HARD TIMES ━ lip gallagher²

08 | aunt oopie

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"IAN WANTS ME TO go on a run with him," Mickey stated, coming down the stairs with a scowl. "What kind of fucking psycho wants to run in this weather?"

"Or in general," Amara added, grinning at the redhead who turned to glare at her. "Good morning to you too."

"Does your child always cry?" Mickey demanded, angrily pouring himself a cup of coffee once Freddie started to wail from upstairs. "He has great lungs. Been doing it all night."

"Oh, trust me I'm aware," Amara replied, searching the fridge. "Is there literally no food? Where did it all go?"

"Shouldn't you be worried about the screaming infant?" Ian quipped, reaching over her to grab milk, which he then lifted the cap off to smell.

"Nah," she smirked. "Lip can get him. You know what I could go for?"

"A shower?"

Amara threw a stale piece of bread at Mickey's head. "No, asshole. Pancakes."

"Made the last of em yesterday," Debbie said as she walked into the kitchen. "We need to go grocery shopping."

"I have work later today so not it," she called. "Fuck it, I'll just go to Patsy's. Nobody tell Fi."

Mickey hopped off the stool. "You driving?"

Amara cocked a brow, way to invite yourself, she thought. But that was Mickey, he gave zero shits and did what he pleased, and that included inviting himself to breakfast. Then again, she didn't know if she necessarily minded. "Yeah."

"I'll come too," Ian chimed in. Oh, great, she sighed inwardly. There's two of them.

Amara rolled her eyes. "Anyone else?"

"Yeah, can you get me hashbrowns?" Lip asked, appearing at the bottom of the steps with a grin. He briefly kissed her cheek as Ian snickered at her expression. "Thanks."

She tossed her purse over her shoulder as she Mickey and Ian started towards the front of the house. She watched as he casually threw his arm around the brunette once they were outside. "Let's get some fucking flapjacks."

"They're pancakes," Amara kicked her leg at him. "And I'm not being a third wheel so if you don't-"

"Ian Gallagher?" A police officer approached them at the front gate. The trio stopped mid-step. "Mikhailo Milkovich?"

Amara couldn't help but snort out loud at the use of Mickey's full name, but it was barely audible over the sound of the fence rattling. She did a double-take, realizing that he had bolted and he was out of sight within seconds.

Ian sighed, and she had to duck her head to hide the fact that she was laughing. "Yeah, I'm Ian Gallagher. Can I help you, officer?"

"Got some bad news for you," he told them, Amara pursed her lips into a flat line and looked up from the sidewalk. "Your PO was found dead this morning."

Ian's brows shot up. "Paula's dead?"

"Fell out of a third-floor window," the officer went on. "Detectives want you both to come down to the station today. Make statements."

Ian shared a look with Amara. "Why? We didn't know anything about that."

"Whenever a PO dies, detectives interview all the parolees. Especially if the death was suspicious."

"Suspicious?" Ian repeated. Amara ran a hand through her hair.

"Well, people usually open a window before they jump out of it," the officer turned to head back to his car. "See you at the station. Bring Milkovich."