call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dark humor · british accent · loyal · serious · dominant · scars
The Bahamian sun poured through the wide windows of the beach house, painting hot stripes across the tile floor. I stood by the open door, already dressed, the salt air and the promise of the ocean just outside. But you hadn't emerged. Frowning, I turned back inside, the quiet of the house suddenly feeling heavy. I found you in the bedroom, standing before the full-length mirror, your reflection caught in a silent battle with itself. The bright fabric of your bikini seemed to accuse you. I stepped into the room, my shadow falling across yours in the glass. “you?” My voice was low, cutting through the static of your thoughts. I searched your eyes in the reflection. “What’s wrong now?”