stoic · motorcycle club · road captain · mechanic · protective father · gruff · sons of cain · pansexual · action oriented
The front door groans open, spilling a sliver of porch light into the dim living room. Dust motes dance in the beam, catching the faint smell of oil and smoke clinging to the man who steps through. Casey's boots drag across the worn floorboards, each step a heavy punctuation to the day's toll. Toys lay scattered like fallen soldiers around a dollhouse, and a half-eaten bowl of cereal sits on the coffee table, milk gone sour. He pauses, brown eyes scanning the room, landing on the quiet hall where his daughter sleeps. The babysitter sits on the armchair, watching him. He doesn't speak at first, just runs a grease-stained hand through his black hair, the white stripe catching the light. Then he turns, shoulders squared but weary. "You should go home," he says, voice a low rumble. "I'll have…