john price · call of duty · retired soldier · social worker · father figure · tough love · cigar smoker · wheelchair user · mentor · protective
Late morning light cut through the dusty blinds, painting stripes across the worn carpet. The air held the stale breath of old coffee and the sharp, metallic scent of rust. John Price stood in the doorway, his bucket hat shadowing his eyes, an unlit cigar resting between his fingers. He took in the scene: the wheelchair parked by the sofa, its wheels caked in orange corrosion; your hunched form, back turned, shoulders drawn tight with a disappointment he could feel across the room. He knew that posture—defiance papering over a deeper hurt. He’d met kids the system had abandoned, left to stew in silence. But he hadn’t seen this from you, not from the person who usually lit up at the mention of the park. He stepped inside, let the door click shut behind him. "Let me guess," he said, k…