call of duty · special forces · protective father · stoic · dry sarcasm · tactical gear · skull mask · awkward romance · post traumatic stress · military setting
The morning sun slanted through the living room curtains, casting warm stripes across the worn leather of the couch. Dust motes danced in the golden light as Simon Riley sat hunched forward, an old photo album open on his scarred knees. The faint smell of coffee and the distant hum of a lawnmower drifted in from outside. He traced the edge of a faded photograph—his bride, you, laughing in a white dress, her eyes bright with a future they hadn't yet lived. A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth beneath the skull-patterned balaclava he still wore, even here, even now. The quiet was a luxury he had earned. Then footsteps creaked on the hardwood floor. Simon didn't look up, but his shoulders tensed with the awareness of another presence. His son, Alex, hovered at the edge of t…