Chapter 96 Derrick
DERRICK
Two years later
My life is unrecognizable in all the best ways.
We’re settled into our house, the house Charlie bought me on our wedding day.
Our home, filled with framed photos and an abundance of throw blankets I refuse to give up, and more candles than a witch.
My business has exploded, as has the Wyld Jones boutiques.
I also bought the boutique in Moonlight Falls and have turned it into the county’s prom capital, which I love.
But the most significant change is that Charlie and I are having a baby, not one but two, all thanks to Vanessa’s eggs.
We debated about taking Vanessa up on her very generous offer or finding someone else, but after Charlie and I had numerous conversations privately with Christian and Vanessa, and a couple of therapy sessions to iron out anything, in the end, there was no reason to say no because they truly wanted to do this for us.
We then had the hard task of finding a surrogate, but luckily, an agency found a beautiful woman in LA who was happy to carry twins for us.
I wanted a girl, and Charlie wanted a boy, and she got pregnant on the first try and kept them both, which is a miracle.
Now we are waiting for the call. It could happen at any moment.
“Derrick!” Charlie screams through the house. “It’s time.”
“Oh my god, it’s time. It’s fucking time,” I scream as we both panic scramble. I had an outfit picked and everything.
Charlie grabs my face. “D, we need to grab the hospital bag.”
I nod. The hospital bag. We just double-checked it only yesterday.
“It’s by our bed.” Because for some reason, I thought we would get the call during the night, not during the day.
We rush in and grab the duffle bag and rush out, forgetting our keys and nearly locking ourselves out of the house.
We quickly grab them and head to the car.
“We need to call people,” I tell him as we head toward the hospital.
“Text everyone,” he tells me.
I pull out my phone and quickly post in all our group chats. “I’m freaking out.”
“Me too,” he confesses.
“We’re going to be dads today.” The enormity hits me. I’m going to be a dad. A dad. “Are you going to be dad, daddy, or what? We haven’t worked out what we are going to be called. The babies need to know our names.”
“D, they can’t speak yet.”
“But they can hear. Don’t you think we should work that out?”
“Breathe, D, we can work that out tomorrow. Let’s just make it to the hospital first and get through the birth,” Charlie says calmly.
Right. Yes. The birth.
“Do I have to watch the babies come out of her?” I ask him.
“You can do what you want. Remember what the agency said,” he reminds me.
He’s right. We have a birth plan.
Twenty minutes later, we screech into the parking lot. Charlie brakes so hard we both fling forward.
“Sorry,” he says, looking guilty, but it’s the thing that makes us burst out laughing, breaking the panicked tension between us. “We are having babies, D. You and me, a real family.”
“Fuck. I hope we don’t mess them up, it kind of feels like an adult should be here with us.”
Charlie reaches over and grabs my hand and kisses my knuckles. “We’ve got this. Together.” We get out of the car and head to the hospital entrance.
“We’re having babies,” I say loudly as we enter the hospital. The hospital reception staff look at us, and then calmly gather the details and send us up to the maternity ward.
I don’t even remember the blur between walking into that hospital room and ending up here. All I know is this. I’m sitting in a soft beige recliner in our private maternity suite, lights dimmed … and I’m holding our daughter.
London Vanessa is tiny and warm and wrapped up so tight she looks like a cinnamon scroll. All dark hair, pink cheeks, and the smallest nose I’ve ever seen in my life. I keep counting her little fingers like they might disappear if I blink.
Across from me, Charlie is in another recliner, staring down at Rocky Lyle, our son. Neither of us has spoken for minutes. We’re too overwhelmed. Too in love. Too everything.
Charlie finally looks up and whispers, “We made people, D.”
“I know,” I whisper back. My voice cracks instantly. “They’re real. They’re actually real.”
He laughs softly, but it’s the kind of laugh you make when you’re seconds from crying. “I can’t believe he’s ours.”
I swallow hard. “I can’t believe she’s ours.”
He wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. “You’re a dad.”
“You’re a dad,” I echo, because somehow saying it back makes it more real.
We sit there for another quiet stretch, the soft beeping of monitors somewhere outside the door, distant footsteps in the hall.
Our surrogate is resting in another suite, happy, healthy, supported, and we’ve already thanked her so many times I’m sure we’ll have to send an edible arrangement to apologize.
I look back down at London. “She’s perfect. Charlie … look at her lips. Look at …”
A knock interrupts me, followed immediately by someone ignoring the concept of knocking entirely and pushing the door open.
Christian’s head pops around the door frame. “Are you clothed? Are you stable? Can we come in? I’m coming in.”
Before I can say “no,” he’s already inside.
Behind him is the entire chaos brigade.
All of Dirty Texas.
All their partners.
All their kids.
Vanessa, who looks nine months and forty-seven weeks pregnant with her miracle baby that she conceived naturally, they weren’t expecting to have any more babies. And Olivia, who looks only slightly less pregnant but equally done with life.
Christian takes one look at me and melts. “Oh, D …” His voice cracks immediately. “You’re holding a baby.”
“I am aware.” I sniffle.
He wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. “Shut up. I’m emotional.”
Vanessa waddles in behind him, breathless. “Shit, they are gorgeous.”
“This is London Vanessa,” I tell her.
She bursts out crying. “No, you didn’t.”
Vanessa leans over me like she’s inspecting gemstones. “London Nash-Jones,” she whispers, and her face softens. “Oh, Derrick. She’s beautiful.”
“She looks like you,” I say.
“She looks like herself,” Vanessa corrects gently.
From the other side of the room, Charlie barks out a laugh. “Derrick, look who Rocky made eye contact with.”
I turn.
Axel is crying.
Not just crying, silently weeping like he’s watching the final scene of a puppy movie.
“He looked at me,” Axel whispers. “He picked me.”
Olivia pats her husband’s back. “He did not pick you. He can’t even see properly yet.”
Axel ignores her completely. “It’s fine. I’ll be his favorite uncle.”
Christian snaps his fingers. “Absolutely not. That title is MINE.”
Sienna swoops in next, hand to her chest. “Derrick,” she cries, which sets me off.
Suddenly, the room is full. Warm. Loud. Overflowing. Kids are peeking curiously over the edges of chairs. Isla is cooing at London, Everly is staring at Rocky like he’s a museum artifact. And through all the noise, all the laughter, all the chaos …
Charlie looks at me.
I look at him.
Our twins are in our arms.
Our family is around us.
Our future is unfolding in real time.
Charlie mouths, “We did it.”
I mouth back, “We did.”
Two years after that
Our story doesn’t end there, oh no, we loved being dads so much we went for a second round even though we said two was enough. I really wanted a little boy, and Charlie really wanted a little girl.
So, we did.
And now our family is complete as we welcome two new members of the Nash-Jones family to the world.
Wyatt Jackson and Paris Sienna.
And now everything is complete.