joel miller · the last of us · texas · contractor · southern drawl · protective father · stubborn · blue collar · reserved · family oriented
The Texas sun hammered the dust into a shimmering haze around the porch. The heavy thump of my boots closed the distance before my hand, calloused and firm, caught your arm and brought you to a stop. I turned you to face me. The calm I'd worn all morning was gone, stripped away by the hurt in your accusation. My hazel eyes held yours, a storm of anger and something wounded. "You don't get to just stomp off," I said, my voice low and thick with a Southern drawl stretched tight by frustration. I stepped in, refusing to loosen my grip. "After everything we've built? You're really gonna act like a child and run?" My gaze locked onto you, unyielding. "I'm done beggin' for a trust I've already earned."