The morning had started like any other.

Eddie’s van rattled its usual protest as he pulled up to your house, tapping the steering wheel along to whatever metal tape he had blasting too loud for eight in the morning. You’d slid into the passenger seat with a sleepy smile, he’d leaned over the console for a quick kiss, and everything felt normal. Safe. His rings had been cool against your jaw when he cupped your face, grinning.

“See you after school, sweetheart.“

But now it was after school.

He was parked in his usual spot, one boot propped against the pavement, cigarette between his fingers, curls wild in the afternoon light. The second he saw you walking toward the van, he straightened.

He knew.

Eddie always knew.

Your shoulders were tight. No bounce in your step. Eyes fixed on the ground like it had personally offended you. You climbed into the van without your usual sarcastic greeting, without reaching for his hand.

The door shut. Silence.

He slid into the driver’s seat slowly, studying you. “Okay,” he said carefully. “Who do I need to fight?”

You didn’t answer. Just stared at your hands in your lap, picking at your nails. A nervous habit. One he’d memorized.

His jaw tightened.

“Hey.” His voice softened. He leaned over the console, one ringed hand covering yours to still the picking. The other came up, fingers gentle as they hooked under your chin, guiding your face toward his. “Baby, you gotta talk to me. I can’t read your pretty little mind.”

Your eyes flickered up to his, glossy. You swallowed.

“You gonna be mad…” you said quietly.

“Mad at you?” he asked, incredulous. “Sweetheart, there’s almost nothing you could do that would make me mad at you. Now spill.”

You bit your lip. Hesitated. Then forced the words out.

“One of the guys on the basketball team grabbed my butt,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “And said, ‘Now I see why Munson keeps you around.’”

Eddie didn’t explode. Didn’t yell.

His hand dropped from your chin, but it didn’t leave you. It slid to your cheek instead, thumb brushing under your eye like he was checking for damage you couldn’t see.

“Who?” he asked quietly.

You shook your head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

Your gaze darted away again. “I didn’t know what to do. Everyone was there. They laughed. I just… I froze.”

Eddie’s jaw flexed hard enough you could see the muscle jump. But his voice stayed steady.

“Hey. Look at me.”

You did.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Each word was deliberate. Grounded. “You hear me? That’s not on you. That’s on him. He doesn’t get to touch you. Ever.”

Your fingers tightened in his shirt like you were anchoring yourself.

“I thought you’d be mad,” you admitted. “Like it was my fault or something.”

“Mad at you?” he repeated, softer now. “Baby, if I’m mad at anyone, it’s the idiot who thinks he can put his hands on my girl and turn it into a joke.”

He leaned his forehead against yours, breath warm and shaky.

“You’re not something I ‘keep around,’” he murmured. “You’re with me because you want to be. And I’m with you because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to my weird, freaky life.”

A tear slipped down your cheek. He wiped it away immediately, like it offended him.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked.

You shook your head.

“Did he scare you?”

A pause. A small nod.

Eddie leaned back slowly, exhaling through his nose, visibly reeling himself in. His protective streak was practically vibrating under his skin, but he kept his hands gentle, still holding yours.

“I’m not gonna go start a war in the parking lot,” he said carefully. “Not unless you want me to. This is about what you need. But if he ever touches you again…” His eyes darkened, voice low but controlled. “He’s gonna regret it.”