Chapter 7 - Starting With a First Name
The DNA results came back after New Year's. Paternity probability above 99.99 percent. Nobody in that room was surprised by the number — except maybe Grant, who stared down at the printed page for several long minutes before finally setting it aside.
Our first real conversation after that happened at my house. He showed up without the uniform, without the medals, without the command voice he wore so easily. Just jeans, work boots, and a nervous, unfamiliar expression.
The boys were in the kitchen making pizza. Colton had flour in his hair. Miles was arguing that pepperoni distribution required actual mathematical fairness across every slice. Dean was eating cheese straight out of the bag, unbothered by any of it.
Owen noticed Grant first. "Hi."
"Hi."
An awkward silence stretched between them. Then Grant finally said, "Could I talk to you boys for a minute?"
All four looked at me first. I nodded, and we moved into the living room. Grant sat across from all four of them, and for several long seconds, the man who could brief senior officers without a single note card couldn't find one complete sentence of his own.
Finally he said, "I owe every one of you a real apology."
The boys just listened. "Your mom told me about all of you, before you were even born. I chose not to believe her."
Miles frowned hard. "Why not, though?"
Grant swallowed. "Because I was angry. And too proud for my own good. And I thought I understood everything, when I actually didn't understand any of it at all."
Colton crossed his arms. "That was pretty dumb of you."
"Colton."
Grant raised a hand gently. "No. He's right."
Colton looked thoroughly pleased with himself. Grant kept going. "I missed eight years, because of one decision I made. That's not your mother's fault. It's not yours either."
Owen asked quietly, "Do you actually want to be our dad now?"
There it was. The hardest question of the night. Grant's eyes filled. "Yes."
Owen studied him carefully. "But you don't actually know us."
"No."
"And we don't know you either."
"No."
"So you can't just become 'Dad' overnight."
Grant nodded slowly, taking that in fully. "You're right about that."
The old Grant would have defended himself. Explained it away. Steered the room back under his control. This version of him did none of that.
Instead he simply asked, "Could I maybe start out being called Grant, for now?"
Owen glanced at his brothers. Miles shrugged easily.
Colton asked, "Can you actually throw a football decent?"
"Yes."
"How far?"
"Pretty far, honestly."
"Then I vote yes."
Dean sighed. "That's not really how voting works, Colton."
"It is now."
May you like
Owen finally smiled. "Okay. You can start out as Grant, then."
And that's exactly how it began. Not with instant forgiveness. Not some perfectly staged reunion. Just a first name, freely offered.
