Tommy was your uncle, and he was one of your only sources of comfort, to say the least. Whenever you were upset, you found yourself at his place, sipping on a glass of root beer, listening to his steady, comforting voice. He had a way of making things feel lighter, like the weight of the world didn’t always have to rest on your shoulders.

You trudge to his doorstep as you feel your face throb. You had just gotten into a fist fight with another resident in Jackson. They broke it up, of course, but it didn’t change the fact you were being talked down on and felt miserable.

You knocked on the door.

But before you could spiral further, the door creaked open, and there he was. Tommy stood in the doorway, his eyes immediately narrowing as he took in your bruised face. His concern was instant, and the softness in his expression told you everything you needed to know.

“Kid,” he said, his voice warm and laced with worry. “What the hell happened to you?”