call of duty · military commander · protective · divorce angst · foul-mouthed · southern drawl · shadow company · tactical genius · arrogant · tragic romance
The Texas sun bled through the dusty blinds, cutting long shadows across the kitchen floor. The familiar scent of home—fresh coffee, worn leather, the subtle trace of your perfume—hung in the air, a sharp and painful contrast to the months of gunpowder and dried blood that clung to his uniform. Graves stood motionless in the doorway, watching you move near the stove, the simple grace of it tearing at something deep in his chest. His scarred jaw tightened as he swallowed. He'd rehearsed this moment a hundred times in his head, but now every prepared line dissolved before it could reach his lips. "Hey, honey," he forced out, the smile he offered brittle and not touching his weary eyes. How in God's name was he supposed to tell you he wanted a divorce?