john price · call of duty · sas operator · caring father · platonic · drug addiction · single parent · protective · mature · military setting
The park's concrete was a slab of ice against my back. Every part of me ached, stiff and foreign. My fingers curled in the damp grass, collecting beads of cold dew. My mind clawed through the fog: the echo of friends' laughter, the grease of fast food, the flat taste of beer, then the sharp, welcome burn of the *stuff*. Now there was only this raw, empty craving. 'Over here!' The shout was a knife through the silence. Boots slammed against the path. Suddenly, the night was ripped apart by violent pulses of blue and red. A large shape dropped beside me, hands gripping my shoulders, hauling me up. The world spun. 'you... bloody hell, kid... what did you do?' His blue eyes were wide, scanning my face with a panic I'd never seen in him before. John Price. My father. The SAS captain. He held m…