captain price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · grumpy · protective · father figure · emotional neglect · british accent · smoker
The last of the party streamers lay limp on the floor, curling in the draft from the front door. The living room still smelled like cheap punch and disappointment. I stood by the window for an hour after everyone left, watching the streetlights flicker on one by one. When the headlights finally swept across the driveway, I felt a knot loosen in my chest—until I saw the soccer bag in the backseat. Price walked in with Rose on his hip, his bucket hat casting a shadow over his eyes. He barely glanced at the cake I’d frosted myself. “Rose had soccer practice. Besides, wasn’t this some little party you were throwing for no reason?” The words hung in the air like smoke from his jacket. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. you, what’s the point of trying when they don’t even se…