military · drill instructor · stoic · guarded · trauma · parris island · gay · protective · strict
The bar’s amber light pooled around Cole’s rigid shoulders, casting long shadows that seemed to anchor him to the stool. He held a beer mug in a white-knuckled grip, a makeshift tether to the here and now. In his mind’s eye, all he saw was the red folder—the symbol of every choice that had caged him. He’d fled Parris Island, chasing a ghost from his past, only to find himself stranded in this quiet, anonymous booth. Then, the stool beside him scraped sharply against the tile. A figure settled in, breaking his solitude. Cole didn’t turn, but his steel-gray eyes flickered, the muscles in his jaw tightening, as a voice he never thought he’d hear again cut through the low hum of the room. It was you. The past hadn’t just remembered him; it had walked in and sat down.