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“You should have sold out when I wanted you to,” Grandpop argued.
“We would have lost everything, Pop, you know that. Everything I tried to build for my boys. For my grandchildren. Everything we saved all those years would have gone down the drain.”
“Poor and happy ain’t that bad, boy.”
It was obviously an argument they had had often.
Grant could only shake his head as Noah let himself ease into a chair, pulling Sabella to his lap. He couldn’t let go of her. A lifetime of what he thought he knew was exploding in front of his face.
He hadn’t known his wife. He hadn’t seen what was evolving in the town and with his father. His vision had been so narrow, his focus on the SEALs, his career, on loving Sabella, and little else.
His “death” had shown him how little he had lived, how little he had known.
“You didn’t tell me,” he whispered.
“You were one of the things I was trying to protect,” Grant bit out. “For that.” He pointed to Sabella’s stomach. “Your future. Your wife and your children. Nothing else mattered to me, Noah. I loved you, and I loved Rory, and I did my best. Not good enough, I admit, but my best. And I prayed Dad could do the rest.”
And Grandpop had.
Noah shook his head.
“I’m not asking for forgiveness, or for acceptance,” Grant whispered. “But I want to know that baby, Noah. I want to be called Grandpop. I haven’t been called Dad since you were a boy, and I’ve lived with that. But I want to be a grandfather, just as bad as I wanted to be your father.”
Silence filled the room then. Grandpop stood behind him, his hand settling on Noah’s shoulder.
“The world is never what we think it is, Noah.” He repeated the words Noah had heard so many times. “There are layers, son. And layers. This is just another.”
“But it’s always love,” Sabella whispered and pressed her hand against his where it rested over their child.
“Nathan Malone doesn’t exist anymore,” he told his father, thinking of him as a father, despite the practiced determination not to.
“But Noah Blake does,” Grant stated. “And Sabella Blake is a gentle, compassionate woman. Everyone knows that. If Grant Malone needs to pretend, hell.” He shook his head. “Everyone knows he’s damned strange anyway. And I’ve been inconsistent enough over the years that it won’t be remarked on too much. I’m getting old. Rory is close to Noah Blake and his wife. No one will question it.”
And that was the truth.
Noah’s lips kicked up at the corners.
“Rules,” he murmured, and Sabella gave a rude little amused sniff.
“There’s always rules.” Grant nodded.
Noah frowned as everyone watched him expectantly.
“Noah,” Sabella’s voice was warning, knowing.
Noah cleared his throat. “I’m always right.”
Grant frowned in confusion. Sabella shook. He had a feeling it was silent laughter.
“Noah is always right,” he stated. “That’s the rule.”
“Right about what?” Grant’s frown deepened.
“Whatever I want to be right about, dammit,” he growled. “Hell. Noah Blake doesn’t have a damned father. He’s an orphan.” Grant winced, paled before he could continue. “But if Nathan Malone’s father needs a surrogate son.” He shrugged. “I married his wife. I drive his truck. Hell, I guess I can claim his dad.”
At that moment, feathery soft, he felt it. His gaze jerked down to where Sabella held his hand to her stomach, then to her eyes.
He felt it.
