Chapter 14-Rico
I should be up already. I’ve got calls to make, meetings to dodge, and fires to put out.
But Maya’s curled in my bed, tangled in my sheets, and I can’t make myself move.
Her hair is a dark spill across my pillow, her lips parted, her body still marked with the places I kissed and bit this morning when I woke up to her plump ass pressed against me.
That she let me touch her, kiss her, have her?
Fuck, it’s more than I deserve. But I’m a greedy fucker and I’ll take everything she gives me gladly.
I think it’s safe to say I’m obsessed with this woman.
With her body.
Her headlong response to my touch.
Her sweet, sinful submission.
Laying here with her in the blissful exhaustion after? That’s just icing.
The truth is, I want to stay here forever, just watching her breathe.
But reality’s a bitch.
I slide out of bed carefully, grab my phone. I see dozens of missed calls and unopened text messages.
Shit.
This prick won’t quit, and I know it, so I dial before he decides to come over and chew me out face to face.
Matheson picks up on the first ring, already in a froth.
“Where the fuck have you been, Rico? I’ve been calling you all damn night! We’ve got timelines, obligations, deals on the table. You think you can just disappear?”
I rub a hand down my face, already regretting this. “What do you want, Dan?”
“What do I want?” His voice ratchets higher. “I want you to do your fucking job! That means the next single for Lucy Volkov. I have the demo, but it needs more, dammit!”
“I hate that fucking song, Dan. I won’t be doing it.”
“Yes, you fucking will, you prick! The momentum is hot right now, the media’s eating it up. I don’t care if you have to pull lyrics out of your ass, you will deliver. Don’t forget who owns your contract. I do! I own you!”
Every word is gasoline on an already burning fire.
“No.”
My voice is steady, final.
It’s followed by a stunned silence.
“What did you just say to me?” Matheson asks.
“I said no. I’m not writing songs for Lucy Volkov. I’m not playing her love interest for your headlines. That shit is dead.”
His laugh is sharp and ugly.
“You think you’ve got the clout to tell me no? You want to burn your career to the ground? Go ahead, Rico. You’re nothing without me. I’ll bury you so fucking deep?—”
“Talk to my lawyer,” I snap, cutting him off, and hang up before I throw the phone through the wall.
My pulse is a hammer in my throat. I’m still vibrating with rage when a soft voice cuts through it.
“What was that about?”
I spin, wide-eyed, to see Maya propped on her elbow, sleepy but sharp, watching me.
Fuck.
She heard. Every word.
I rake a hand through my hair, pacing once before I force myself to face her.
“Maya—” My voice cracks, and I hate it. “I’ve gotta be straight with you. I’m fucked when it comes to my contract. Matheson’s got me tied six ways from Sunday. I’ve been working on breaking it, but I don’t have enough power yet. Not enough leverage.”
Her brows knit, worry in her eyes, but she doesn’t interrupt.
“I didn’t want you to get dragged into this shit. I never wanted it to ruin us. Having that woman in the Fuego Lento video was all Matheson. He said it would boost my numbers, and I went with it because I’m trying to get away from him. But I should have told you?—”
“I-I thought you were into her,” she whispers.
“No. Never. And I swear to you—I don’t even know Lucy Volkov other than a few meetings at very public places and the video shoot. But that was all Matheson’s circus, not mine. Never mine.”
Her breath hitches. Unshed tears glisten in her eyes.
Fuck. My heart squeezes.
I cross the room, sit on the edge of the bed, and take her hands, pressing them to my chest so she can feel the pounding truth of my heart.
“You’re not ready to hear this yet, but I can’t keep it locked up anymore, Maya.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I love you.”
“Rico—”
“Just listen, Mami. I did a lot of stupid shit. A lot of posturing. Wanted you to think I was a big man. But all I ever wanted was to get big enough to break free from these shitty contracts Matheson had me sign years ago.”
“What do you mean? Your agent, he-he’s been controlling it all?”
“Controlling it all. Reaping the rewards. Lots of artists get screwed that way, you know? And I was ashamed to tell you. I just wanted to build something of my own. To give you the life you deserve. Because you are everything to me, Maya. My love. My life. My true muse.”
The words tear out of me, raw and desperate.
She’s sobbing now, and I feel crushed.
Panicked.
“I don’t want Lucy Volkov. Fuck, I don’t want anyone else. Not since I laid eyes on you.”
I pause. I reach for her face and cradle it between my palms, crushing her against me as I hold her gaze steady, needing her to believe me.
“But she’s beautiful?—”
“You’re beautiful. Don’t you know I just want you? Only you.”
And fuck, I mean it.
I mean it so fucking much it hurts.
“You’re the only thing that matters. Not the fame, or the fortune, or the fucking crowds of fans. Just you, Songbird. You and the baby are everything to me.”
The words scrape raw out of me, torn from the center of my chest, because she has to know.
I need her to know .
She has to understand. She has to.
