Work Text:
“There you go, I’m so proud of you,” Grace had heard many horror stories about the transition into parenthood. Especially from Colt. But aside from some light issues with suckling, Grace had found it easier than expected. Both of them were accustomed to little sleep and early rises. Colt had looked dejected when Grace explained that he wasn’t finding it too difficult at the moment.
He also promptly reminded Colt that Grace had an inhuman ability to adapt.
Grace hummed, gently prying the empty bottle from the baby’s mouth and flipping him up, he held him under the chin and patted his back, watching the bustling city life as everyone prepared for the day. The biggest transition had actually been teaching Tom, who was enthusiastic but a little uneducated in the department of baby.
He didn’t know about sterilising bottles, didn’t know about safe sleeping—so they had read a lot of books together, so Tom could learn more than just you’re supposed to burp them because they’re useless, right?
“Ryland Grace?” Grace paused. Not Doctor not Teacher and not simply Grace. If he were a cat, all of his fur would stand up in defensive spikes. He turned slowly in his chair, holding his baby tightly to his chest. “I thought that was you!”
”…Do I know you?” The man stepped close, holding out a hand which Grace pointedly looked at, then glanced down at the baby in his arms and back up. He withdrew the hand.
“I actually wrote the life of Tom Ryder.” Oh. Grace bristled.
“Oh. The book about my husband that my husband wasn’t involved with,” Grace deadpanned. Because who writes an autobiography about someone without even consulting them, that’s weird, right? The man laughed nervously, rubbing a hand over his neck.
“I’ve actually been wanting to speak to you in particular for ages, you’re very fascinating,” Grace couldn’t help but immediately feel like some kind of rare zoo animal, to be gawked at. The man sat across from him, with an eager smile. Grace tensed, holding his baby closer.
”If it’s about what happened… that was a long time ago.”
”Is six years a long time?” They stared each other down. “The world needs to hear your story, right from your mouth. We could write a book.” His words were starting to feel vaguely familiar, like Gail’s. Monetising his funeral. Upon seeing his face, the man seemed to back off a little. “I understand, it must have been very traumatic.” Grace nodded.
”I’m just trying to—“ Grace started,
”How are you doing?” He asked, like he was an old friend. “Six years today,” oh. Today. Grace felt cold, he… hadn’t even noticed.
“I’m… okay,” he replied quietly, “I didn’t realise it was today,”
”Oh? You don’t think about the anniversary often?” Grace didn’t respond. “It’s much better not to dwell isn’t it? There was some rumours that maybe your husband left acting because he was so traumatised,”
”That’s… not true,” Grace mumbled, “he always wanted to write, no one would let him.”
”I see, the abuse and control. It happened for many years before the events,” the man nodded, “he must be very hurt from it all. I know he’s struggled with substance abuse problems,” and really, who is he? To talk about Grace’s husband like he was his therapist or friend. Like he knows anything about him.
”I really don’t want to—“ Grace started,
”I understand. I’m just an author, working on my own autobiography at the moment. It’s honestly been very good for my mental health,” that, horrifyingly, peaked something in Grace. “Not only do people get to understand me and my life, but my words can’t get misconstrued that way.” I suppose? “I’m only suggesting it because I think it would actually help.”
”Okay…” because Grace couldn’t think of any way to respond.
“My book is about growing up in a rough neighbourhood, plenty people around to threaten you. Probably similiar thugs that hurt you,” Grace tensed up, twisting his hands together, “they have a particular way of making you feel, don’t they?”
“A bit like they’ve… wiped germs on you,” Grace said, “I don’t know. This unclean feeling? If that makes any sense. It wasn’t like anything was done to me,”
“Nothing physical in that way?” The man’s eyebrows raised, like he was surprised to hear it. Grace had never spoken on anything like that so he wasn’t sure why he seemed surprised. “Nothing creepy?”
”No…?” Grace frowned, “they were paid to collect me, thats all.” Though, he had to admit touching someone’s soulmate mark was regarded as highly inappropriate, and a good way to get into severe legal trouble.
“They didn’t confirm you as Tom Ryder’s soulmate? They just knew who you were from seeing you?” He asked,
”I think some stalking was involved, and my face was all over the news a lot so it’s not surprising,” Grace said, “but they—“ he cut himself off, the man leaned forward, “I guess, confirmed it?”
