Page 7 of What the Leos Burned (BLP Signs of Love #6)

The Leo I Left Behind

“I’ve done my research,” Malcolm said. His voice cut clean through the loud chatter of the room, “And I really believe he’s the one.”

Zay stood quiet in the circle as Malcolm gestured toward him with confidence.

“Detroit runs through the pages of this story,” Malcolm continued. “And who better to translate that into sound than someone who lived it? Someone who knows what it feels like to grow through grief, rebuild, and create. Zay, man, . . . I think you’re the perfect person to score this film.”

Simone let out a low whistle and nodded. “Honestly? That’s a no-brainer.”

Kam clapped his hands together once. “It’s the alignment we’ve been waiting on.”

Tara, ever the organized observer, tapped something into her phone, already mentally coordinating calendars and contacts. “This would be incredible.”

Zay didn’t say much. Just looked at Malcolm, then briefly at Simone, Kam, and Tara. He could feel Love beside him, standing still, polite, and distant. Her silence was its own presence.

“I just think,” Malcolm added, “Zay could bring out the honesty in this book. His music has that same raw thread, where grit meets vulnerability. It’s time for the story to expand, and I want the sound to carry the same soul.”

The group murmured in agreement. However, Love remained still.

She shifted then smoothed down the side of her dress and spoke gently.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I need to step away for a moment.”

She didn’t wait for anyone to follow.

Tara nodded but remained behind as the conversation flowed on. Kam and Simone started bouncing ideas back and forth about potential collaborators, studio logistics, and what kind of score would elevate a story like When the Rain Stops .

Love was already halfway down the corridor. She slipped around a corner and pulled out her phone. A new message lit up the lock screen from Yana.

Yana:

Hey mom, I recorded myself singing lol. You should hear it.

A file attachment followed.

Love smiled. She could practically hear her daughter’s voice in that message, confident but playful, the same way she used to sound herself before the world told her to be quiet. For a second, the smile stayed.

Suddenly, the past drifted back into her mind, slow and uninvited.

Zay curled up on the floor of her bedroom with the blanket pulled to his chin.

Her sneaking him foil-wrapped cornbread from the kitchen when her mom wasn’t looking.

His taps on the window. Her laughter hushed in the dark.

The way her room felt safer with him in it, even when the winter storm outside was loud. She closed her eyes and exhaled from the weight of it all. Suddenly, a familiar voice spoke from behind her.

“You always knew how to disappear.”

She opened her eyes and turned around slowly.

Zay stood a few feet back with his hands in his pockets. His gaze steady on hers. He wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t cold either. He looked . . . curious. Cautious, even.

“So your name’s Mrs. Tate now?” he asked. His eyes flickered down to her name on the event badge clipped to her dress.

She nodded. “I changed my last name when I got married.”

He tried not to react, but that hit him hard somewhere behind his ribs. Of course, she got married. Of course, somebody else got to come home to her laughter. She was always the kind of woman you stayed for.

“Mrs. Tate,” he repeated with a faint smile. “Sounds . . . grown.”

“I am grown,” she said through a soft shrug. There was a flicker of nervousness that passed through her voice.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “You are.”

A pause fell between them for a moment. They both knew too much to pretend they were strangers, but not enough to act like they weren’t.

Love looked down at her phone again. “I had to step away for just a second. My daughter texted me, and I just needed to make sure it wasn’t an emergen?—”

“You have a daughter?” he asked. He didn’t mean to cut her off, but that sudden news overwhelmed him.

She bit her bottom lip and looked at the floor for a moment. She lifted her head and looked back at him. “Yeah. She just turned fourteen.”

Zay’s expression shifted. Something that Love couldn’t quite place pulled in his face—like a thread got tugged from the inside.

“Fourteen,” he repeated. He glanced away briefly but quickly looked back at her. “She’s lucky. Bet she’s beautiful.”

“She is.”

“Like her mother,” he said before he could stop himself.

Love looked at him for a second longer than she meant to, then cleared her throat and stepped back.

“I should go. She’s probably waiting on me to text back.”

He nodded. His hands were still buried in his pockets. “Yeah. Course.”

With that, she turned and walked off before anything else could fall from either of their lips. He stood in place and watched her trot down the hallway, bend a corner, and then, she was gone.

Zay turned around and returned to the group. Just as he walked up, Tara was flipping through details on her tablet.

Kam beamed. “Malcolm’s going to get the paperwork started on Monday. This that new era we been talkin’ about, bruh.”

“Your sound on a film like this?” Simone added. “That’s legacy shit. This gonna be the modern day Waiting to Exhale .”

He barely nodded. His mind was still down that hallway. Stuck on the look in her eyes. He wondered if her daughter laughed like she used to.

He looked around the room. For the first time since he’d walked in, he felt the energy. He could feel the opportunities. Not only for the success of his career or the film, but for something else too. Another opportunity at another shot . . .

Then, he looked at Malcolm.

“I’ll do it.”