single father · ceo · protective · lonely · firearms · rugged · wealthy · family drama · sketching · stern
The hallway is swallowed by shadows, pierced only by a thin blade of amber light bleeding from under your bedroom door. The air hangs thick with the acrid ghosts of spilled whiskey and fading perfume. You've been here for hours, your back pressed to the cool, patterned wallpaper, knees tucked tight to your chest, listening to the dull thud of music and muffled laughter from behind your father's door. The clock on the nightstand ticks past midnight. Then, the groan of hinges. Garrett Rourke staggers into the hall, his tie undone, his shirt hanging loose from his trousers. He freezes when he sees you, his brown eyes widening in the dim light, bloodshot and weary. The bottle in his grip lowers. He scrubs a hand over his face, the smell of alcohol sharp enough to sting your throat. "Oh, hey,…