Ray adjusted the strap of his duffel bag over his shoulder and stepped out of the college dorm for the last time that year. The air was thick with the scent of damp pavement and exhaust, the city pressing in on him as he made his way toward the bus station. It felt strange, leaving this place after nearly a year without a single trip home. He’d spent holidays on campus, buried himself in work and excuses, pushing off the inevitable return. But now, there was no reason to stay.

The bus station was exactly as he remembered it—grimy floors, flickering fluorescent lights, and the steady hum of people coming and going. He bought his ticket, slid into a seat near the window, and let his head fall back against the cool glass.

Home. It didn’t even feel real. Somehow a year away,living a separate life than his family made him feel like he'd been gone a decade.

His kid sister, Claire, would be different. Had to be. She was two years younger than him, which meant she’d just finished her first year of whatever high school had turned into in his absence. The last time he saw her, she was still all sharp edges and attitude, her mouth always curled into a smirk, always looking for the next argument. She had a way of getting under his skin like no one else—except maybe their dad. And now? Who knew?

Had she grown up? Smoothed out? Or was she still the same little menace who stole his hoodies and called him an idiot whenever he tried to give her advice?

The bus rattled to life beneath him, jerking forward onto the road that would take him back. He shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable, but his thoughts wouldn’t settle.

The trip dragged. Mile after mile of highway blurred past, the changing scenery barely registering. He kept his earbuds in, drowning out the chatter around him, but the closer he got, the heavier the weight in his chest grew. By the time the bus pulled into the last stop near his hometown, his hands felt clammy, his stomach twisted in knots.

He climbed off, blinking at the familiar streets, the small-town quiet settling around him like an old sweater that didn’t quite fit anymore. A few minutes later, he waved down a taxi, tossing his duffel into the backseat before sliding in.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

Ray hesitated for half a second before rattling off the address. It felt foreign on his tongue, like something he hadn't said out loud in a long time. The car lurched forward, winding through roads that had once been second nature but now seemed distant, unfamiliar.

And then, there it was. His childhood home.

The taxi rolled to a stop, tires crunching against the pavement. Ray sat for a moment, staring at the porch, the light above the front door casting a glow that felt too warm, too welcoming. It was the same house, the same door, the same place he’d left behind.

He took a breath, grabbed his bag, and stepped out of the car.

The house was quiet when he entered, the TV's muffled chuckles echoing from the living room. The door was unlocked—no surprise there. His parents had never been the type to change, even for a son who'd been gone for months. He kicked off his shoes and moved down the hallway, the carpet muffling his steps.

His dad looked up from the armchair, a beer in one hand and a remote in the other. "Ray," he grunted, more a greeting than a question.

"Hey, Dad," Ray managed, the word feeling forced.

The old man grunted again, his gaze drifting back to the TV. "Your mom's in the kitchen. Your sister's upstairs."

Ray nodded and headed that way, his heart hammering against his ribs. The kitchen was a mess of pots and pans, the smell of burnt meatloaf heavy in the air. "Hey, Mom," he called out, trying to keep his voice light.

His mother spun around, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Her eyes widened, and she dropped the towel. "Ray!" she gasped, rushing over to hug him.

Her embrace was tight, warm, and smelled faintly of garlic. It felt like the first genuine thing he’d felt in months. He hugged her back, his throat tight. "I'm home," he murmured.

"I can't believe it," she said, pulling away to look at him, her eyes misty. "You look so grown up."

Ray forced a smile. "Thanks, Mom."

"How was your first year?" she asked, her eyes searching his face.

Ray shrugged. "It was fine. Just fine," he said, the words feeling like a lie.

His mom's eyes searched his, looking for the truth behind the curtness. But she didn’t push it. "Good," she said softly, her hand lingering on his arm. "Your room's upstairs, just like you left it."

He nodded, swallowed hard, and headed for the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last. The walls were lined with photos of their family, frozen moments of time that didn't match the tumult in his chest. At the top of the stairs, he heard the faint murmur of a phone conversation coming from Claire's room.

The door was ajar, just enough for him to catch a glimpse of her. She sat on her bed, her legs crossed, one hand playing with her hair, the phone pressed to her ear. He couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was unmistakable—flirty, excited. He knew that tone.

He paused, his hand hovering over the door frame, listening. His heart began to race.

"So, Brad said he'll take me to the party tomorrow night," Claire was saying, her voice low and conspiratorial. "And everyone knows what happens at those parties." She giggled "Eeek! I can't believe he finally asked me out!"

