Page 93 of Love's Free Will

“But…” I continued wanting to make sure I said everything I needed to say. “I still don’t know how this is gonna work long distance. I know you’re probably going back to Atlanta soon. You only came here for the rollout.”

He brushed my curls behind my ear. “I been thinkin’ about that too. And yeah, I did come out here only for business. The label is transitioning from the Atlanta office to the LA location full time. So, I decided I wanna move out here. Permanently.”

My heart skipped. “You serious?”

“Dead serious,” he said. “My team’s here. Label, management. And you. Besides, I need a fresh start. Atlanta will always be home, but L.A.? This where I’m supposed to be next.”

“And what about Queenie and Princess? Won’t they need you?”

“They good. I talked to Queenie already—she said she figured I’d end up here. Princess is grown and thriving at Spelman. Queenie got her own life. And I’ll go back when I need to. But for now? This is what’s best for me. Plus, Zay ain’t tryna leave, he met some chick at Ace of Diamonds and been all in her skin since.”

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. “You sure?”

He nodded. “I want you, Averi. I want this, I want us. No more situationships. No more back and forth. Let’s stop playing.”

I kissed him. Deep and slow. Like an answer. “I want this too,” I whispered. “I don’t ever wanna be apart again.” We sat like that for a minute, arms wrapped around each other, the whole city glowing beneath us.

“I love you, Ave” he said again, voice rough in my ear.

“I love you too.”

It wasn’t perfect. It was real, raw and most importantly it was ours. And after everything—every fight, every misstep, every heartbreak—we chose each other again. This time, for real.

The lights were low,just the way I liked them when I needed to get out of my head.

The second room in my condo that I’d made into a small makeshift studio smelled like incense, black cherry and sandalwood. The last time I lit it was months ago—back when I thought the only thing music would be for me was therapy, not love.

I sat behind my keyboard, legs tucked underneath me, an oversized hoodie swallowing my frame.Hishoodie, of course. The one I once borrowed and never gave back. The same one I wore the other night as his home when I had finally said those three little words to him, out loud.

I wasn’t working on anything for LA Records tonight. No artists. No deadlines. No pressure. This wasn’t for my catalog. This wasn’t for a feature or a placement. This was just… for me.

The beat was slow, soft. A piano loop laced with strings and a kick I could feel in my chest. I’d been working on it for weeks before things blew up between me and Royal back in Atlanta and hadn’t touched it since. Now that we were back on solid ground, my emotions were finally catching up. The kind of feelings I couldn’t say out loud—not even to him. Not yet.

So, I wrote.

You were thunder in the silence

A little reckless, little wildin’

But I saw the crown under pressure

The war behind your smile

You ain’t ask to be my safe place

But you became my peace

Now when I say “Royalty”

I’m not talkin’ gold, I mean you and me.

My fingers trembled over the keys as I laid the melody down. A tear slipped out before I even realized I was crying. This wasn’t about the drama, or the games, or the back-and-forth we’d survived. This was about the stillness. The way he held me now. The way he showed up and never left again. This was my way of expressing our love.

A week later, I laid down the vocals for his song—no, our song. I didn’t tell anyone I was coming into the studio tonight—not Egypt, not my new engineer Terry, not even Royal who I knew was also here. I needed space. I needed quiet and stillness. I needed for it to be just me and the music.

The Aaliyah Booth at LA Records was empty and had quickly become my favorite studio in the building, lights dimmed the way I liked them—mellow blue tones bouncing off the panels, the vocal mic waiting on me like an old friend. I placed my tea on the desk, checked the levels on the board, and slipped my headphones over my ears.

The track was already loaded—my beat, my words, my heart. I’d recorded a rough demo weeks ago, but I wasn’t ready to lay the full vocal until now. Not until I could sing it without falling apart.

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