Epilogue - Grant
One month. One month of stolen kisses in empty hallways at the station. One month of "helping with the dishes" after crew dinners at Brock's house—opportunities to brush against each other in the kitchen while everyone else sprawled in the living room watching whatever game was on. One month of late-night texts and early morning coffee meetups conveniently scheduled before our shifts aligned.
One month of sneaking around like teenagers, all while falling deeper for Ellie with each passing day.
It can't continue like this. I know it, and Ellie knows it too. We agreed last night, tangled in the sheets of my bed, her head resting on my chest: it's time to tell Brock.
Which is why I'm standing outside his office at 7 AM, a full hour before our shift officially starts, my heart hammering against my ribs like I'm about to run into a five-alarm fire without protective gear.
I knock, two sharp raps that sound unnaturally loud in the quiet corridor.
"Come in," Brock calls.
He's at his desk, reading glasses perched on his nose as he reviews what appear to be equipment requisition forms. Just another ordinary morning for him. Possibly the last ordinary interaction between us, depending on how this conversation goes.
"Grant," he says, looking up with a smile. "You're in early."
"Need to talk to you about something," I reply, my voice steadier than I expected. "Got a minute?"
"For you? Always." He gestures to the chair across from his desk. "Everything okay?"
I close the door behind me and take a seat, trying to decide how to begin. I've rehearsed this speech a dozen times, but now that I'm here, the words abandon me.
"There's something I need to tell you," I start, meeting his eyes directly. Years of friendship, of trust earned in the most dangerous circumstances imaginable—I owe him that much. "It's about Ellie."
Something shifts in Brock's expression—not surprise, exactly, but a focused attention. He removes his reading glasses, setting them on the desk. "Is she alright?"
"She's great," I assure him quickly. "This isn't—she's not in any trouble."
"Okay," he says, leaning back in his chair. "I'm listening."
I take a deep breath. "Ellie and I... we've been seeing each other. Romantically." The words hang in the air between us, irretrievable. "For about a month now."
Brock's face remains impassive, giving nothing away. The silence stretches for what feels like hours but is probably only seconds.
"We wanted to tell you sooner," I continue, filling the silence with nervous energy. "But we needed time to figure things out ourselves first. To make sure this was... real."
"And is it?" Brock asks, his voice neutral. "Real?"
"Yes," I say without hesitation. "We're taking things slowly, being careful. But I'm absolutely sure about how I feel about her."
Brock stares at me for a long moment, then does something completely unexpected. He smiles.
"Finally," he says, shaking his head slightly. "I was beginning to think you two would sneak around forever."
I blink, certain I've misheard him. "You... knew?"
He chuckles, the tension in the room dissipating like smoke. "Grant, I've known you for fifteen years. Did you really think I wouldn't notice when you suddenly started accepting every dinner invitation? Or how my daughter's face lights up whenever your name is mentioned? Or how it takes you two thirty minutes to wash dishes that should take ten?"
I'm momentarily speechless, caught completely off guard. All this time, all the careful secrecy, the anxiety about his reaction—and he already knew?
"Why didn't you say anything?" I finally manage to ask.
Brock shrugs, his expression softening. "Wasn't my place. I figured you'd tell me when you were ready. When you were sure."
"And you're... okay with this?" I ask cautiously, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. "With me and Ellie?"
"Would it matter if I wasn't?" he counters, a knowing look in his eyes.
I consider this carefully. "Yes," I say honestly. "It would matter. Your friendship, your respect—they're important to me. But..." I hesitate, then commit to the truth. "But they wouldn't change how I feel about Ellie."
Brock nods, seemingly satisfied with my answer. "Good. Because that's exactly what I wanted to hear."
"I don't understand," I admit.
"Grant," he says, leaning forward, elbows on his desk. "You're a good man. The best I know, in fact. Do I wish my daughter had fallen for someone her own age? Maybe. Does the age difference concern me? Sure, sometimes. But I was ten years older than Sarah, and we had the best marriage I could have imagined."
He pauses, his expression growing more serious. "Ellie is... special. After Sarah died, I was lost. Angry. Broken. Ellie's the one who held us together, who made sure I kept going, kept living. I have no idea where I'd be without her."