Ray's blood turned to ice. The high school quarterback. His sister had been crushing on him for years. The thought of that cocky, muscle-bound jock touching his baby sister made his fists clench. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the rage was already bubbling up.

He crept closer to the door, his steps silent on the carpeted hallway. The conversation grew clearer, and his fists grew tighter.

"I know, I know," Claire whispered into the phone. "But I want to, you know? Lose it with someone who actually cares about me. And I think he finally does. Or, if not yet, he will after."

Ray's teeth ground together. Who was she talking to? A friend? Another guy? His mind raced with images of Brad's leering face, his hands on Claire's body, and suddenly he couldn't stand there and listen anymore. He pushed open the door, the hinges squeaking a little too loudly.

"What the hell?" She gasped, "Ray?" She looked up at him, all grown-up and furious. "Were you listening to my conversation? And what are you doing here, You're supposed to be at college!"

Ray stepped into the room, his jaw set. "I'm home for the weekend. And what the hell are you talking about?"

Claire's cheeks flushed scarlet, and she held the phone away from her ear, her eyes darting to the floor. "None of your business," she hissed.

Ray took another step into the room, his eyes narrowing. "It is my business," he said through gritted teeth, "if you're planning on having sex with that douche bag Brad Preavy!"

Her eyes widened, and she sat up straight. "What? That's none of your business!"

"The hell it isn't," Ray spat. "You're my sister, and I don't want you throwing yourself at the first jock who looks your way."

"Oh, like you're one to talk!" Claire shot back, her eyes flashing. "You've probably slept with half the college by now!"

The words stung, but Ray pushed the thought aside. "That's different," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I'm not some high school kid playing games with people's hearts. I'm talking about you, Claire. You're better than that."

Her eyes searched his, looking for the brother she used to know, the one who would laugh at her jokes and ruffle her hair. But she only found anger, a wall she hadn't anticipated. "What do you know about it?" she whispered.

"I know enough," he said, his voice tight. "I know that Brad, he's just like his older brother, a player. He'll use you and toss you aside like you're nothing."

Her eyes filled with tears, and she clutched the phone tighter. "Why do you care so much?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Ray took a deep breath, his fists slowly unclenching. "Because," he began, "I don't want you to get hurt. You're not ready for this."

Claire rolled her eyes, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, so now you're the big brother who knows what's best for me?"

Ray's jaw tightened. "I'm just looking out for you," he said firmly.

"Well, maybe I don't need you to," Claire retorted, her voice rising. "I've barely heard from you in a fuckin' year, Ray. I can make my own decisions."

Ray felt the words like a slap. He'd missed so much, and now she was shutting him out. He took a step back, trying to compose himself. "I'm just saying, be careful," he said, his voice softer now. "You don't know what you're getting into."

But Claire was already off the bed, her face flushed with anger. "You're not my dad, Ray," she snapped. "You don't get to tell me what to do!"

Their eyes locked, the air thick with unspoken tension. The silence stretched between them, heavy with the weight of his unspoken thoughts. He knew he had to leave before he said something he'd regret. With a sigh, Ray turned away and headed for his room.

As he lay in his old bed that night, the conversation replayed in his mind, the anger simmering. He couldn't shake the feeling of protectiveness that had surged through him. Claire was too good for some loser that might not even be gentle with her. And Brad? He was the last person she should trust with such a precious gift.

Ray tossed and turned, the anger giving way to something else—something darker, more possessive. He couldn't stand the thought of Brad taking something from her that no one else ever had. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair.

He waited until the house was quiet, his parents' snores echoing through the walls. Then, he slipped out of bed, the floorboards creaking under his weight. He made his way to Claire's room, his heart pounding in his chest.

The door was open a crack, the light from the moon spilling in, casting a silver glow over her sleeping form. He hovered for a moment, his hand on the knob, the gravity of what he was about to do weighing on him. But the anger, the need to protect her, to claim her, it was stronger.

He stepped into the room, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. Claire lay sprawled across her bed, one arm thrown over her eyes, her chest rising and falling with each deep breath. He could hear the faint murmur of her dreams, the sweet, innocent sounds of a girl who had no idea what was coming for her.

Ray's stomach churned. He'd never thought of her this way before. But now, as he looked at her, all he could see was Brad's hands on her, Brad's mouth on hers, Brad taking what should have been his. His sister's first time should be with someone who cared, someone who would treat her right. Someone like him.