A few minutes later
The table was a mess—crumbs, syrup smears, half-drained mugs, and plates stacked like someone was preparing for a food fight. The kids had scattered in their usual post-meal chaos. Carl had bolted out back before anyone could give him chores, Debbie was upstairs with Liam, and Ian had gone to change for work. Lip had vanished without a word.
Fiona stayed behind, collecting empty plates, moving with quick, practiced hands.
Frank Jr. watched her for a second, leaning in the doorway. The morning light slanted through the kitchen window, catching the loose strands of her hair. She didn't look at him until the third plate was in the sink.
"Alright," she said, keeping her voice even, "what's your angle?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Angle?"
"Yeah." She rinsed a fork. "You disappear for two years, you come back talking about new rules, handling bills, no Frank allowed. That's a big swing from the guy who couldn't keep himself out of trouble for a week."
He smirked faintly, but it didn't stick. "Maybe I got tired of the old version of me."
"Uh-huh." She still wasn't looking at him. "You know how many times I've heard that from people around here? They say it, then the same crap happens again. You go right back to what you know."
"I'm not them," he said quietly.
That made her pause. She set the fork down and finally faced him. "Then who are you?"
For a moment, he didn't answer. The kitchen felt too still, like the noise of the house had muted just for them.
"I'm the guy who's done watching you run yourself into the ground," he said finally. "And yeah, I'm the guy who screwed off before and made it worse. But I'm also the guy who's here now—and I'm not going anywhere."
Her eyes narrowed a little, searching him for cracks. "This isn't a game, Frank. If you're saying you're gonna help, that means showing up. Every day. No disappearing, no excuses."
He stepped forward, closing the space between them. "I know. And I'm not gonna make you carry it alone anymore."
Something in her expression shifted—not fully trust, but not the same guarded skepticism from earlier.
She glanced down, then back up. "Alright. We'll see."
He let out a small breath, nodding. "Fair enough."
For a beat, they just stood there, the sound of running water the only thing filling the room.
Then Fiona shook her head, a hint of a smile tugging at her mouth. "You realize if you're taking over the bills, you've got about two days to figure out how we're not getting the gas shut off."
He grinned. "Good. I like a challenge."
She rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smirk. "Don't say I didn't warn you."
Fiona dried her hands on a towel and grabbed her bag from the chair. "Come on, let's get the kids moving before Carl finds a way to disappear again."
Frank Jr. followed her out to the front porch. The air was crisp, the sun climbing higher over the row of worn South Side houses. Debbie came down the steps with Liam in her arms, Ian trailed behind with his jacket half-zipped, and Carl was already halfway down the block kicking a rock like it owed him money.
They started the slow walk toward the corner, the kids shuffling more than striding. Fiona kept pace with Debbie, reminding her about something for school. Ian had earbuds in, eyes on the pavement. Frank Jr. hung back a little, watching them, his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets.
That's when he caught the movement out of the corner of his eye.
From the side of the house, Frank Sr. appeared—hair greasy, shirt wrinkled, eyes glassy but wide awake in that unpredictable way. He had that lazy shuffle that always seemed one step away from collapsing, and in his hand, he carried a half-empty bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag.
"Morning, family!" he called, like he was the guest of honor.
Fiona groaned without even turning around. "Not today, Frank."
"Every day's today!" Frank Sr. grinned, heading straight for the porch like it was his personal throne.
Frank Jr. stepped forward, planting himself in front of the steps before the man could make it halfway up.
"Nope," he said flatly.
Sr. blinked at him, then grinned wider. "Well, look who's all grown up and blocking doorways. What's the problem? Can't a man visit his own home?"
"This isn't your home," Frank Jr. said, voice steady. "And you're not coming in drunk."
Sr.'s grin twitched into a smirk. "Drunk? Please. This is breakfast." He lifted the bottle like it was proof of innocence.
Fiona stopped with the kids at the edge of the sidewalk, looking back. "Frank—"
"Go," Jr. said without looking at her. "Get them to school."
She hesitated, eyes narrowing. "You sure?"
"Yeah. I'll handle this."
For a second, it looked like she might argue, but then she turned back to the kids. "Alright, let's go. Move it."
Carl, clearly disappointed he was missing a potential fight, dragged his feet. Ian kept glancing back, but eventually they all turned the corner with Fiona at the lead.
That left the two Franks facing each other on the porch.
"You've got some nerve," Sr. said, squinting. "Two years gone and suddenly you're the gatekeeper?"
"Yeah," Jr. said, taking a slow step forward. "Because I'm not letting you walk in and make a mess of this place again. Not with them in there."
Sr. chuckled, shaking his head like he'd just been told a bad joke. "You think you're better than me now? You think you can just stand there and judge me?"
Jr. didn't blink. "I don't have to judge you. I've already seen what happens when you run the show. Not happening again."
Sr.'s eyes flickered, something sharp in them for just a second before the smirk returned. "Well… looks like you and me are gonna have a lot to talk about."
"Not today," Jr. said, stepping to the side and pointing down the steps. "Go sober up. Then maybe we'll talk."
Sr. stared at him, weighing whether to push it. Then, with a lazy shrug, he turned and wandered off toward the street, muttering under his breath.
Jr. watched until the man was out of sight, then glanced toward the corner where Fiona and the kids had disappeared. He let out a quiet breath and stepped back inside, the house feeling heavier but cleaner without Frank Sr.'s shadow hanging over it.