Page 53 of The Spark

I knew who his father was.

Shine. Michael Ferrell. A name that carried weight.

Taraj exhaled. "But I didn’t wanna be that. I wanted my own name. My own thing." He tapped his fingers on his knee, reminding me of how I was always playing the music in my mind. "This album is that."

I nodded slowly. "So that’s why you sound like you’re crying out for something on some of these tracks?"

He chuckled, but there wasn’t much humor in it.

"I guess. You ever want something so bad, but you don’t know if you’ll ever really get it?"

I knew exactly what he meant. I wanted Amaya. For years.

And now that I had her, there was no way in hell I was letting her go.

I leaned forward. "You put all that in the music?"

Taraj’s gaze met mine, sharp, understanding.

"I put everything in the music."

And I knew then—this album wasn’t just about making hits. It was about making something that mattered. For him. For me.

For both of us.

22

Iwas late getting to the studio the next day. Not because of traffic. Not because of anything work-related.

I was late because I’d spent the morning wrapped up in Amaya.

Not just physically—though, yeah, that too—but in a way that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the way we saw each other.

We’d woken up tangled, limbs draped, skin still warm from the night before. The soft morning light painted her in gold as she stared at me, her big brown eyes holding something deeper than I was ready to name.

“You remember when we were kids?” she murmured, tracing the ink on my chest with lazy fingertips. “How you used to thump out beats on anything you could find? Desks, walls, my damn parents’ kitchen table?”

I smirked. “Vibrations had to start somewhere.”

She smiled. “I loved it. I could always feel it in my bones—the way you heard music, the way it lived in you. Even when you didn’t see it, I did.”

That hit different.

Because there were times—too many times—when I didn’t believe in myself. When the industry felt too big, too unstable, when my talent felt like a gamble instead of a gift. But she? She never wavered. And that did something to me. Something deep.

I brushed my knuckles down her arm, my voice quiet. “You ever think about what you wanted back then? Before you knew how hard it would be?”

She let out a slow breath, staring up at the ceiling. “All the time. I’m grateful, you know? I have work, commissions. But sometimes it feels like I’m just…existing. Just making enough. I want more, Amir.”

I cupped her chin, turning her face to mine. “Then you’re gonna have more.”

Her eyes searched mine, like she was looking for proof, like she needed something tangible to hold onto.

I gave her the only thing I had. “You got a vision. You got talent. And you got me. We’re gonna make sure you get everything you deserve.”

Her lips parted like she wanted to say something else, but I leaned in and stole the words right out of her mouth, kissing her slow, deep, until neither of us were thinking about dreams anymore. Just the now. Just the way we fit together, how our bodies moved in sync like they were composing a love song only we could hear.

By the time I finally pulled myself out of her bed and into my clothes, I knew I was pushing it.

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