”they saw your mark then? That must have felt very exposing.” Grace shrugged, “they didn’t touch it did they?” He felt cold instantly, a feeling of discomfort rolling in his stomach. He shuffled. “They touched your mark? I don’t believe you mentioned that in the—“
”I’m sorry, can you stop?” Grace cleared his throat, “you’re making me uncomfortable—“
”did it respond?”
”—just… leave me alone, I’m with my baby—“
”it must have burned, hurt quite badly. That’s an extra charge. You know, the mark’s area—“
”do not fucking explain marks to the leading expert on marks,” Grace snapped, they both fell silent. The man shifted and Grace froze, eyes zeroing in on the blinking red light. “…Are you recording me?” he whispered, mouth twisting. The man flailed for his jacket and Grace stood up.
IDIOT IDIOT IDIOT—
“Come on—“ The man moved with him.
”Leave me alone,” Grace grabbed for his stroller, gently placing the baby into it and bundling him up, “I’m a private person. I don’t want to talk about it. For you it’s a scoop or a story, for me it’s the worst day of my life. So please take my no and go away.” He, maybe foolishly, truly believed the man would pack up his stuff and leave, but he didn’t.
”Doesn’t the world deserve to know the deep insights? Don’t you think you could help people who have experienced similiar situations?” Grace paused at the man’s words, turning to face him again.
”I am not a therapist. If anyone has been through what I have then I’m extremely sorry for them. Right now, my focus is on my newborn; My husband and my brother’s health as well as my own as we navigate everything has happened.” Grace grabbed his jacket, shrugging it back on. There was his daily quiet breakfast ruined. “You’re a reporter. You lied to me.”
“I didn’t lie. You know, you might be interested to hear that there may be a movie being made about the events that occurred. I’m working on it.” Grace took a deep breath.
”Sure. But my husband and brother have a massive fan base. Not only that, my husband is a highly respected director. We will blacklist you until you’re begging on the street with a cup,” Grace threatened, “we know a lot of people, sir. We will get that clown show of a movie shut down.” And upon looking at the man’s reddening, furious face, Grace knew he had won.
He’s scared that we will overpower him. No. He knows we will. Grace took hold of his stroller. “Ryland—“ Grace punched the man so hard that he went stumbling, back crashing into the table he had been eating overpriced pastries at, he flung against it, rolled and hit the sidewalk. Grace looked down at his fist, as if it had a mind of its own. “I’m going to fucking sue you—!” The man screamed.
”Don’t put your fucking hands on me, you prick,” Grace snarled back, the feeling of the man’s hand, wrapping around his wrist, too close for comfort to his baby. And that name. Ryland. Fingers wrapping around his skin like duct tape. Grace stumbled back. They were definitely going to call the police, Grace couldn’t exactly leave but he wanted to. He wanted to run.
Tom was still in bed, Grace had let him sleep in for the day and he wasn’t even sure if he’d be roused out of his deep sleep. He hadn’t been sleeping great this week, too many all-nighters, plus the baby and work. He was run-ragged. Instead, Grace fumbled for his phone.
Colt picked up on the second ring, “What’s wrong?” He asked immediately, maybe it was the fact they’re twins, but Grace was more sure it was because he never rang him in the mornings, not this early, anyway.
“Um…” Grace looked at the man, still sprawled on his knees, trying to struggle up onto his feet with a garbled moan. He didn’t really have the words. He felt the heat of a car on his face, the stickiness of duct tape and thick warmth of blood seeping into his clothes, he looked down, all red bleeding into his vision.
”…race? Grace?! Are you okay? Is the baby okay?” Grace looked down, his son looked back, blinking large blue eyes at him.
“…Some… reporter…” Grace rasped, “harassing me…” he heard Colt swearing loudly, and the jingle of keys. “Grabbed me.”
”Where the fuck are you? You at the cafe?” Grace hummed his confirmation, “did he hurt you?” Grace looked down at his wrist. Not a mark, but it felt as though it had burned to the bone. “You need to talk to me here. Are you hurt, is the baby okay?”
”We’re fine… actually… the guy is not that fine…” Grace shied back as the man tried to step toward him, several people stepped between them, one man pressing a hand to the reporter’s shoulder, holding him back.
Colt was there before the police were, having definitely broken some laws. He leapt out of the car so quickly that he almost fell over. Grace instantly showed the stroller towards him and stepped back, Colt took it with wide eyes as Grace stumbled away.
Grace chose a random chair far enough away and collapsed into it. He drew his knees up, Colt’s voice shouting faintly drifting away until he couldn’t hear anything.
