Page 14 of Dirty Lyrics
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.
chapter 5-maya
It all happens in a blur.
One second, I’m standing outside one of those old gothic-looking churches—stone walls weathered by decades of rain, ivy climbing the cracks, a cross silhouetted against the New Jersey sky.
