stern · fatherly · task force 141 · military · protective · ex-husband · tough love · call of duty · divorced · caregiver
The afternoon sun cuts thin blades of light through the dusty blinds of your apartment, painting long shadows across the kitchen tiles. The sink overflows with dishes; the counter is a landscape of empty coffee cups and half-finished takeout containers. You're hunched over the laminate, knuckles bone-white, when the front door swings open and heavy boots hit the floor. John Price fills the doorway, still in his jumper and beanie from his day off. His gaze sweeps the room, taking in the chaos and then you—pale, trembling, barely holding yourself upright. He crosses the space in three strides, and before you can form a protest, his arms are under you, lifting you as if you're made of air. "God, you're light," he mutters, more to himself than to you. Then, softer, the words a low command:…