Chapter 74
DERRICK
Iwake before Charlie. The room is still dim, soft morning light bleeding around the curtains, and for a moment I don’t move, afraid the world will crash back in if I breathe too hard.
It does anyway.
The letter.
The names.
The truth I didn’t ask for.
It settles over me all at once, a heavy, suffocating pressure on my chest.
Charlie shifts behind me, his nose brushing the back of my shoulder before he tightens his hold, like even asleep he knows I’m slipping.
“You awake?” he murmurs, voice gravelly with sleep.
“Yeah,” I whisper.
His arm curls tighter around me, pulling me into his chest. “Are you okay?” I give a small shake of my head because I don’t know how I feel.
He exhales gently against my neck and kisses the space just below my ear.
“Come here.” He rolls me onto my back and props himself on his elbow, studying my face like he’s trying to read every thought I’m hiding.
“You didn’t sleep much after you drifted off,” he says softly.
“Too much in my head.”
“I figured.” His fingers brush down my jaw, light and tender. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t know what to say.” I swallow. “It feels like my past is … suddenly real again. Like it clawed its way back into my life overnight.”
Charlie lays his hand over my heart. “Then we’ll keep it from sinking its claws into you.”
My breath catches.
He says it like a promise.
A vow.
“Do you want coffee?” he asks.
“Please.”
He presses a kiss to my forehead before sliding out of bed.
His warmth leaves with him, and for a moment the room feels colder.
I force myself to follow him into the kitchen a minute later.
He’s already handing me a mug of coffee before I’ve fully walked in, pulling me between his legs as he sits on the stool.
His hands settle on my hips, grounding me. “Better?”
“A little.”
He nods, brushing his thumb across my hipbone. “We should tell Jackson.”
My stomach twists. “You think?”
“I think he’ll know how to look into them safely. We don’t know anything yet.”
I stare at my coffee. “You think they could be … lying?”
“I think you deserve peace of mind,” he says carefully. “And Jackson is good at getting answers.”
He’s right. He’s so right.
“I don’t even know what I want,” I admit. “Part of me wants to meet them. Part of me wants to run.”
Charlie cups my jaw and makes me look at him. “Whatever you choose? I’m with you.”
My throat closes. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Don’t say that.” His voice hardens, just enough. “You’re mine. And I take care of what’s mine.”
My chest aches. I lean forward and press my forehead against his.
“We’ll call Jackson later,” I whisper.
“Okay.”
His hands slide up my back, warm and steady. And for the first time since the letter arrived, I feel like I can breathe.
By the time I finish my coffee, my stomach is a twisted knot.
There is no universe where I can walk into the studio today and pretend I’m fine. I pull out my phone and text Toby.
Derrick: Hey, I’m not going to be in till later today.
Toby: The lunch went that well, did it?
Derrick: Something like that.
Toby: I’ve got you. Don’t worry. You do you, boo.
Derrick: Thanks.
Charlie watches me quietly, leaning against the island in his sweatpants, arms crossed over his chest. “You ready?”
“I guess.”
He grabs his keys and slides his hand into mine, squeezing once. “We’re walking. Fresh air.”
We head out onto the street, and the morning sun is already warm on my skin. I feel jittery, restless, like my body doesn’t know what to do with all the emotions crowding inside me. Charlie stays close, his hand brushing mine every few steps, like a reminder that I’m not doing this alone.
Jackson’s office is only a few blocks away, near the Dirty Texas Records office and my studio. We walk in, and security nods when they see us arrive. He then tells us Jackson is waiting. We head up to the next floor, and as soon as the elevator doors open, Jackson is there.
“Jesus, Derrick,” he mutters, taking one look at me. “You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”
“Feels like it,” I admit.
He gestures to follow him into his office and tells us to take a seat. “Sit. Talk.”
Charlie and I sit side by side, his knee pressed against mine, his arm resting behind my chair like he’s ready to intervene at any second.
Jackson sits slowly, eyes sharpened, locked onto mine. “What happened?”
I hand him the letter. He reads it faster than humanly possible, eyebrows dropping lower, jaw clenching, the muscle in his cheek ticking.
“Your father’s dead?” he asks gently.
I nod. “A year ago.”
He taps the letter. “And these brothers … Rowan and Callum Sinclair. Scottish titles.”
“Always knew I was a queen,” I joke, which earns me a smile from Jackson. “It’s … a lot,” I whisper.
Jackson leans back in his chair. “Okay. First things first, you don’t contact anyone yet.”
My stomach flips. “Why?”
“Because you’re vulnerable,” he says plainly. “And whether these guys are saints, scammers, or something in between, I am not letting anything hurt you.”
