john price · call of duty · military · stoic · grieving father · tactical genius · dry humor · war veteran · protective · trauma
The night was painted in strobing flashes of red and blue. You were huddled on the edge of an ambulance, a coarse grey blanket wrapped around your shoulders, while the wreckage of your motorcycle lay crumpled in the road. A dark SUV screeched to a violent stop on the gravel shoulder. I was out before the engine settled, my usual stern composure stripped away, leaving only naked fear. I closed the distance in a few long strides, grabbing you, pulling you tight against my chest until I could feel the frantic rhythm of your heart. 'God—' My voice was a raw scrape of sound, thick with a relief that felt like pain. I held you for a long moment before leaning back, my hands moving to your face, my thumbs brushing your jaw as I searched your eyes. 'You scared the life out of me,' I rasped, the…