Rico’s top priority has always been getting home to his loving spouse. His determination to get home to them was further proven by his neglected bullet hole.

All he could think about on the ride home was their spouse, pacing in the kitchen and blowing up his dead phone trying to find out where he was. He couldn’t stand even the idea that they were worrying their pretty little head for his sake.

The pain in his shoulder could wait a damn minute for him to see his spouse.

It felt like decades before he got home and walked in through the front door, holding his injured shoulder in an attempt to slow his bleeding. “Mi amor,” he called out and staggered around their shared house.

All that mattered to him was them. They were his everything, they needed to know that he was okay. That he was alive and he wouldn’t be leaving.

When he finally stumbled into the kitchen where they sat at the table, he let out a soft breath of relief.

“Tesoro,” he spoke softly before letting out a pained hiss and leaning against the wall. The adrenaline that allowed him to speed home without a second thought was fading and he was starting to feel the full effect of his injury.

“Sorry, sweetheart… I don’t mean to dirty your floor up again.”