Epilogue 1-Rico
Five months later. January,
Maya’s belly is round, swollen, and fuck—she’s never looked more beautiful in her life.
Nine months pregnant, glowing like she swallowed the sun, and still managing to boss me around with that sass I can’t get enough of.
There’s a foot of snow outside, Montclair blanketed in white from the latest blizzard.
We’re standing by the massive windows in the living room of our new house—the house I gave her as a Christmas present.
Our forever home.
It’s perfect.
Big enough for a family.
Warm. Safe. Ours.
Of course, it’s outfitted with a home studio that can rival any professional setup out there.
Yes, it’s soundproof.
What can I say? I know I’ll have to go to the other place Balor bought to record from time to time, but I couldn’t stand the idea of being away from her for too long.
Outside, delivery guys are schlepping the last of the nursery furniture up the icy drive.
It’s been slow going with the storm, but today’s the final push. Just the finishing touches before my son arrives.
I narrow my eyes when one idiot loses his grip and the antique cradle Maya picked out for the baby tips sideways.
My gut clenches as one of the legs cracks.
“Oh, hell no.”
I storm outside, boots crunching in the snow, fury rolling through me.
“Do you have any idea what you just did?” I bark, stalking over to inspect the damage. “That’s not some cheap crib from Target— that’s an antique my wife picked out! Do you even understand how important that is?”
The guy stammers. “Hey, man, it’s not my fault. It’s icy?—”
“Of course it’s your fault,” Chuy growls appearing beside me. “We shoveled, salted—there’s literally nothing to slip on. You just weren’t paying attention.”
I grin. I love that about Chuy.
He’s as protective of Maya as I am these days. She does that to people.
Makes them fall for her, want to keep her happy.
Hell, half the guys I know would die for her.
But she’s mine.
And I make sure they all know exactly where I draw the line between grateful and homicidal.
Now, I’m still chewing the delivery guy out when I hear her voice from the door.
“Rico?”
“Hold on, Songbird, I just wanna see what this idiot did?—”
“Rico!” Louder this time.
Something in her tone freezes my blood.
“What?” I snap, turning just in time to see her tense.
Her whole body goes forward, her hand flying to her belly.
My heart stops.
I’ve got one second— one heartbeat —before my whole world tilts upside down.
“Stop messing around with the delivery guys,” she gasps, her face pale but fierce. “And get me to the hospital!”
Fuck.
Everything else disappears. The snow, the cradle, the idiot delivery man— it all fades into static.
Because my wife is in labor.
And the only thing that matters now is getting her and my son safely into this world.
But it’s chaos from the second the words leave her mouth. I run to her, crashing into the idiot delivery guy and crushing the rest of the antique cradle with his body when I push him the fuck out of my way.
“Hey!”
“Shut up!”
“Rico! Hospital! Now! ”
“Get up, man,” Chuy’s already barking orders, shoving the delivery guys off the property while I scoop Maya into my arms and rush her into the SUV.
She’s gripping my neck tight, her face tight with pain but her eyes— God, her eyes are steady. Fierce.
Meanwhile, I’m a goddamn wreck.
“Breathe, Mami, just—fuck—no, don’t breathe, I mean, breathe but not like—oh shit ?—”
She bursts out laughing.
Laughing.
“Rico, calm down. I’m fine!”
“Fine? You’re not fine! You’re about to have our son in the middle of a goddamn snowstorm!”
My heart’s jackhammering as I gun it down slick roads, Chuy’s SUV following close behind.
My hands are sweating on the wheel, my chest feels like it’s caving in.
By the time we screech into the hospital lot, I’m panting harder than Maya, who’s somehow grinning at me through her contractions.
Nurses rush us with a wheelchair, and I damn near break my neck trying to help them get her inside.
Hours blur together. Monitors beeping. Nurses moving fast. Me pacing holes into the tile.
Every time Maya cries out, I flinch like someone’s stabbing me. Every time she squeezes my hand, I swear she’s breaking it— and I don’t even care.
And then— she laughs. Again.
Full, bright, belly-shaking laughter in between contractions.
I gape at her, sweat dripping down my temple.
“Goddamn it, I love you, Maya , but this is not supposed to be funny!”
“How can it not be?” she gasps, clutching her belly, eyes wet from both tears and mirth. “With you huffing and puffing and practically passing out every time I push?”
“I’m not passing out!” I shout, indignant.
The nurse gives me a look that says everything.
“Sir,” she says carefully, like she’s talking to a toddler about to throw a tantrum, “maybe you should sit down? Or I can get you some smelling salts?”
Smelling salts. Like I’m some fainting Victorian lady instead of a six-foot-something reggaeton star.
Maya cackles so hard she nearly doubles over, her laughter tangled with the groans of another contraction.
“Don’t you dare bring him smelling salts,” she wheezes between giggles. “He’ll never live it down.”
And God help me, even in the middle of labor she’s gorgeous—radiant, fierce, hair plastered to her temples, face glowing, laughing her ass off while she brings our son into the world.
Me? I’m a wreck.
My shirt’s soaked through, my palms are slick, and I’m breathing like I’m the one doing the pushing.
I’m a sweaty, terrified mess.
But I’ll be damned if I’m not the proudest man alive when she bears down, gives it one more push, and our son finally arrives— squalling, perfect, alive .
My chest cracks open. My knees go weak.
That sound— his first cry —shreds me and remakes me in the same instant.
I take a step back to get out of the doctor’s way, eyes blurred with tears—and my heel catches on something. A rag, a towel, who the fuck knows.
Next thing I know, I’m airborne.
I land flat on my back with a crack of pain that lights up the back of my skull. The world tilts, stars burst behind my eyes, and the last thing I hear before darkness takes me is Maya’s voice, shrill with panic and laughter all at once.
“RICO!”
Her laughter follows, bright and unrestrained, echoing in my ears as everything goes black.
And hey— there are worse ways to go down.