Chapter 93 Derrick
DERRICK
Months later
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about this town, it’s that Moonlight Falls does not know how to do anything halfway. Case in point, our joint bachelor party at the Midnight Moose, which is being held the day before Thanksgiving and a couple of days before our wedding day.
Christian is in charge of tonight, and honestly, I’m scared.
That one is on me. I should have seen it coming.
The moose is packed. Even though technically we’ve booked the whole place out, the “whole place” in a town like this includes half the locals anyway, because everyone knows everyone, and everyone knows we’re getting married.
Outside, snow swirls under the old neon sign.
Inside, it’s hot enough that I’ve already rolled my sleeves up.
“Okay, this is insane,” I say, watching as yet another group filters in. “How many people did you invite?”
Charlie takes a sip of his beer, eyes sparkling. “I sent one text to Camryn and one to Christian with a list.”
“Ah,” I say. “So, all of them.”
“Every single one.” He grins.
I look around the bar, and it really is everyone.
Dirty Texas is here, obviously. Evan and Axel are already arguing over the pool table. Finn is talking to Hudson and Parker, his siblings, who look like they can’t decide if they’re impressed or concerned. Oscar is leaning against a post, looking calm and quietly amused.
My brothers are clustered near one of the high-top tables, Tavish, Rowan, Callum, and Arran, all in flannel and boots, are already popular with the Moonlight Falls locals.
The Sons of Brooklyn guys are here, too, scattered around chatting with the California Bros.
, who look like they stepped out of a surf campaign and got dropped into a cowboy bar by accident.
Sienna, Vanessa, Olivia, and Isla are camped at a corner table with Stacey, who has her feet up on a second chair, very pregnant, holding court with a mocktail in one hand and a bowl of fries in the other.
Camryn and Kimberly are flitting around like event planners.
Yvette Sanchez is at the bar with Charlotte, showing her photos of the bridesmaids’ dresses she designed, while Jake leans in to see.
Nate Lewis is here, too, of course, lounging back in a chair next to Camryn like he owns the place, his Paradise Club energy somehow fitting perfectly in this rodeo-cowboy dive.
Sebastien is talking to Jesse about the Thanksgiving menu he’s prepping, gesturing with a glass like he’s narrating his cooking show.
It’s a ridiculous mix of worlds, timelines, families, and found family. It feels … right.
“Bachelor!” Toby appears in front of me, slightly breathless, cheeks pink, hair already a little messed up. “How does it feel?”
“Loud,” I say. “And hot. And I’m pretty sure Christian is planning something terrifying.”
“Of course he is,” Toby says, like that’s obvious. “He’s been humming show tunes for two weeks.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Nothing,” he says too fast. “You look great. Love you. Bye.” He vanishes into the crowd.
“Oh no,” I murmur.
Charlie laughs beside me. “Just relax. What’s the worst that can happen?”
Every time someone says that in our world, something insane happens within five minutes. As if on cue, the lights in the Moose flicker. The music cuts out.A murmur rolls through the bar. And then Christian’s voice booms over the old sound system.
“Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone who came here to sin …”
“Oh my god,” I whisper.
Christian appears on the little raised stage near the back, dressed in a black shirt, black jeans, boots, and a cowboy hat tipped just so. He’s holding a microphone like he was born with it. “Welcome,” he declares, “to the first annual Dirty Texas Midnight Moose bachelor rodeo revue.”
The bar explodes into cheers and whoops. Sienna buries her face in her hands, laughing. Vanessa lifts her phone immediately to record, eyes gleaming with pride. I turn to Charlie. He’s grinning. He knows what is about to happen. “Is this your fault?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “No, it’s all Christian. And you’re welcome,” he says.
Christian paces the stage like it’s an arena. “As you all know, our beautiful boys …” he gestures grandly at us, “are getting married this weekend, and naturally, we couldn’t let their last night of freedom pass by without some …” He pauses, smirks, “… cultural enrichment.”
Nate barks out a laugh from his table.
“So,” Christian continues, “in honor of Derrick and Charlie, and with the blessing of the Midnight Moose and the good people of Moonlight Falls, we will be putting on a little show.”
“Oh no,” I breathe again.
The music slams back on, some filthy, bass-heavy country remix, and suddenly Christian is unbuttoning his shirt with choreographed precision.
The bar loses its mind. Vanessa shrieks.
Toby screams so high that one of the light fixtures rattles.
Christian does not half-ass anything. He’s clearly rehearsed this.
He spins, hat tipped low, shirt sliding off one shoulder in a move that has half the room gasping.
Evan and Axel jump onto the tiny stage beside him, followed by Finn, Oscar, Jackson, and two of his brothers, then Nate rushes past and … oh my god, Sebastien too.
“What is happening?” I choke out.
“Art,” Charlie says solemnly.
Sebastien looks like he got talked into this ten minutes ago and has immediately committed to the bit. He rips open his button-down shirt to reveal a frankly spectacular chest, and the entire bar screams.
“Sebastien!” Yvette shrieks, covering her eyes, not impressed by seeing her brother strip.
It’s chaos. Total, choreographed chaos. Cowboy hats flying, shirts coming off, boots stomping on the wooden stage.
Christian is front and center, of course, commanding the room like it’s his personal stadium.
