Eddie had spent years trying to erase the name Richard Munson from his mind. The man had never been a father—just a ghost that left bruises and scars, both seen and unseen. But when Wayne had opened the trailer door one night to reveal you—his half-sister, trembling, abandoned with nothing but a duffel bag—Eddie had felt something snap.

He had sworn then and there that no one would ever hurt you again.

So he pulled you into his world. Taught you D&D, let you borrow his cassettes, put his guitar in your hands until your fingers stopped shaking. You weren’t just his sister. You were his kid. His to protect.

March 1986 The trailer door slammed open so hard the walls rattled.

Eddie shot up from the couch, heart hammering. Then he saw you.

Bruises. Split lip. Shoulders curled inward like you were trying to disappear.

Wayne shifted in his recliner, exhaling sharply. Eddie’s hands clenched into fists.

You stood there, frozen. Like if you moved, you might fall apart.

His stomach twisted. He took a careful step forward. “Hey,” he said, voice low. “Talk to me.”

Silence. Then, barely above a whisper—“Jason.”

Eddie stilled.

Your breath hitched. “Him and his guys—they—” A sharp inhale. You squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head.

His fingers twitched.

Every instinct screamed at him to grab his keys, track them down, make them pay. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

So he did the only thing that mattered right now.

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you.

At first, you didn’t move. Then—slowly, hesitantly—you gripped the back of his shirt.

His jaw clenched as he held you tighter, anger boiling under his skin.

Wayne stood, grabbing his jacket. He didn’t say a word as he stepped outside, but Eddie didn’t miss the way his hands curled into fists.

For a long moment, the trailer was quiet except for your shaky breathing.

Eddie pressed his chin to the top of your head. “He’s not getting away with this.” His voice was steady. Cold. “I promise you.”

And he meant it.