He had overreacted.
Clearly.
Embarrassment and shame spread across his body as he took in a shuttering breath. “—Not, no!” Grace looked up, shying away from the hand in front of his face. “Do not touch him.” He heard Colt warn. Right. Police. “Hey, Grace, can you maybe…? Fuck,” Colt fumbled for the stroller and walked over. “Sorry, he has diagnosed PTSD. Gracie?”
Grace blinked, eyes slowly scraping down to look at his baby. He’d lost time, clearly. He was already asleep. Fuck. He’d be lucky if they didn’t consider taking his baby away and throwing him in a hospital. “Sorry, I’m tired,” Grace lied, rubbing a hand over his eyes.
“Could we get a statement? We’ve asked a few onlookers what happened,” corroborating stories.
“He approached me—um, started talking about the kidnapping and murder attempt I experienced,” Grace cleared his throat, “I politely declined discussing it, but he got me to talk about it anyway, I just thought he was a novelist but he was secretly recording me… when I realised I asked him to leave me alone. He wouldn’t. So I decided to leave instead,” the police-woman nodded in approval. “He called my name, I don’t really go by my name anymore,”
”He’s got trauma associated with his name,” Colt added, “the whole world knows he goes by Grace.”
”He yelled my name then he grabbed my wrist to stop me leaving, I had a hold of my baby’s stroller,” Grace said, “I got scared… and I struck him,”
“Onlookers did report seeing a man harassing you,” but no one stepped in, Grace thought. “And one person said you seemed polite, and he was persistent. And despite your pleas, he insisted. Seems to me you tried very hard to deescalate and when you couldn’t, you even tried to politely leave. Something we always suggest people do in this situation.” Grace nodded. “Not to mention the recording without consent. Let’s call it self-defence and wrap this up.”
Grace blinked. No… arrests? No charges? No social services? The policewoman thanked him for his time but it fell into ringing ears, a faint, faraway mess. Sometimes he forgot how little people wanted to go up against Tom, and his impressive gang of lawyers.
“Let’s get you and buddy home, okay?” Colt’s hands hovered around his shoulders. No, don’t do that. Grace pleaded mentally. “Can I—“
”Yeah. Always.” Colt nodded and gently helped him stand. “I can’t believe I freaked out like that in public. After six years, and I was violent in front of the baby. I’m the worst father ever, I swore.”
”Hey, we’re animals, right?” Colt chided, “we have an instinct to protect our young. That dude harassed you. I can’t believe how persistent they are all these years later, what the fu—fudge,” he shook his head.
Grace remembered. Walking through supermarkets with someone clearly not interested in the milk they were holding, snapping pictures of him. Following him out of the store, with a pointed camera his way, acting like the lens that seemed like giant eyes staring at him, was invisible. They were always watching. Even when you didn’t know they were.
When they began to persistently ask and follow people close to him. When they cornered his students or his student’s parents, hoping for insider intel. When they hovered around his work, until Stratt threatened to have them all shot dead for being on government property. When every time he twitched the curtain on his window, people lingered.
The worst thing was the constant, pestering questions, cameras as of late had become a torture to him. Another thing he no longer enjoyed. They would try to point the blame at people, how did you not know your own soulmate was kidnapped? Or how could you let your soulmate get hurt? Towards Tom. Comments that really had a bad effect on his mental health, he saw his sponsor a lot in those early days.
Grace still partially blamed the press for Tom’s relapse two years into their relationship. “Can you take him home, please?” He whispered. Colt froze, “I don’t want to go back.”
”Come on,” Colt sighed, “why? You don’t think Tom’s going to be upset, do you? Come on Grace he knows all about—“ Grace turned away. He wasn’t ready for the it’s okay’s and he deserved it and healing isn’t a line, it’s a tangle of wires. “I don’t want to leave you alone right now,” he mumbled.
”I just need to think, please, Colt. Please.” Eventually, he agreed with the terms that Grace would go home within half an hour, or he’d send the police after him. Bit dramatic, but he accepted the terms. Usually Grace went to the cafe when he needed some alone time (plus, sometimes with the baby) he tried not to feel too guilty about needing to be alone.
Obviously, the cafe was out of the question, so he went to the park near his home instead. Too early in the day for kids to be roaming. He collapsed onto the swing, gently kicking back and forth.
