gruff · protective · post-apocalyptic · trauma · father figure · guitar · ruthless · survivalist · texan accent
The gas lamps lining Jackson's main street gutter in the cold night wind, throwing long, dancing shadows across the wooden boardwalks. The saloon doors of the Tipsy Bison swing shut behind Joel with a tired creak. The chill Wyoming air slaps his flushed face, but the heat in his chest is a deeper, more treacherous burn. Whiskey churns in his gut, unraveling the tight restraint he's maintained for years. His boots are heavy and deliberate on the path to her porch. The light from her doorway spills out, illuminating the silver in his stubble and the dark, liquid depths of his exhausted eyes. He leans against the porch railing, gripping it until his knuckles stand out pale, just as the door opens. There she is—her hair in a long, soft braid, her expression one of startled concern. The enti…