I nod, understanding completely. Ellie's strength, her compassion, her ability to see through people's defenses—these are just some of the countless reasons I've fallen for her.
"She deserves someone who sees how extraordinary she is," Brock continues. "Someone who'll take care of her the way she takes care of everyone else. If that person is you—and I suspect it is—then who am I to stand in the way?"
Relief washes through me, so intense it's almost dizzying. "I promise you, I'll take good care of her," I say, the words feeling inadequate for the commitment I'm making.
"I know you will," Brock says with confidence. "But she's still my daughter, so I'm obligated to say this: Hurt her, and I will end you. Slowly. Painfully. With no evidence left behind."
Despite the threatening words, his tone is light, almost teasing. Still, I know there's truth beneath the humor.
"Understood," I nod. "Though I suspect Ellie would get to me first."
Brock laughs at that. "No doubt. She's her mother's daughter." His expression grows wistful. "Sarah would have liked seeing you two together, you know. She always had a soft spot for you."
"She was a remarkable woman," I say. "Ellie reminds me of her sometimes. That same quiet strength."
"Yes," Brock agrees, a shadow of old grief passing over his features before he shakes it off. "So, now that the dramatic confession is out of the way, when are you moving the rest of your things in?"
I nearly choke. "What?"
He grins, clearly enjoying my discomfort. "I’ve noticed an extra toothbrush has taken up permanent residence in her bathroom."
"We're not—I haven't—" I stammer, feeling heat rise in my face. "We're taking things slowly, like I said."
"Relax, Grant," Brock laughs. "I'm just messing with you. Though I should warn you, now that I officially know, the dad jokes are going to increase exponentially."
"Looking forward to it," I say dryly, but I'm smiling too, relief and happiness mingling in my chest.
After so many years of friendship, after everything we've been through together, Brock's blessing means more to me than I can express. Not because I needed his permission to love his daughter, but because having his support makes the path ahead clearer and easier to navigate.
"One more thing," Brock says, his expression growing serious again. "Do you love her?"
The question is direct, leaving no room for evasion. But I don't need to evade. For the first time in years, perhaps ever, I'm absolutely certain of what's in my heart.
"Yes," I say simply. "More than I thought possible."
Brock nods, satisfied. "Have you told her?"
"Not yet," I admit. "I wanted to talk to you first. And..." I hesitate, then continue honestly, "Part of me is still afraid I don't deserve her."
"None of us deserve the people who love us," Brock says with unexpected wisdom. "We just try our damnedest to be worthy of them every day." He stands, coming around the desk to clap me on the shoulder. "Tell her, Grant. Life's too short to hold those words back."
I stand as well, oddly emotional. "I will. Tonight."
"Good," he nods, then glances at his watch. "Now, as touching as this heart-to-heart has been, we've got a department to run. Budget meeting in thirty."
Just like that, we're back to business—Chief and subordinate preparing for another day of keeping Cedar Falls safe. But something has shifted, settled into place. A new understanding between us, a new chapter beginning.
As I turn to leave, Brock calls after me, "And Grant? You're coming to dinner on Friday."
I smile, thinking of lazy evenings at the Brock house, no longer having to pretend I'm not watching Ellie's every move, no longer having to limit our contact to accidental brushes of hands while passing dishes.
"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Chief."
As I walk back to my office, my phone buzzes with a text. Ellie: *Did you tell him yet? I'm dying here.*
I type back quickly: *Just did. All good. Better than good. I'll call you on my break.*
Her response is immediate: *OMG WHAT??? Details! Don't leave me hanging!*
I smile, picturing her excitement and the way her eyes light up when she's happy. Three simple words form in my mind—words I've held back for too long, words I'll say tonight when I hold her in my arms.
For the first time in my life, everything feels right. The emptiness that's been my constant companion since Afghanistan has been filled with something I never expected to find: a future with Ellie, bright and full of possibility.
Some flames aren't meant to be extinguished. Some burn steady and true, lighting the way forward. And sometimes, if you're lucky, they burn for a lifetime.