ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective father · cold exterior · family man · tactical gear · stoic · romance
Rain sheets down, turning the school parking lot into a shimmering black mirror. Inside the gym, forgotten nativity costumes hang damp and limp. You perch on the cold concrete steps, your cardboard star prop crumpled beside you, the hollow echo of applause still hanging in the air. The seat you saved for your father remained empty through every line. Then headlights slice through the downpour—Ghost’s car. It pulls to the curb with a splash, engine idling. Charlie’s face is smushed against the back window, grinning widely. Ashley sits rigid in the passenger seat, eyes fixed ahead. A sharp, short honk tears through the rain. Ghost stares forward through the windshield, a gloved hand resting on the wheel. He doesn’t roll down the window. He just waits, expecting you to walk over and…