He lasso-twirls some rope at one point. I don’t even know where he got that from.
Nate Lewis moves like this is just another night at Paradise Club, smooth, controlled, sinful.
The locals are riveted. Jackson and his brothers lean into the chaos, whooping, spinning, and clapping above their heads.
“What the fuck is going on? I feel like I’m hallucinating.”
“Just go with it. They wanted to make you have the best night,” Charlie tells me, just as Jesse slaps a shot of tequila in front of me and demands I drink it. I throw it back and let go, embracing the crazy as I clap my hands and whistle.
The song builds, the boys hit some kind of half-choreographed, half-feral line moment, shirts now fully off, hats tipped low, jeans slung indecently low at the hips.
Cowboys grinding, hips rolling, hands braced against each other’s shoulders.
The place goes feral. I’m screaming. Charlie is screaming.
Everyone is screaming. When the music crashes to an end, the strippers, our friends, our family, our caterer, hit a final pose, breathing hard, chests heaving.
The cheering is ridiculous.
It goes on forever.
Christian bows with a flourish and grabs the mic again.
“And now,” he pants, “because this is a cowboy bar and we believe in tradition ….” He points at the corner where the mechanical bull sits, silently ominous. “Bull Riding competition.”
The whole room roars again.
“Oh, absolutely not,” Axel mutters.
“Absolutely yes,” Nate says, already moving toward the bull with the look of a man about to ruin lives.
Ten minutes later, there’s a signup list, because of course there is.
“Absolutely not,” I say when someone waves the clipboard near my face.
“It’s your bachelor party.” Charlie laughs. “You have to ride.”
“You ride,” I tell him.
“Oh, I will, later on tonight.” he smirks as he leans in and kisses me. “But I’ll ride the bull too.”
Nate goes first. He doesn’t just ride the mechanical bull. He seduces it. The way he moves, hips rolling, body loose, one hand in the air, hat tipped back, makes at least three people fan themselves.
“That’s my man,” Camryn screams out.
The room is silent for three seconds when he his bucked off and then absolutely detonates.
Next up is a reluctant Axel, who lasts approximately four seconds before the bull throws him sideways, his pride in tatters.
“Fucking bulls,” he declares, lying there.
Christian laughs so hard he nearly falls off his stool. “Get up, city boy. We have insurance.”
Tavish gets roped in by the locals, of course. He talks big, declares he grew up on rough Scottish hills and “bulls are nae that scary,” then gets thrown so dramatically the entire place howls. Rowan and Callum cannot breathe from laughing.
Charlie nudges me. “Come on,” he says. “We can do it together. One after the other. Or …” his eyes gleam, “… two on at once.”
“Absolutely not,” I say, then find myself five minutes later climbing onto the bull with him anyway.
I wrap my arms around his waist as I sit behind him.
The crowd loves it. Someone starts chanting our names.
Toby starts a slow clap. Christian wolf-whistles.
The operator, who I swear is enjoying this way too much, starts the bull slowly.
We manage to stay on for a good while, shifting, leaning.
At some point, Charlie’s arm hooks around my neck and pulls me to him as he kisses the hell out of me, which makes the entire bar erupt loudly.
We’re laughing too hard to even try. Eventually, the speed picks up, we lose balance, and we go flying, thankfully into the padded mats, limbs tangled, laughing so hard my stomach hurts.
Charlie rolls onto his back next to me, breathless, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.
“I love you,” he says quietly, just for me, even though everyone’s around us.
My chest tightens. “Love you too.”
Hours blur into music and drinks and never-ending line dancing.
Stacey holds court from her corner, getting fed snacks and mocktails and occasionally yelling at Oscar to hydrate.
The Sinclairs have settled into Moonlight Falls surprisingly well.
Tavish is arguing with Austin about which whiskey is better, Rowan is deep in conversation with Jesse about horses, and Callum is teaching one of the locals how to say something rude in Gaelic.
And through it all, Charlie drifts in and out of my orbit. Always close. Always within reach. A hand on my back, a smile from across the room, a shared look that says, ‘Can you believe this is our life?’
By the time closing time creeps up, the bar is a happy mess.
People are flushed, tired, and a little hoarse from shouting.
Snow has piled up outside, soft and thick and glittering under the streetlights.
Slowly, the Moose empties out. We all peel off into the parking lot, where the party buses are waiting for us.
The cold hits my face as soon as we step outside, sharp and clean.
Snowflakes catch in Charlie’s hair, on his lashes, on the shoulders of his jacket.
We lag behind the others without really trying to.
“Hey,” he says softly.
“Hey,” I answer.
For a moment, the noise fades. All I hear is the muffled hush of snow and distant laughter from our friends.
Charlie bumps his shoulder against mine. “You have a good time?”
I huff out a little laugh. “The best.”
He smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Good.”
We stand there a second longer, breath fogging the air between us. “This weekend,” he murmurs. “We get married.”
I look at him, really look at him, standing in the snow outside a cowboy bar in a town I never expected to love, surrounded by people I never expected to call family.
Warm.
Heavy.
Right.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “We do.”
His hand finds mine, fingers lacing, familiar and sure as he kisses me softly.
“Get a room, guys,” Christian calls out from the party bus.
“Let’s go home, I’m frozen.” I shiver.