Page 26 of What the Leos Burned (BLP Signs of Love #6)

The Lion Pack

Zay sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on knees, staring down at his phone like it held the answers. The room was quiet—no music, no TV, just the sound of the trees blowing in the breeze from his bedroom window. His phone sat in his palm, lit up with her name. All he had to do was press ‘send.’

Back in Atlanta, Love was folding laundry in the living room. The mundane task helped calm her nerves, but the second her phone rang and Zay’s name appeared, her heart jumped. She stared at it for a second. Then she took a deep breath, placed Yana’s hoodie down on the couch, and answered.

The silence that followed wasn’t just awkward; it was heavy. It was full of everything they hadn’t said in fifteen years. She sat back on the couch and brushed over a wrinkle in her leggings. He leaned back on the bed, eyes to the ceiling.

“So,” he finally said, voice low, “I been tryna figure out how to call you without sounding angry. Or hurt. Or like I don’t care.”

He paused again. Love’s heart raced as she braced herself for another conversation she needed to have.

“So what happened?”

Another pause stretched between them. Then she exhaled and began.

“I was pregnant freshman year . . . I wanted to drop out. I didn’t think I could do it, not without you. But you were gone, living your dream, finally getting the shot you worked so hard for. You were overseas, doing what you loved. I couldn’t be the reason you stopped.”

Zay didn’t interrupt. His silence was patient. Painful.

“I met Juwon a few months later,” she continued.

“We started as friends. He was kind and so supportive. He saw me through school, stayed up with me when I was sick, helped me finish my degree when I wanted to quit. We fell in love. Or . . . I thought I did. But my heart, . . . it never really left you. Still, I tried to make it work. We got married.”

She paused again. “Then he started wanting more. More kids. More from me. And I—I couldn’t give him that. I didn’t want that with him. Eventually, he stepped out. Cheated.”

Zay closed his eyes. “Damn.”

“I tried, Zay. I gave him everything I could, but I don’t think I was ever ready. Then, he cheated. I blame myself because I knew I hadn’t been all in.”

“You can’t do that,” he said softly. “Cheating’s a choice. That’s on him. You—” His voice cracked a little. “You’re a good woman, Princess. Always have been. That’s why it hurt so much to lose you.”

She sniffed. “Don’t do that. Don’t be kind to me right now. I kept her from you.I’m sorry.”

He sat with the words and let them weigh on him.

“I used to tell myself you were better off,” she continued. “That maybe you seriously didn’t want to be a dad. Not after what you went through.”

He let out a deep and hollow laugh. “Truth is, . . . I’ve always wanted a family. But I didn’t think I was deserving of one. So I just . . . shut everyone out. Even when the lights were bright and the shows sold out, I was still empty. I was still missing you.”

That broke her. Her voice cracked. “I never stopped loving you.” The words came out in fragments, like breath slipping through a wound. “I didn’t stop. I just . . . buried it.”

He sat up. “I’ve never stopped loving you, Prin. Not once.”

She broke down right there, soft sobs muffling on the other end of the phone. He looked around his bedroom as tears fell from his eyes.

“Let me come see you and Yana,” Zay said. “I want to meet her.”

“Absolutely,” Love responded. “She wants that.”

A few days later, Zay stood on her porch, straight off his flight from L.A., heart racing harder than it ever had backstage of any of his shows. He’d done live TV interviews, been mobbed by fans, and toured foreign countries solo. But this . . . this was something different.

Love opened the door slowly. Her eyes met his, and for a second, neither spoke. Then she stepped aside and let him in. The scent of vanilla and something warm filled the space. It instantly reminded him of her bedroom, on those cold nights when they were teenagers back in Detroit.

He followed her down the hall to the living room.

“You ready for this?” Love smiled, staring into his eyes.

“No,” he replied nervously, “but I’m here now.”

She walked to him slowly and stood by his side. She touched his shoulder, giving him a firm and reassuring tap and nudged him through the walkway. When he walked into the room, he paused as he saw the back of her head sitting down.

There she was. Fifteen. Curled up on the couch. Her hair twisted into two puffs. She turned around, and the moment her eyes met his, something shifted. He saw his mother’s smile. His own stare in her gaze. His breath caught.

She looked nervous yet curious. Guarded even.

He cleared his throat and fully stepped into the room, closer to her. When he reached her, he stood in front of her, extending his hand. “Hi, . . . I’m Zay.”

She hesitated, then slowly stood up and reached for it. “Hi. I’m Yana.”

Her eyes met his gaze, big, brown, and cautious. He couldn’t help thinking of how much she looked just like his mother. Tears welled in his eyes at the thought, and he swallowed to keep them from overflowing.

He noticed the shirt she wore, an anime graphic tee. “You like anime?”

She nodded. “A lot.”

Zay smiled. “I used to watch Naruto religiously. Got to visit Tokyo once on tour. Place is unreal.”

Her eyes lit up. “You’ve been to Tokyo? That’s, like, my dream.”

“Oh, yeah, you’ve got to go there one day,” he said, voice low but hopeful. “The whole city had these billboards everywhere, like huge. I had no idea who the characters were, but I learned quick.”

“Do you know Demon Slayer ?” Yana asked with eyes that glistened bright.

“Y ou know Demon Slayer ?” he replied. “That’s top-tier anime right there. Good taste.”

From the doorway, Love watched with her arms folded with a small smile forming.

“You know,” Yana added, “I really liked one of your older songs. It was my favorite for, like, months.”

