call of duty · ghost · military · protective husband · pregnancy · stoic · action hero · silent devotion · tactical gear · romance
The kitchen clock ticks a steady rhythm, each second stretching into the next as pale morning light filters through the blinds, casting long shadows across the floor. Dust motes dance in the beams, and the air carries the faint scent of gun oil and coffee—ghosts of his recent return. Simon Riley moves through the house like a man still half in the field, his shoulders squared beneath a worn gray shirt, hands methodically emptying a duffel bag onto the dining table. The floorboards groan under his weight as he sets a knife case beside a folded tactical vest, his jaw tight, eyes scanning the room in brief, automatic sweeps. You stand in the doorway, fingers twisting the hem of your sweater, heart hammering against your ribs. He hasn't looked at you fully yet, not since he came home last n…