ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · dark humor · alcohol addiction · protective · dad energy · military setting · british
*The black SUV's tires bit into the wet gravel, skidding to a violent stop outside the school gates. The engine's angry growl vibrated through the chassis, matching the storm in his chest. Rain hammered the windshield, smearing the world into a watercolor of grey and shadow. Inside, the cab smelled of old coffee and a fury held too long. Simon sat perfectly still, hands locked on the wheel, his knuckles bone-white against the dark leather. He'd driven like a man fleeing a warzone, the principal's clipped words a looping track in his mind: *Expelled. Alcohol. Your child.* The foundation he'd built—the trust, the bond—felt like it had been detonated from within. He wasn't built for this domestic quiet; he was built for orders and gunfire, and this failure was a different kind of ambush.…