Zay blinked. “Seriously? Which one?”

“I think it’s called Love Language? The one with Tiara singing the hook.”

His jaw softened. “Damn, that one is old. That was a personal one.”

“It felt personal. I think that’s what I liked most about it.”

“So, you like music?”

“I guess you can say that.” She shrugged. “I write sometimes. Nothing serious.”

His whole face brightened. “No way. You write songs?”

“Yeah. Just for fun.”

“Maybe we should change that.” He grinned.

A pause settled between them, but it wasn’t awkward this time; it was warm and curious. The kind that made space for something new to grow.

Zay glanced around and took in the space. He rubbed the back of his neck, nervous about what to say next. He quickly came up with something quick. “You got any favorite movies?”

Yana perked up. “Are you kidding? I could list like fifty.”

That broke the ice wide open.

What started as a shy exchange turned into an easy current they both fell into.

They talked about anime and argued over which was overrated.

Yana insisted Demon Slayer had better animation than Attack on Titan .

Zay scoffed, called it blasphemy, and she rolled her eyes like she’d known him her whole life.

They hadn’t even noticed when Love left the doorway until she walked in with a bowl of popcorn and a teasing look.

“If y’all are gonna argue anime rankings, at least do it over snacks. ”

That led to video games. Zay picked up a controller like he knew what he was doing—only to get dragged, round after round, by Yana. She barely looked up from the screen, her face lit by the flashing colors of Mario Kart, fingers moving fast and precise.

“You lettin’ her win?” Love asked from the couch.

“I wish,” Zay muttered, grinning.

Laughter spilled through the house like sunlight through open windows.

They paused long enough to scroll through streaming apps, settle on an old, animated movie they both loved, and piled onto the couch on opposite sides of Love.

Yana sat with her legs tucked under her, Zay stretched out with a blanket over his lap, while Love sat nestled between them with the comfort of someone who had waited years to exhale.

For a while, the past didn’t matter, and the future felt wide open.

When the credits of a third movie rolled, Yana was sound asleep on the couch, her head resting against a throw pillow, half-wrapped in the blanket that Zay placed over her.

He stood up slowly, careful not to wake her. He looked at her for a long moment, memorizing the curve of her cheek, the way her lashes curled against her skin, details he’d never had the chance to watch grow over time.

He rose and gently folded the edge of the blanket around her shoulders. Then he glanced over at Love, who had gotten up a while ago and was in the kitchen, running water from the sink.

He walked into the room, following the sounds of the water splashing. She glanced up at him and smiled when he came closer.

“It’s getting late,” he said, voice low. “I should head out.”

She nodded and followed him toward the door, the soft creak of the hardwood floor beneath their steps the only sound between them for a moment.

Once they reached the foyer, Zay turned to face her. His expression was thoughtful, his voice a quiet truth.

“She’s amazing,” he said. “Smart. Funny. You really did that.”

Love’s eyes gleamed. She opened her mouth, but no words came right away. Her heart was heavy and full at the same time.

Zay looked back toward the living room, then to Love again. “You raised her right. I know I wasn’t there, . . . but I see her, and I see you. You held it down.”

“She’s strong,” Love whispered. “That part’s all her.”

He smiled, but his expression was serious at the same time. “I want to be in her life. Whatever that looks like. I won’t push anything. But I’m here.”

She nodded, emotion in every breath. “She wants that too.”

They stood in the silence for a beat, neither of them wanting to rush this moment. Then he opened his arms, and she stepped into them.

The hug was long and slow. Tired and forgiving.

She pulled away first. “You sure this is what you want? Are you ready for this?” she asked.

“No, I’m not sure I’m ready.” He smiled gently. “But I’m here anyway.”

“There’s a lot to rebuild,” she said quietly.

He nodded. “Then let’s start slow. But let’s start.”

He turned and opened the door. Outside, the night was quiet and full of stars.

She stood in the doorway and watched him descend the steps.

His shoulders were broad as if they were under the weight of something unspoken, something shared.

He paused when he reached his car, hand on the door, and looked back at her.

That look held everything they hadn’t said and everything they had.

Then he slid inside, started the engine, and pulled off slowly. His taillights stretched down the street like a goodbye written in light, then disappeared around the corner, swallowed by the night.

Love didn’t move. The door stayed open. The breeze curled around her ankles, soft and cool like the hush after an old-school slow jam ended.

She stayed there, barefoot on the threshold of her house, on the edge of what was and what might still be. Behind her, the scent of vanilla lingered in the warm air, mingling with the distant hum of the movie credits still rolling. Yana’s quiet breathing drifted from the couch, steady and sure.

This was her life now. No longer a love story frozen in memory or a secret buried in guilt. No longer a fairy tale or a regret. Instead, it was something real. Imperfect and ongoing.

There was no map that could take her back to the time they’d lost. No script that could rewrite the silence, the shame, the years that passed like ghosts in the hallway.

She could not undo her choices or the pain or the days she woke up wondering if she’d done the right thing.

Maybe healing didn’t need a perfect path. Maybe it only needed willingness.

Tonight, between the hesitant smile of a girl meeting her father, the sound of old laughter that echoed like new joy, and the weight of a love that never truly left, it felt like something sacred had begun again.

Not everything broken stayed broken.

Every ending could always be rewritten.

She closed the door softly behind her and turned toward the quiet glow of the living room toward her daughter, toward the future.

Maybe this wasn’t the life she imagined or the one she had written, but maybe it was the one she was finally ready to live.

And that was enough.