“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. “Iknowyou 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.
The End of The Road
The house was quiet.There was no usual buzz of music or the sound of the TV to fill the silence of the background. No laughter echoed through the halls. Just silence throughout Love’s home.
She and Juwon had agreed on the time and the day to have the conversation they avoided for so long. Now, it was finally here.
Love sat at the island in her kitchen with her arms folded above the countertop. Her legs crossed tightly at the ankles like she was bracing herself for a storm. She turned her head toward the doorway where Yana sat in the living room, on the edge of the couch with her fingers knotted together in her lap. She hadspent the entire morning mentally rehearsing what she might say, then scrapped every version. Nothing ever seemed right.
She flinched as the doorbell rang and pulled her from her thoughts. He never used the bell. He always walked in like he still lived there because, for so long, he had. But today, he rang the bell. A small act of respect. A boundary finally recognized.
Love inhaled and stood slowly. She exited the kitchen and walked into the foyer. She took a deep breath before opening the front door. When it swung open, Juwon was there, hands buried in the pockets of a black bomber jacket, his expression flat but polite.