Some days—most days it was all anger. How dare these people he didn’t even know, ruin his life? And sure they would all argue your life isn’t ruined, and it’s not over. But they had done something, cracked some of him into shards. He wasn’t the same as before, and maybe that hurt more than anything else.
“Can I sit?” Grace didn’t respond as someone sank into the swing beside him, quietly.
”I told Colt I needed some time alone,”
”yeah, that was forty-five minutes ago and he’s having a melt down,” Guilt crept up Grace’s body. Great. Good job Grace. “How you feeling, hypocrite?” Tom smiled, Grace huffed and kicked at the ground.
“What am I a hypocrite for this time?” Grace asked. Tom hummed, tilting his head.
”Maybe because you tell me the reactions I have all of the time are a natural part of healing, even biological. A survival mechanism. Something that helped humans last this long. But I know you’re beating yourself up over this.” Grace watched Tom kick into the ground and swing up, “usually I just ran from press but this is harder to run from,”
“Can’t run from trauma,” Grace agreed,
”Not just that. People. When it was only press or the occasional journalist, it was hard but I navigated it. Going through something so shitty well…” Tom clicked his tongue, “not just cameras staring you down. People. Your neighbours, the cashiers at the grocery store, scanning your food. Was’ easier to deal with my shit when I was the only one who knew it. But they know it, you can see it on their faces.”
Grace nodded in slow agreement. Knowing people had read intimate details, from the gas being poured over them, to being kidnapped and thrown into a car and escaping, getting shot. He lived it, and they knew he lived it. “You could always write a book. Self-published. No one telling the story but you.” Tom added, even though he was far more likely to be the one to write a book.
”Everyone picks apart my dissertations like they might find some secrets in there, details not revealed by the courts or police. Little things that might sell. It’s all anyone seems to care about. I thought six years on, I’d be over it and so would they and it would fade into a bad memory,” Grace admitted, “I should have known better, nothing else faded.”
”But you know it gets easier,” Tom pointed out, “you’re doing great compared to a… year after everything. Right?” Grace hummed in agreement, “makes no fucking sense. If I walk up to a random house and take a picture of someone through the window, I’d get labelled a pervert and arrested, but they can do that to my fucking family?” He ranted, “harass my family?”
”now you’re understanding privilege, we’ve come so far,” Grace sighed, “look, I know you’re going to argue with me, you and Colt, and yes he grabbed my wrist—“ Tom groaned, face twisting into barely concealed irritation, “Tom—“
”Do not fucking say you regret knocking his ass out, come on Babe,” Tom complained, high and whiney enough to almost make Grace laugh. “You had a reaction. It’s that simple.” That simple, huh. “Way too close to my fucking son that’s for certain,” and well, Grace couldn’t disagree with that, “and especially too close to my husband.”
”So it’s okay for me to put hands on him?” Grace muttered.
”When someone records you and grabs you on the street? Yeah. Break their face,” Tom said, “you didn’t know what his intentions are. Don’t see it as violence, it’s survival. It’s reaction not bad action. Happy six years,” he drawled and reached into his jacket, Grace’s eyebrows shot up as he pulled out the bottle.
”Have you had that this whole time?” Grace huffed, as Tom jammed the cork into his mouth, “Tom! For frick sake—“ Tom twisted and the bottle popped with a loud noise, he took a swig and handed it over. “It’s no cocaine concoction,” Grace drawled as he took a drink of the Shirley temple.
”Eugh can you believe I dusted martinis and shots with coke instead of like… salt. Like a normal fucking person? No wonder Colt got high as fuck,” Tom snorted, “I woulda’ thought it was salt too, or just sugar,” he took the bottle back, taking another drink. “That was actually my bad.”
”It so was,” Grace agreed, grinning. A moment later, he fell silent, shoes gently kicking up the dirt, “I shouldn’t have told him things. He recorded stuff I… I didn’t really—I shouldn’t have… I’m an idiot,” he sighed, “should have broke the tape recorder instead,”
”you know what, fuck them. All they can do is talk, you know what we can do?” Tom asked.
“A trip to—“
“A trip to my lake house with no WiFi for a period of time to escape everyone—“ Both Grace and Tom said at the same time. Grace beamed in excitement. “I want to learn at least four new words,” Tom declared, “for my script.”
“How about… magnetohydrodynamic.” Tom paused, eyes blinking slowly like a frog. Grace snorted at him.
“…I was thinking more like… ethereal or serenity,” Tom declared, “not magnetohydraulicpress or whatever. I thought that was an X-Man?” Every day, Grace was reminded that Tom was a theatre, artsy type of nerd and not the comic book kind. Lately, he’d been the star-kind.
