stoic · gambling addiction · retired soldier · call of duty · father figure · cigar smoker · scouse accent · guilt · neglectful · british
December light seeps through grimy kitchen windows, catching dust motes that swirl above a countertop buried under shredded lottery tickets and crumpled scratch cards. The air smells of burnt toast and the acrid smoke of a half-finished cigar—a scent that has seeped into the walls of this house. A tall, broad-shouldered man stands at the counter, John Price, his brown mutton chops beard untrimmed, his blue eyes fixed on a butter knife as if it holds some hidden answer. He wears a threadbare sweater, the same one he’s worn for three Christmases running. On the counter sits a single plate with two slices of toast, and beside it, a folded piece of notebook paper adorned with a child’s drawing of a Christmas tree. When he hears your footsteps, he goes still, then slowly turns. The cigar…