Page 8 of Dirty Lyrics
Empty words, hollow rhymes.
The fans will hear it—they always do.
I need her back.
Fuck if she hates me.
I need her for the music.
That’s what I tell Matheson.
Even if he’s preoccupied these days—which honestly, is like a fucking favor from God. Whatever loyalty I think I feel for the man, it dried up weeks ago. Now, I can’t wait for our contract to be up.
And it’s what I tell the guys in the band. Maya is not just some ex I want to hunt down. This is business.
Yeah, Right. The truth?
I need her. That’s it. I. Need. Her.
Why? Because she’s herself. Because she made me feel like more than just El Tigre—the stage persona, the brand, the icon.
With her, I can be myself.
Just Rico.
Just a man.
And I’m not sure I know how to be me anymore. Not without her.
I don’t care if she’s angry.
I don’t care if she spits in my face.
I just want to hear it from her lips—why she left.
Why didn’t she trust me enough to stay?
Because the not knowing? That’s the part that’s killing me.
Anyway, I’m half-asleep on the leather couch in my home studio when my phone buzzes across the coffee table.
I ignore it at first, thinking it’s another message from Matheson, but then I see the name flash across the screen.
Chuy. One of my oldest friends from the neighborhood.
“Wassup, hermano?” I answer.
“You’re still looking for that girl, right?” His voice is low, like he’s calling from some place he shouldn’t be.
My heart kicks up. “Maya?”
“I think I found her.”
I sit up so fast I almost drop the phone.
“Where?”
He hesitates, like maybe he’s second-guessing telling me.
