Page 67 of Dirty Lyrics
“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.
epilogue 2-maya
“Rico,” I whisper, shifting the warm bundle in my arms, “wake up.”
He stirs with a groan, one hand flying to the back of his head as his dark lashes flutter open.
His eyes are glassy, his hair mussed, and he looks… adorably wrecked.
My big, bad rockstar husband—flat on his back from slipping on a hospital rag.
I can’t help it. I laugh.
“You passed out.”
The words tumble out with a grin I can’t hold back.
He scowls, the faintest blush creeping across his cheekbones.
“I did not pass out. I slipped.”
“Uh-huh.” I adjust the tiny bundle against my chest, his cries soothed into soft snuffles. “Slipped like a fainting goat. Right as your son made his grand entrance.”
