Page 21 of What the Leos Burned (BLP Signs of Love #6)
The Sound of Goodbye
A few days had passed since the blowup on set.
Zay was back in Los Angeles, alone in the studio, surrounded by empty water bottles and dim purple LED lights that hummed above the console.
His head was low, and the headphones were pulled halfway down as he looped the same eight bars over and over again.
He couldn’t stop thinking about Love, Princess.
That argument hadn’t just rattled the room.
It cracked something in him. The things she said echoed louder now that he was back in his own space with no distractions to hide behind.
Why was she still that angry? That hurt?
If she had really moved on, why did it sound like she was still bleeding every time she said his name?
Unless . . . The thought suddenly came to him.
Unless she wasn’t just hurt. Maybe she was hiding something. Maybe her pain wasn’t just about what he did; it was about what they never got to say. Or fix. Or admit.
Truth be told, he was hurting too.
He missed her. Not in a weak, regret-filled way. But in that deep, buried, unfinished kind of way. He began to realize that maybe he never really let go either.
Still, . . . she’s married now. That must mean something. Right?
Zay exhaled and shook his head. It was late, maybe two or three in the morning; he didn’t keep track when he was in the studio.
The world outside had quieted down, but his mind hadn’t.
He turned up the song he’d just recorded.
It was soft but full, warm but layered with a melancholy he hadn’t even meant to create.
It was the same melody he’d been playing around with since he was seventeen.
A song he started writing in jail as a boy with no lived experiences. It hit harder now.
Now, more than a decade later, he was finally finishing it.
“Damn.” Kam’s voice cut through the beat like a thunderclap.
Zay jumped, and his hand flew to the keyboard as he quickly clicked the track off. “Shit, bro! You tryna give me a heart attack?”
Kam stood by the door, grinning and holding a takeout bag. “You good, man. I ain’t mean to creep in like that, but whatever the hell that was, yo, it was the most honest thing I’ve heard from you in years.”
He sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. “It’s nothing. Just something I started back in the day. Was just fuckin’ around with it.”
Kam dropped the bag on a stool. “You should. For the film. It sounds like a goodbye. Or an apology.”
Zay didn’t respond, but the thought lingered.
A goodbye. Yeah, maybe that’s what it is.
He looked at the screen again, then clicked ‘Save.’ Kam dropped the food in his lap, then stepped back out the studio into the hallway.
Suddenly, Zay’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it the first time, clicking the side button through his sweats without even looking at it. Then, it buzzed again. He took it out his pocket and furrowed his brows at the name that displayed across the screen.
It was Amora.
He sighed and debated a moment about whether to answer. The second he picked up, her voice boomed through the speaker like a missile.
“Ohhh, so now it all makes sense!”
“Amora,” he said, removing his ear from the speaker. “What’s up? What you so loud for?”
“You really had me out here thinking you just needed space. That you were focused on your work. But nah, you busy being caught up over that lil’ author bitch, huh?”
Zay blinked. “Amora, what are you . . . Can you chill for one second and tell me what you talking about?”
Instead, the line disconnected. Seconds later, a text came through.
It was a link to UrbanDrip Daily, a messy celeb blog known for stirring the pot.
Right at the top was a clear video clip of him and Love at the café the morning they decided to meet up.
The three-minute-long clip showed them laughing, smiling, and walking out together.
The headline read: “Old Flame or New Script? Zay Woods Spotted With Married Author Love T.—Sources Say It Wasn’t Just ‘Work’.”
Zay sighed, closed his eyes with exasperation, and hung his head down.
His immediate thought flashed to Love, if she had seen the article yet, or even worse, had her husband?
His intention was never to make matters worse; he genuinely only wished to have a friendly and professional set within the time they had to work together.
He realized how bad this looked and felt guilty.
While in his thoughts, Amora called his phone back.
“Amora, I don’t have time for this,” he answered.
“Oh, so now you don’t have nothing to say?”
“That video ain’t even what it looks like. It was a meeting for work. That’s all. I don’t gotta explain myself to you.”
“You really think you can play around with me?”
“No,” he said plainly. “I don’t.”
“You do this to me all the time, Zay. It’s always another bitch around, all at your house, all on trips and vacations, yet you call me when you need someone to talk to, someone to come through at three a.m. when you want some, like I’m some booty call.
I’m sick of this, Zay. I can’t take it no more. ”
Zay sat quietly on the other end. Usually, he would’ve just hung up by now.
He was used to her rants about his attitude and how she felt, and he usually dismissed them, knowing that she would be back again next time he called, but this time, he listened, and her words resonated within him.
This was a pattern with him. He would always crave that same feeling he once had with Princess, where he felt safe and at home, and he never found it with anyone else.
He would call Amora over because he knew she was the only one who came close to fulfilling that need.
However, he would quickly regret it and become stand-offish because it was never the same.
After this realization, he took a deep breath and replied calmly and quietly.
“Look, I’m sorry if I led you on. I thought I made it clear that you weren’t my girl. I wasn’t trying to play you, but I apologize for how I made you feel. You’re right. It wasn’t fair to treat you that way, and I apologize.”
She scoffed, loud and bitter. “Wow. That’s real noble, Zay.”
“I ain’t tryna be noble,” he said, voice low but still steady. “But I’m done with all this. The clout. The fake connections. I ain’t drinking no more. I ain’t chasing no more. I’m focusing on my work and my peace. That’s it.”
“Whatever,” she mumbled. “Don’t come calling me at three a.m. again when you change your mind again. Asshole.”
Then the line went dead again.
Zay looked at his phone at the article and reread the headline again.
He debated on calling or texting Love but remembered how late it was.
He didn’t want to make matters any worse if she had seen it.
He decided against it and tossed it on the couch and chuckled quietly to himself.
Not because it was funny but because he finally felt . . . grown.
Maybe it took fumbling too many second chances, burning too many bridges, and waking up alone one too many times, but he was done running in circles.
He was done mistaking pride for purpose and letting his ego lead where his heart should’ve been.
He was ready to be a man now. Not for the headlines or the fans, not even for her , but for himself.
Maybe by finishing the song he started as a boy in love, he was becoming the kind of man who didn’t just make noise to distract from the silence. He was ready to make music that healed something because he finally had something worth saying.
And a heart strong enough to say it.