He felt home.
From that night on, it became a rhythm.
Some nights, he stayed with his crew, especially when they had late studio sessions or planned meetings about the overseas tour. But when he wanted real peace, real quiet, real warmth, he came to her. Her ringer stayed up, window stayed unlocked, and her room stayed lit. Her mama’s cooking became his main meal. Princess would wrap up extra cornbread and baked chicken, pretending she was just “saving it for later,” but always handed it off with a small smile when he showed up.
They talked more often again. Not just about survival, but about dreams. About music. About the tour. He told her he was trying to stack up so he wouldn’t come back to nothing. He was finally feeling hopeful again, but it was bittersweet. He’d never had anything he didn’t have to fight for.
One night, as the heater hummed low beneath the window, that fought off the chill that crept through the cracks, Zay lay inhis usual spot, back across the floor. His hands locked behind his head, eyes fixed on the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to her ceiling. Princess sat cross-legged beside him, the foil from his dinner balled up on the floor, the smell of baked chicken still lingering in the air.
“You ever think about it?” she asked softly.
“Think about what?”
“Having a family.”
He scoffed under his breath. “Why you askin’ me that?”
“I don’t know. Just wondering. You’d be a good dad.”
He didn’t answer right away. His jaw tightened before he finally said, “Nah. I ain’t built for that.”
Princess frowned. “Why you say that?”
Zay turned his head toward her. “You ever see your mom cry ’cause she ain’t know how to feed you? Ever had to find your little sister crying in a closet after some grown-ass man’s screaming scared her so bad that she hid and wouldn’t come out?”
Her face fell. “No, . . . I haven’t.”
“Exactly,” he muttered. “You got a family, Prin. A real one. Yo’ mama love you loud. Yo’ pops might be annoying, but he’s solid. Your little brother got it made. Birthday parties. Christmas lights. Y’all even got matching damn pajamas.”
Princess tried to smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “That don’t mean you can’t have it too. Family is what you make it.”
Zay sat up slowly and placed his elbows on his knees. “Makin’ it don’t change what I come from. My mama died, Prin. I was ten. That man she left us with ain’t love nobody. Not her. Not me. Just used us until he couldn’t anymore. I been angry ever since.”
She reached for his hand. He let her take it.
“You’re not him, Zay.”
He stared at the floor. “Don’t matter. That anger still in me. Some days I look at Kennedy and get scared that I’ll mess her up just by being around. You think I could bring a kid into this world and not mess them up too?”
Princess shook her head gently. “You take care of your sister better than some full-grown men take care of their kids. You show up. You protect. You love her.”
“That’s why I don’t want no kids,” he said. He lowered his voice. “I already feel like I’m all she got. I die tomorrow, she stuck.”
She slid closer to him. She replied softly, careful. “I just wish you saw yourself the way I do.”
He looked her in her eyes. “And how’s that?”
“Somebody with a good heart. Somebody who’s been through hell and still shows up kind. Somebody who never had a real home but still makes people feel safe.”
Zay looked away, but Princess could see the tears that pooled in his eyes. “You really believe that?”
“I wouldn’t be sneaking you in every night if I didn’t.”
That made him smile.
“You know I ain’t just comin’ here ’cause I need food and heat, right?” he said.
“I know,” she replied. “You come here for me.”