You like stars, I like stars, the kid likes stars. We all like stars! Pastrami! … Tom, it’s astronomy.
“Time to pick up some nerd books,” Grace said and Tom hummed in agreement, hopping off of the swing. He pressed the bottle into Grace’s chest. “Don’t get drunk, you won’t make me a single parent tonight.”
”…Babe.” Tom deadpanned.
”Oh fuck—fudge, I mean, yeah,” Grace whistled at the bottle, “I swear it tastes like real alcohol. That’s incredible,” he breathed, “give me ten more minutes and my brain would convince itself I’m drunk.” Tom snorted,
“you trying to entice me into a good time?” Tom asked, “I won’t tell my sponsor,” he whispered jokingly, Grace smiled back, tilting his head up to stare at him. “They won’t be like this forever, it’ll die down. It might reignite once in a while but,” he shrugged. “They’ll move on again.” Grace nodded back.
”Maybe writing a book isn’t the worst idea,” Tom stepped between his legs, hands tangling in the swings chair and tilting his head, “they’re all looking for information I’ve not shared yet, right? To sell. Can’t do that if I tell the world everything.”
”You shouldn’t do it just to get paps off your back,” Tom said, “do it if you think it’ll help but, I’d consult your therapist babe, you’ll have to go back there mentally to write it.” Grace nodded, it suddenly didn’t seem like that good of an idea anymore. He swallowed. “Come on, it’s getting cold and Colt is in full-blown mental breakdown mode.”
”I’d like to call him dramatic but I was grabbed off of the street while alone after stomping off, so,” Grace let Tom pull him to his feet, “I’ll have to apologise,” he whispered, “I’m always stressing him out.”
”Siblings stress each other out and shit. Speaking of stressing me out, your son clamped his gums on my hand when Colt brought him home,” Tom complained, “it really hurt. Those things are like dull fence posts.”
”Oh my son,” Grace mocked, “but he was your son when he shot diarrhoea on Colt.” Tom snorted, and continued to snort as they walked along the road, knuckles pressed into his mouth. “You better stop before we walk in the door, he’ll know exactly what you’re snickering about and kick up a hissy fit.”
”I’m good,” Tom said, with a shaky, high pitched voice, “it wasn’t even funny,” his voice wobbled, “uh fuck—“ he swallowed and pulled the sunglasses out from his shirt, he put them over his watering eyes.
“Stop.” Grace demanded, clamping a hand over his mouth, Tom continued to make muffled little noises behind Grace’s hand as they approached the door. “Delete the memory from your mind right now,” he said, Tom nodded and pulled the glasses off. “You child,” Tom just nodded, clearly not trusting himself to speak.
”—I can’t believe you!” Colt yelled as Grace opened the front door. “It’s almost been an hour. I hate you. I hope you get hit by a car,” Grace sighed loudly and kicked his shoes off, throwing his jacket onto the kitchen table.
“He’s fine,” Tom finally spoke, he gently pulled the baby from Colt with a hum, he’d become a natural at holding him. Which was good, because he would originally try to hold him without supporting his head, stating you need to support the back! Grace didn’t let him do that even once, he instantly took the baby and showed him properly. Now Tom didn’t even appear scared to hold him.
It was second nature.
“How is he?” Grace asked.
”Quiet. I swear you’re so lucky. The twins would cry in sync, like the exact same weird wah wah wah noise,” Colt shook his head, “literally drove me insane. We were such bad babies, I can feel it in my bones,”
”Actually, I think I remember Mom saying oh Grace you were so quiet one time,” Grace said, “dad used to say Colt, such strong lungs, gonna’ be a real strong man,” he mocked, “and then there’s the r-word one,” Colt winced. “Mom told me that.”
”Yikes. Well, he meant, Colt, the annoying attention-seeking one and Grace, the quiet observant one, clearly,” Colt wrapped an arm around Grace, grinning, a moment later, the grin fell, slowly disappearing from his face. “…Can I talk to you for a sec?” Oh good.
Tom nodded at him and wandered off, instantly taking the hint to vacay, “bottles are pre-sterilised!” Colt called.
”Kay’!” Tom called back. Colt nodded his head towards the balcony and Grace followed him out, albeit, hesitantly.
”Am I getting another famous Colt Seavers speech?” Grace half-joked, it fell flat.
