Page 13 of Dirty Lyrics
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.
