Page 35 of Love You Like That

He slammed the door behind him so hard the walls shook, and the echo shattered what was left of me. I stood there frozen, heart hammering, tears spilling uncontrollably down my cheeks.

“Fuck you, Ezra!” I screamed at the empty space he left behind, my voice breaking into anguished sobs. “Fuck you!”

I sank to the floor, knees buckling under the weight of heartbreak, crumbling completely as reality crashed over me. My breath came ragged, heaving, as I cried from deep within my chest, rocking back and forth, holding myself tight. I’d lost him again and this time, I’d destroyed it completely.

“God,” I whispered brokenly through my tears, “please, no…”

But silence answered me, heavy and deafening, leaving me alone on the cold floor with nothing but regret and the pain of losing Ezra all over again.

Is t e p p e do f fthe plane into JFK, pulling my Beats headphones from my ears and letting them rest around my neck. Nas’sIllmaticfaded away, leaving a ringing silence that matched the raw ache pulsing through my chest. The chilly ass New York air filled my lungs. The shit was thick, noisy and gritty. Different from Fall in East Hollis, but familiar in its hardness.

I breathed deep, trying to clear my head, but the argument with Yaya was still fresh, branded into my mind. Every second replayed: her phone lighting up, the shock that had shot through me when I saw that nigga’s name burning through her screen.The betrayal in her eyes when I left. The sick twist of pain when I slammed the door and heard her scream after me.

That shit hurt worse than anything. It haunted me, echoed in my head like a fucked-up melody I couldn’t shake. My heart still felt bruised. Still raw. But I’d made my choice. She wanted her perfect, uncomplicated life and I wasn’t it. I was the inked poet from the Southeast with scars and stories too messy for dinner parties and too rough for her Pops approval. Maybe that Jaylen nigga was exactly what she deserved.

The thought tightened my jaw. My stomach twisted bitterly. I swallowed it down, shoved my pride deeper, and moved forward. I had a job to do.

Outside the airport, a black SUV waited at the curb with Nina standing beside it with a professional smile. Her eyes hid behind dark designer shades but she lowered them slightly as I approached, looking me up and down.

“Ezra,” she greeted smoothly. “Glad you could make it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I said evenly, gripping her hand firmly.

“You ready?”

I hesitated for half a second, then nodded. “Born ready.”

Inside the SUV, Nina filled me in again. Meridian Verse’s headquarters was downtown in a high-rise building. They were a boutique publishing house filled with poetry, urban lit, raw voices, and cultural authenticity. Everything she thought I embodied.

“Your poems struck them,” she said calmly, watching my face closely as the city blurred past the tinted windows. “Raw, gritty, emotional. Authentic. They want you bad.”

I stared straight ahead, heart still heavy, thoughts still lingering painfully back in East Hollis. “Good.”

She paused. “Everything okay, Ezra? You seem… off.”

I exhaled, trying to push Yaya from my mind. “Personal shit.”

“Can’t carry that into this meeting,” Nina advised seriously. “This is about your future. You ready for that?”

I glanced sideways, her words hitting deep. “I have to be.”

She nodded, satisfied. “Good.” The car pulled up in front of a glass building. I followed Nina inside, feeling eyes lingering on me, judging, assessing. The lobby was shiny, modern, and sterile. She guided me to an elevator, pressing a button markedtwenty-two. “Relax,” she murmured as the doors shut. “They’re about to love you.”

Upstairs, the office suite was spacious and minimal with books and album plaques lining the walls, a polished black conference table dominating the center. Three people sat waiting: two black men, with sharp suits and assessing eyes, and one black woman with natural hair twisted into an intricate updo, eyes intense but welcoming.

“Ezra Lowe,” the woman greeted warmly, standing to shake my hand. “I’m Camilla Rhodes, Senior Editor at Meridian. We’re thrilled to finally meet you.”

I shook her hand firmly, trying to hide my nerves. “Pleasure’s mine.”

We sat, and Nina started introductions. “Ezra, this is Victor Reed, Head of Talent Development at Meridian Verse Records, and Malcolm Foster, CEO.”

Victor nodded thoughtfully while Malcolm’s gaze was curious and direct. I felt the weight of their stares, sizing me up, wondering if I matched the poetry they’d read. “We’ve reviewed your work,” Camilla began, voice gentle but firm. “It resonateddeeply. Pain, vulnerability, raw emotion. It’s rare we come across voices as powerful and authentic as yours.”

Victor leaned forward, folding his hands. “Your stage presence is equally impressive. Nina sent us clips that were captivating and real. That can’t be taught.”

Malcolm, the CEO, finally spoke up, voice deep and assured. “Bottom line, Ezra, we want you. Meridian Verse sees potential in your poetry beyond just print. A publishing deal to start—a debut poetry collection, promoted heavily. Then, a developmental record deal. Spoken word album, shows, tours.”

My heart pounded in my chest, realization hitting hard. They weren’t offering scraps. Shit, they were offering everything.

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