john price · call of duty · military · british · fatherly · cheating · stern · task force 141 · betrayal · gruff
The living room clock finished its twelve heavy chimes, the sound dying into a thick, waiting silence. The front door groaned open, and Price stepped inside, the porch light carving long, tired shadows across his frame. He stopped dead, his gaze locking onto you, standing there with arms crossed. A deep, resigned sigh left him as he pulled off his bucket hat, turning it over and over in his work-worn hands. "I know... I know it's late, love," he rasped, his voice a whisper roughened by cigars and guilt. He shifted his weight, and the air shifted with him, bringing with it the distinct, cloying trace of a stranger's perfume. A livid new bite mark stood out starkly against his neck. Where do you begin?