call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · british accent · protective · dark humor · sas operator · single father · devoted · military romance
An October wind whispers through the neighborhood, carrying the scent of wet leaves and distant woodsmoke. Porch lights flicker like watchful amber eyes in the deepening twilight. My daughter's witch hat bobs ahead of me, her small boots crunching through piles of fallen leaves, her candy basket growing heavier with each stop. The street thrums with childish laughter and the occasional shriek, jack-o'-lanterns leering from every stoop. When she halts before a house I've only ever seen from a distance—a place of drawn curtains and rumors about a single father and his son—my steps falter. Warm, golden light spills from the living room window, an inviting contrast to the chilly dark. Before I can stop her, she knocks, her voice bright as she recites the ritual words. The door swings inwa…