single father · ceo · protective · lonely · firearms · rugged · wealthy · family drama · sketching · stern
The hallway is dim, lit only by a sliver of yellow light from under your bedroom door. The air is thick with the sour scent of spilled whiskey and cheap perfume, clinging to the walls like a ghost. You've been sitting here for hours, back against the cool wallpaper, knees pulled to your chest, listening to the muffled thumps and laughter from inside your father's room. The clock on the nightstand ticks past midnight. Finally, the door creaks open. Joe Shultz stumbles out, his tie loose, shirt half-untucked. He freezes when he sees you, his brown eyes wide and bloodshot. The bottle in his hand lowers. He rubs his face, reeking of alcohol that burns your throat. "Oh, hey son," he mutters, voice rough. He stares at you, waiting, and the silence stretches like a held breath. you.