Charlie nods firmly beside me, like he’s been waiting for that exact sentence.
Jackson continues, “I’ll run their names, their titles, their records, their locations, their social media, their mother, their PI, all of it. Every angle.”
“You can do that?” I ask.
He gives me a flat look. “Derrick. Please. I’ve done worse things for less important people.”
Charlie snorts. “He’s not lying.”
I swallow. “Thank you.”
Jackson’s tone softens. “You’re family, Derrick.”
“So what do I do?” I ask quietly.
“Nothing,” Jackson answers. “Not yet. I’ll run everything today. You go home. You breathe. You let Charlie take care of you. And when I have answers, I’ll call.”
I nod, numb but relieved. Charlie’s hand finds mine and squeezes.
Jackson clears his throat. “Also, don’t Google anything else.”
I let out a weak laugh. “Too late. We already saw their photos on socials.”
Jackson pinches the bridge of his nose. “Of course you did.” He stands, comes around the desk, and puts a hand on my shoulder.
“We’re going to handle this properly. You’re safe. You understand me?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Good.”
He glances at Charlie.
“Take him home. Look after him.”
Charlie smiles. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”
For the first time since the letter arrived, I feel a tiny flicker of safety, and it’s because of this man sitting beside me. I don’t know what I’d be doing if his calm presence wasn’t here with me.
We say our goodbyes to Jackson and head out of the office.
“You seriously think the guys are scammers?” I ask Charlie again as we walk back home.
He shakes his head. “No, but crazier things have happened. We all just want to protect you. Everyone loves you.”
“Everyone?” I smirk, arching a brow at him.
Charlie’s cheeks turn pink. “Yeah, everyone.”
I bite my bottom lip as my stomach does loop-de-loops.
“I love everyone, too.”
Charlie and I walk up to Sienna and Evan’s front door just after seven, and the moment we reach the porch, I can already hear the noise.
Dirty Texas noise.
Kids squealing. Finn laughing. Vanessa yelling at Christian to “stop taste-testing everything, you will ruin your appetite.”
Warm. Loud. Family.
My chest tightens.
Charlie squeezes my hand. “Deep breath.”
Before I can take one, the door swings open. Evan stands there, relaxed jeans, bare feet, forearms that should be illegal. His expression softens when he sees me.
“Hey, D.” He embraces me in a tight hug. “And Charlie, good to see you again,” he says, shaking his hand. “Come in.”
The second I step inside, Sienna appears, glowing and exhausted and still somehow functioning through pregnancy nausea like a queen. She throws her arms around me.
“D,” she murmurs into my neck. “I’m so proud of you.”
My throat closes. “For what?”
“For surviving your brain for twenty-four hours straight,” she deadpans. “Come in. Sit. Eat carbs before I faint.”
The kitchen and dining space are full, Finn at the stove finishing pasta, Isla setting plates, Vanessa already on the wines, Christian giving play-by-play commentary on Finn’s cooking skills like he’s hosting MasterChef.
“Derrick!” Vanessa beams, sweeping me into a hug before I can brace myself. “Babe, you look like shit.”
“Thanks, babe, you’d look like shit too if you just found out about long lost family,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Kind of exciting, too,” she says through gritted teeth, trying to work out how I am feeling.
“Maybe,” I confess to her.
Finn turns around, spatula in hand. “D, want a drink?”
“Beer,” I croak.
“I’ll get it,” Evan calls out. “Charlie, you want one too?” My man nods.
Everyone is here. My people. My family … before I even knew I had any.
“Charlie, now that you’re here, are you up for a round of golf?” Christian asks him.
“Sure,” Charlie states.
“Great. What’s your number? I’ll add you to the group chat.”
“He just wants you on his team so he can beat Evan and Finn,” Vanessa chimes in.
“Yeah, because Jackson sucks.” Christian moans.
“Sports were not his strong suit.” Charlie grins, which makes Christian laugh.
While the boys talk about golf, the girls and I quickly catch up on things, kids, pregnancy cravings, and me pretending I slept last night, when the doorbell goes.
Everything stills.
Evan opens the door and Jackson steps in, dressed in black, holding a folder, looking like he’s holding state secrets.
“Brother, good to see you,” Finn calls out as he continues to bounce around the kitchen.
“Digging the get-up.” Jackson smirks, eyeing Finn’s frilly apron, which earns him a finger from his brother.
“Beer?” Evan asks, bringing Jackson through, and he nods.
“Evening, team,” Jackson says as he goes around greeting everyone.
“D,” he says, clapping me on the back.
“Dinner is ready,” Finn calls out as he plates up the large serving platters of pasta and meatballs. The boys go grab the kids while the girls start plating up for the little ones.