”You remember when I got diagnosed with PTSD?” Grace blinked, “after my accident?” He nodded and they both moved to sit on the balcony chairs, staring out over the city. “I used to say, sure, I get these images,” Colt wiggled his fingers next to his head, “of falling, hitting the ground, being wheeled out. I thought everything else was just me being an asshole.”
”You were really argumentative against doctors and therapists, you didn’t want to see anyone,” Grace said,
”I would snap and scream at people, like you, and didn’t even know why I was doing it. I was depressed, irritated, explosive. All things I just chalked up to being an asshole, with emotional regulation issues like our parents,” Grace flinched, “took a long time, and the realisation that I was losing my family to realise what the fuck PTSD does to someone. It’s not just the occasionally mental picture or just thinking about what happened.” He explained.
”It’s also screaming, and terror, and thinking it’s happening again, it’s hallucinating, it’s irritation and depression and explosive reactions. It’s raising your voice, it’s all these things that can be mistaken as violent or dangerous or wrong. It’s thrashing, wetting the bed, crying, shaking, it’s having panic attacks so bad they put you on oxygen. It’s thinking you’re dying over and over again.” Grace slowly lowered his head, eyes fixing on his hands. “It’s really debilitating. But guess what, you’re alive.”
”I know,” Grace mumbled,
“Don’t you ever sit there and try to blame yourself. It’s not irrational, it’s not stupid, it’s not wrong and you’re not violent or bad. You recognised your own discomfort, you tried your best to distance yourself when you became distressed, that’s not a small thing,” Colt argued, “that’s a good fucking learning point. A couple years ago you wouldn’t have even known you needed to distance yourself.”
”I feel really overdramatic Colt, it was six—“
”—And it’ll hurt for a lifetime,” Colt cut him off, Grace went silent. “So fucking what. Where were you mentally when he grabbed you?”
”…In the car,” Grace whispered,
“did he know who you are?” Grace nodded, “so he knows your new name. He knew not to grab you, he chose to do that. Just because you had a physical reaction doesn’t make you a physical person, Grace.” Colt pointed out, “I’m proud you knocked his ass out. Would you want someone to grab Tom like that?” Grace instantly felt hot rage bubbling in his stomach at the thought.
”…Okay you got me,” Grace whispered, fuck. If that guy had of cornered Tom, made him uncomfortable, started talking about his addiction and mental health, physically grabbed him when he tried to flee? Grace clenched his jaw at the thought.
“Look… it’s sad that someone else made you feel uncomfortable about your name, I’m not going to lie,” Colt said, “it’s a part of you, of your identity. But when that part changes, or when that identity evolves or grows sometimes things need to grow with it. It’s not really lost or gone, it was there when you needed it, you grew up with it—but now? you don’t need it anymore. It’s okay to just be Grace.”
Grace nodded, a flooding of relief washing over his body. Colt had even given him a new nickname, like he did when they were kids. “You don’t think it’s stupid and I need to… learn to like it again?”
”Does it even feel like you anymore?” Grace paused and shook his head, “you didn’t double-think leaving behind those space t-shirts you had as a kid, did you? Or the tiny light-up shoes, what about your hat and scarf from when you were seven?” Colt asked, “the train set you never fully liked? The play groups our parents dropped us at when they needed a break? You didn’t think about leaving all of that behind when you got older. You never tried to squeeze back into those shirts that didn’t fit, or put those shoes back on. As an adult you might have kept a few things as a memory, but you didn’t try to put them back on. You grew and evolved—they stayed the same.”
Grace grew and evolved, Ryland stayed the same. Even thinking it put a bad taste in his mouth, but… not too bad. “I think I always preferred my second name, anyway. I don’t know why, my first name is really nice,” he said.
”Doesn’t matter why,” Colt planted a hand on his shoulder, “Grace Ryder is… well… makes it sound like you bang yourself but it’s fine I guess,” legally, Ryland Grace-Ryder. Tom had said Ryder’s the brand baby, plus my name is way too fucking funny to hyphenate plus… sorry baby, Tom Grace sounds so shit.
Tom was right. Tom Grace sounded so shit.
”Being a dad has given you wisdom,” Grace smiled.
”I see the wisdom didn’t catch on,” Colt said, they both looked at Tom, he had the baby in his arms and the bottle clamped between his knees, he was trying to open it but it looked more like a penguin walking with it’s egg.
“I’m going to… yeah…” Grace sighed, gesturing toward him.