We worked for about an hour, both so laser-focused that we hadn’t noticed the shift in the room. A burst of laughter erupted so loudly that it broke my chain of thought. My head jerked toward the noise.
Bottles of Hennessy sat open on the table with amber liquid in clear glasses. Conversations with voices that overlapped each other damn near drowned out the song we’d just created as itfaintly looped in the background. A couple of people leaned back on the couch, loose from excitement and drinks, living in the moment without paying attention to the work that was still going on in front of them. It was the kind of studio energy that most rappers loved. Celebration before the job was even finished.
My eyes shifted as I continued to scan the scene when they locked on a woman who leaned on the tabletop. She didn’t look away when our eyes met, just held it confidently and intentionally.
Her long hair fell down her back and framed her curves that were soft and unapologetic. Her fitted crop top cut off right under her breasts, and her belly ring shone in the light from her flat stomach. She shifted her weight just enough to make me notice the shape of her hips. The ease in her body posture made me realize that she knew exactly the effect she had.
That was a bad ass bitch.
She was the kind of fine that used to slow me down, the kind that could make my distractions feel well-earned and well-deserved. It used to make my nights blur into mornings. A long time ago, it used to make discipline feel optional.
That used to be my weakness, but not anymore.
I reached over the board and stopped the session. Turning back to Malik, who sat behind the glass in the booth, I pressed the button and spoke into the mic.
“Hold up. Tell them to bounce.”
He blinked. “You serious? What’s going on out there?”
“Dead serious.”
Confusion ripped through the room as everything quieted down. I pulled out my phone and texted security.
Me: Clear the room for me. Order some food or something, keep them out the other side of the house.
Malik exited the booth and walked out with his friends when security came. I leaned back in the chair and scrolled through emails as I waited for his return.
When he came back, he looked embarrassed.
“Zay, man, I apologize,” he started. “My bad. I don’t want to waste your time. I’m grateful for this opportunity?—”
“Don’t.” I raised my hand and cut him off. “You good, bro. I just seen too many careers die behind distractions. Niggas get caught up in the lifestyle quick. You can party later. Keep people around you that’s gon’ work as hard as you, though. That’s how you know who is here for you and who is only down for the ride.”
He nodded. “I appreciate this more than you know. You ever think about starting a mentorship program or your own label? You could just sit back and stack that money.”
He didn’t know that thought had sat in my chest every night. The money was already figured out. That part wasn’t the problem.
Working had always been my escape, my shield, the one place my mind went quiet when my thoughts were so loud. Music gave me something to do with my hands, my thoughts, and my anger. When I stayed busy, I didn’t have to sit with the things that I didn’t know how to fix. For a long time, that had been enough.
Then I thought about Yana’s face when she saw me in the back of that auditorium—the way her eyes scanned the room, searching for me, and how they lit up when she realized I was there.
Princess’s laugh popped into my mind right after. It was a squeaky chuckle she did when she forgot to put that guard up. Every time we were together, it felt the same: familiar, dangerous, and unfinished.
I wantedthislife I had, but honestly, I wanted something else too.
A family. Stability. A version of myself that didn’t always run.
That was the part music never taught me. It taught me how to survive but not how to stay.
I turned to Malik and stared into his eyes as I responded.
“I think about it every day.”
2
Kam showed up early the next morning with a coffee in one hand and my schedule in the other. That alone told me what kind of day it was going to be.
I was sitting at the island counter in my kitchen when I heard the front door open. I could tell it was him by the heavy scuffing against the hardwood as he shuffled down the hallway. He never knocked; he just punched his code in the lock and let himself in like he owned the place. I didn’t mind it, though. Kam had become the older brother and best friend I never knew I needed.
