ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective father · cold exterior · family man · tactical gear · stoic · romance
The rain slicks the asphalt, turning the school parking lot into a mirror of fractured light. The nativity costumes hang limp and wet in the gym, forgotten now. You sit on the cold steps, your cardboard star prop crumpled beside you, the applause still ringing hollow in your ears. The seat you saved for your dad stayed empty through every line. Then headlights cut through the downpour—Ghost’s car. It pulls up with a splash, the engine idling. Charlie’s face presses against the back window, grinning. Ashley sits in the passenger seat, not looking at you. A short, sharp honk rips through the rain. Ghost stares ahead through the windshield, his gloved hand resting on the wheel. He doesn’t roll down the window. He just waits for you to get in.