Page 24 of What the Leos Burned (BLP Signs of Love #6)

Zay hadn’t left the studio for three days straight.

He took the next flight back to Los Angeles the same night he arrived at the soundstage.

He figured that he had more than enough material to complete the score of the project, and he no longer needed to sit to hear any more table reads.

That, and he wasn’t prepared to hear any more surprises.

His heart couldn’t possibly take another.

He poured out everything to Kam on the flight, talking non-stop, shouting, crying, and pausing between sentences the whole way home.

Kam didn’t judge; he just sat and took it all in.

When they landed, he gave Zay a long hug, one that a big brother would give to his younger sibling in a crisis, and they parted ways.

When he finally made it home, the sun rose and set without asking his permission for the next few days.

Meals went uneaten, texts went unanswered.

He sat hunched over the piano, hoodie pulled low, headphones stretched tight over his ears as he looped the same melody over and over, chasing something he couldn’t quite name—only could feel deep in his soul.

This wasn’t about finishing a track anymore.

This was about her.

About the baby he never held. The birthday parties he never knew to show up for. The silence that grew between him and Princess like vines on a house that used to feel like home.

He didn’t cry anymore; he let the keys do it.

They wept under his hands, soft at first then thunderous, like grief that poured into sound.

He stacked harmonies like prayers and layered strings so thick that they pressed on his chest. His voice cracked on the mic more than once, and for once, he didn’t re-record it.

He wanted the pain to live there, to breathe there.

This was still the same song that he started when he was just seventeen, but it was just a loop and a line back then, something about forever not being long enough.

Now, it had verses. Now, it had truth.

Every lyric poured from him like it had been waiting in his bloodstream all along. He sang about a girl with a crooked smile who changed his whole world in a Detroit summer. About walking away too fast. About what he would’ve done if he’d known he left more than just her behind.

He rapped it like it was the only way he could say sorry.

By the time he played it back, 3:42 a.m. on the third night, he sat still in the dark and stared at the blinking green light, listening to the final note fade.

It was finally done, but it didn’t feel like an ending. It felt more like something beginning.

The door creaked open behind him, and Kam stepped in, quiet but not sneaky. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed but didn’t bother saying hello.

Zay heard him but didn’t turn to greet him. He just hit play again.

Kam stepped in, closed the door behind him, and stood in place. He didn’t speak until the final chorus passed. His head tilted slightly as the last harmony broke over the beat like a wave.

“Damn,” he whispered. “That’s a hit.”

Zay didn’t move. He didn’t answer nor look back. He hit the spacebar and looped the track again, once more.

“That ain’t just a hit. That’s you.” Kam shouted over the music, dropping into the chair beside him. “That’s the realest, most emotional shit you’ve ever made.”

Zay leaned back in his chair, still staring at the console like it held a different answer. He turned the volume down and spoke quietly. “It almost broke me getting it out.”

Kam nodded. “Real art usually does.”

Zay rubbed his temples. “She didn’t tell me, man. Fifteen years, and I didn’t know. I ain’t even like . . . I ain’t even have a clue.”

“I know.”

“I missed everything. First steps. Her first words. Man, Kam, I don’t even know if she knows that I’m her dad.”

Kam let that breathe before he responded. “You were seventeen when she got pregnant.”

“And?”

“And you told her you didn’t want to be a father. That you couldn’t do love and the music.”

Zay’s jaw clenched. “Still should’ve told me.”

“You right. You deserved that. But maybe she was scared too, Zay. Probably didn’t know how to give you that truth and not lose herself.”

Zay looked away. His jaw tightened. “She still should’ve told me.”

Kam leaned forward. “You know what matters now? You got a shot to show up. Not just as the man you were, but the man you’ve become. You ain’t that boy no more, chasing showcases and radio spins. You grown now. You grounded. That little girl—your daughter—she deserves to know this version of you.”

Zay blinked hard, trying to swallow the swell of emotion.

“I’m just saying, bro. Don’t waste time punishing Love or yourself for what’s already gone,” Kam said. “You can’t get back fifteen years. But you can give her every year from here forward.”

Zay looked at the screen, then at the mic, then back at Kam.

“I think I still love her.”

Kam smirked. “I know you do.”

“I want to know my daughter.”

“Then go do that. Be that.”

Those words weighed heavy on him then. He stood slowly, still unsure of what the road ahead looked like—but more sure than ever that he had to take it.

Love had written her truth into pages.

He had finally created his through music.

Now, it was time to live it.