I've heard worse."
Francis's smile grew, but there was no humor in it. "Lip, listen. I know I can't tell you to stay away from her—you're too damn stubborn for that. But take my advice: don't get too attached. Girls like Karen? They burn everything around them sooner or later."
Lip's jaw tightened, but he didn't say anything. He just kept his eyes low, arms crossed.
Francis turned to Ian then. He exhaled, tapping the counter lightly with his fingers. "And you. Look, I know you're gay. Don't see the reason why you should be, but I'm not calling you out for it. What you do with that is on you. But, Ian—you've got a future. A real one. I don't want you throwing it away."
Ian blinked at him, stunned. He swallowed hard but didn't interrupt.
"You keep talking about the Army," Francis went on, his voice steady, clear. "But don't rush. You don't need to dive headfirst just to prove yourself. Finish high school. Reach the right age. Do your ROTC training properly. You do that, and you can get into West Point. Straight shot. Clean. No bullshit shortcuts."
Ian shifted uncomfortably, lowering the ice pack. "West Point's expensive."
"Don't worry about that," Francis said quickly, almost cutting him off. "I've got it handled. Lip'll help you where you're struggling in school, and for the money—I'll cover it. I just bought the Alibi Room. I've got other plans lined up too. By the time you're ready to apply, I'll make sure everything's set."
Ian stared at him, the disbelief plain on his face. "You'd really do that?"
Francis gave him a small nod. "Yeah. I would."
For a moment, the room went quiet. Lip scratched at the table edge, restless, and Ian looked down at his hands like he didn't know what to say. Francis watched them both, his chest heavy but his voice steady.
"And Lip," Francis said finally, turning back to him. "You're not sticking around here forever either. You're going to college. No objections."
Lip let out a humorless laugh. "College? We don't have the money for—"
"I said no objections," Francis cut in, sharper now. "That's final. I mean it. You're too smart to rot in this neighborhood. You've been carrying half this family since you were thirteen, but you're not gonna end up like Frank. Not on my watch."
Lip's mouth opened, ready to argue, but Francis's stare pinned him down. The words died before they left his throat.
Francis leaned forward, his voice softer now, almost tired. "Carl, Debbie, Liam—they're gonna look up to us whether we want them to or not. Fiona and I—we missed our shot. We messed up, stumbled, got stuck here. But we're getting back on our feet. Slowly. You two? You still have a shot. A real one. And I'll be damned if I let you fail the way we did."
Ian and Lip both lowered their eyes. Neither said a word. The only sound was the faint hum of the fridge, steady and low.
Francis rubbed at his jaw, then let out a slow breath. "I'm not asking you to be perfect. I'm not asking you to carry the whole world. Just… don't waste what you've got. I'll deal with Frank. I'll deal with the money. You focus on your future. That's all I want."
Lip shifted, his voice quiet, almost reluctant. "You really think I can get out?"
Francis gave a half-smile, tired but genuine. "I don't think. I know."
Ian glanced at Lip, then back at Francis. He still held the ice pack, but there was a faint spark in his eyes now. "And West Point? You'll back me on that?"
Francis nodded once. "Every step."
The silence stretched again, heavier this time, but not as suffocating. Lip leaned back against the counter, his arms loosening from their tight fold. Ian pressed the pack against his face again, but his breathing had steadied.
Francis straightened, patting the table lightly before heading toward the doorway. "Alright. That's it. Go sit with the others. Let Fiona fuss over you for a while. Don't give her a hard time."
Ian gave a small nod. Lip hesitated, then muttered under his breath, "Thanks."
Francis didn't turn back, but a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He pushed the door open and stepped back into the living room.
The kids looked up immediately, like they'd been waiting. Fiona raised her eyebrows, silently asking if things were under control. Francis gave her a small nod.
Carl finally spoke up, impatient. "So what'd you say to them?"
Francis glanced at him, then down at Debbie and Liam. He crouched a little, meeting their eyes with a faint grin. "Just told them the truth. That we're gonna do better. All of us."
Debbie tilted her head, confused. "Better how?"
Francis looked around the room, at the worn furniture, the peeling wallpaper, the kids piled together in a house too small for all their weight. His smile softened, faint but sure.
"You'll see," he said simply.
And for once, the room didn't feel heavy with Frank's shadow. Just quiet. Just steady.
The sound of chains rattled faintly below, but Francis didn't flinch. He just stood there, in the middle of his family, and for the first time in a long time—it felt like maybe, just maybe, things could shift.