Chapter 4-Rico
“Rico? Where to?” Chuy asks, his voice steady, like this is just another night, another errand.
But what the fuck can I tell him?
My head’s spinning, my chest burning, my entire world shifting under me.
Pregnant.
Maya is pregnant.
The first thing I feel is rage.
Hot, violent, gut-deep rage that makes my vision go red.
The thought slams into me— did she fuck someone else? Did she go and give what’s mine to another man?
No.
The answer is immediate, absolute.
The fury fizzles out as fast as it came, because I know her.
My girl.
My muse.
My little Songbird.
No, Maya didn’t let anyone else touch her. Not after me. Not after us.
That baby she’s carrying? It’s mine.
With every fiber of my being, I know it’s the truth.
“Drive us to St. Al’s,” I say, my voice low but sharp enough to cut steel. “And call Preacher.”
“Yes, Boss,” Chuy answers. I don’t miss the grin tugging at his mouth in the rearview mirror.
Smartass. He knows exactly what I’m about to do.
I don’t give a fuck.
Let him grin. Let the whole damn world grin.
All I know is this woman tried to run, but I found her.
She’s here, right beside me, trembling but close enough that I can feel the heat of her skin.
And she’s carrying my baby.
Mine.
The word echoes in my head like a drumbeat.
The thought rocks me, makes my chest ache with something I can’t even name.
Rage, fear, hunger, love.
It’s all tangled up, messy as hell, but one truth shines through the noise.
I will not let her go again.
And then I remember the promise I made myself a long damn time ago. Back when I was just a boy, small enough to hide in the corners of my Mama’s kitchen while she cried over the man who denied her.
My father— who refused his name, his blood, his duty. Who looked at us like we were nothing but a mistake he wished he could erase.
That day, I swore I’d never be him.
I swore no child of mine would grow up with questions about who they belonged to.
This child will have a father.
This baby will be born with my name.
Not hidden. Not denied. Not left wondering.
Maya can fight me. She can curse me, claw me, hate me with every ounce of fury she’s got.
But she’s not raising my baby alone.
She’s not disappearing into some corner of New Jersey to pretend I don’t exist.
I exist.
We exist.
No, I have no idea what it all means, I just know that right now, this is everything I want.
And I'm not asking for permission. I'm taking it.
St. Al’s is in Jersey City, and the drive takes thirty-seven long, brutal minutes. Thirty-seven minutes of New Jersey traffic, stoplights, and the sound of Maya’s breathing next to me. She’s quiet, but I can feel the tension rolling off her. She doesn’t understand what’s about to happen.
Hell, I barely do. All I know is I can’t lose her again.
The truth is, I’m running through the whole goddamn gamut of emotions. Jealousy, anger, betrayal, pride, regret, joy—shit, I don’t even know what half of what I’m feeling is called.
But one thing cuts through all the noise.
I need Maya.
Wearing my ring.
Carrying my name.
Living under my protection.
I need her to be mine in every possible way.
When the SUV finally pulls up to the front steps of the old Catholic church, I don’t wait. I climb out, then help her down, my hand firm around hers.
She stiffens at my touch, but I don’t let go.
A gray-haired priest waits under the awning, long cassock swaying in the late summer breeze. His lined face softens when he sees me.
“Rico,” he greets warmly.
“Preacher,” I reply, nodding. “This is Maya.”
She stiffens again, confusion clouding her eyes, but I squeeze her hand tighter. I want to reassure her, but my grip probably feels more like a chain than comfort.
Still, I can’t loosen it.
Not when she’s right here, not when I’ve got her back in my arms and she’s carrying my baby .
“Hello, Maya,” Preacher says kindly. “Well then, let’s get inside and sign the documents. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”
Maya’s head whips toward me. “What shouldn’t take more than a few minutes?”
I look down at her— my curvy, stubborn, runaway lyricist with fire in her eyes and my baby in her belly —and I know there’s no turning back.
“Our wedding,” I say simply.
Her breath catches. She jerks her hand, but I don’t let go.
Because she’s mine.
Always was. Always will be.
And after today, I’m going to make sure the world knows it.