That I mean everything I’m saying—even if the words are coming out twisted, broken, not nearly enough. I’ve never been good at this—spilling my heart without a beat or a rhyme to back me up. But for her, I’ll try.
Because I know I don’t deserve her.
I know I fucked up—by letting Matheson run his games, by not fighting harder, by keeping all this ugly shit buried instead of trusting her to handle it with me. I thought I was protecting her, but really, I was protecting myself.
From fear that she’d see me as small.
Weak. Not enough.
But without her? I’m nothing.
So what the fuck do I have to lose by telling her everything now?
“Rico, I don’t think?—”
“No.”
My voice is rougher than I intended, but I can’t stop.
“Don’t finish that sentence.”
I drag in a breath, my chest aching, and force the words out.
“Look, I kept shit from you, and I was wrong. But I know you have secrets too.” My voice cracks as I search her eyes.
“Maya Gold. Central Park West. A black fucking AMEX tucked in your phone wallet. You’re not just some girl scribbling lyrics in a notebook—you come from money, power, things I don’t know or understand… because you didn’t tell me.”
“Rico, I?—”
But I don’t let her speak. I can’t. I’m so fucking afraid of what she’ll say, of her confirming that maybe I was never enough to begin with, so I push harder.
“And I know I haven’t earned your trust yet, so I can wait for you to tell me your story in your own time. But this—you have to believe me when I say you are it for me, Maya. You are it. ”
My throat feels shredded. My voice is gravel, torn raw, and I feel wetness on my face before I even realize I’m crying.
Fuck it.
I have to just let me cry. There’s nothing else to do.
Boys don’t cry is one of those bullshit lies society drilled into us, and it needs to die already.
Because we do.
Real men cry.
We have feelings. We bleed. We break. And if we’re lucky enough to love a woman the way I love Maya, then we owe it to them— and to ourselves —to let it out.
To not choke on it, not bury it, but to own it.
To learn from it.
To love harder because of it.
And right now, I’m working so goddamn hard not to fall apart completely at her feet.
“This here,” I choke, my voice a whisper, “is me laying it all out for you. Every ugly, vulnerable, terrified part of me I’ve been holding back.”
I drag a hand down my face, breathing ragged.
“It’s not much. But it’s everything I’ve got.”
My throat feels tight, my chest burning.
“I’m not good enough for you. I know that. Even without knowing your real name, I know that.”
“What are you?—”
“I didn’t want you to see me as just some kid from the barrio, some singer clawing his way up who might never break free from assholes like Matheson. I didn’t want you to look at me and see some small-time punk. Not when all I want to do is give you everything.”
Maya pulls on my wrists, and I release my hold on her because I don’t want to accidentally hurt her, and I’m not exactly in control of myself right now.
But I’m still shaking my head, opening my mouth because I am not done yet.
I am not giving up on us, and I’ll talk until I run out of oxygen if she listens—only I don’t get to say anything else because my girl stuns the shit out of me.
She grabs my face, mimicking the way I was holding her moments before, and she gives me a little shake.
“Oh my God, Rico. Shut up.”
The words catch me off guard. My eyes widen.
“What?”
She laughs, wet and shaky, a tear rolling down her cheek.
“Just shut up. Now, come here.”
And like the fool I am for her, I go. I go like a fucking lamb to slaughter, crawling up the bed, closing the space between us until I can taste her breath.
Then she kisses me.
And it’s everything.
It’s fire and forgiveness. It’s home and hunger. It’s the piece of my soul I thought I lost the day she ran.
Her perfect, plump lips crush mine, salt from her tears mingling with the peachy sweetness of her mouth, and when she pulls back, her voice trembles but her eyes are steady.
“I didn’t know you were in trouble, but if you’re in a fight,” she whispers, her hand pressed to my chest, right over my pounding heart, “then it’s my fight too.”
I choke, barely able to speak.
“You mean that?”
I have to ask, even though I know this girl isn’t with me because of any perceived fame and fortune. Maya never cared about that.
She loves music just like I do. It’s part of her. And together, I truly believe we can do anything.
“Yes, Rico. I mean it,” she whispers, fat tears clinging to her dark eyelashes. Then she takes my breath away.
“And I should have told you this before, but I’m saying it now. I’m having your baby and I love you, Rico.”
“Say that again.”
“I love you. Me and the baby love you.”
“Fuck. Say it one more time,” I beg.
She smiles, and it’s like the sun shining on me after a winter of darkness.
“We’re a family now. And we’re going to do this together.”
For a second, I can’t move. Can’t breathe.
“Family,” I repeat the word, and my heart swells so damn big, any second I expect it to explode out of me.
I must say it too because she laughs, and she reaches up on her elbows and kisses my nose.
“You’re insane, but I love you like an insane amount, so I guess it fits.”
“I love you, Songbird. I love you so fucking much,” I swear to her it’s the truth.
And then I’m kissing her again, hard and desperate, like the words she just gave me are oxygen and I’ve been drowning for months.
Because she loves me.
The real me.
And nothing else in this fucked-up world has ever mattered more.