Chapter 6
Zaire walked toward the house with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, denim jacket halfway off, and his sweats sitting low on his waist. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion and his mind still buzzed with last week’s chaos.
This place was supposed to be quiet, ducked-off…
a safe retreat. So, he wasn’t expecting noise.
But the moment he stepped closer, the thump of music leaking through the walls pulled him forward, curiosity nudging him into the open doorway.
He paused, resting his hands in front of him.
Meadow was bent forward, her body moving easily with the beat, curls swaying with each subtle bounce of her hips.
She wasn’t performing. She was just existing in her element.
Comfortable, feminine and soft in ways women only showed when they thought no one was around.
It caught him off guard how beautiful it was.
Not the dancing, though he felt that too but the ease of her…the way she took up space without trying, the way joy lived in her movements, the way she seemed to bask in her Black woman essence.
He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe.
The corner of his mouth lifted while he watched her work.
A gold chain peeked from under his plain white tee.
His watch shined when he shifted. He wasn’t loud with money, but it was evident in his clean Chucks, diamond stud, or his whole outfit.
His style was simple yet expensive in that understated way hood niggas did when they grew up without switching their identity.
He licked his lips, taking one last look at her round ass bounce.
“Yo!” Meadow screamed so loud the music almost swallowed it.
She shot up too quickly and smacked her head on the bedframe before stumbling backward, clutching her chest. “Are you serious right now?” she barked, staring at him like she was deciding whether to call 911 or swing.
“Why are you creeping in here like the fuckin’ Candy Man? ”
“I dare you to say it two more times…”
“Fuck you!”
Zaire pressed his lips together, holding back a laugh.
The sound of it still slipped out, a low rumble deep in his chest. He lifted both hands in surrender as he stepped inside a little further.
“The door was open,” he replied, letting the smoothness of his voice carry the moment. “I figured somebody was home.”
“Nah,” Meadow shot back, brushing curls out of her face. “You announce yourself. You stomp, you cough, you clap twice…something.”
“I did announce myself…I walked in,” he said, tapping at the air where the music had been. “You had that speaker rattling the windows. I didn’t want to interrupt your little…situation.”
“My little what?” she demanded.
He nodded at the bed she’d been bent over. “Your routine.”
“That wasn’t a routine.”
“Looked real coordinated from where I was standing,” he smirked in a charming way that made the hairs on her arms stand up.
Meadow threw her hands up, exhaling sharply through her nose. “Oh my God. Don’t get on my nerves today.”
Zaire stepped closer, not crowding her but letting her feel his presence. He wiped a thumb across the seam of his jacket, eyes dragging across her face with quiet curiosity.
“I’m not trying to get on your nerves,” his voice dropped to that calm, hood-born rumble. “I’m just trying to figure out which room I’m supposed to be in.”
“This one,” she muttered, fixing the edge of the sheet so she didn’t have to look at him directly. He was too fine for her to look into his eyes. “This is your guest house?
Cool.”
Meadow shot him a quick glance, her eyes lingering just a second longer than she intended.
Up close, he was even finer.
Tall with wide shoulders, and solid forearms under the sleeves of his jacket.
His skin was smooth and his beard was lined to perfection.
She swallowed hard as she admired the way coarse hairs curled around his lips.
His lashes were wild and long enough to make her envious.
He carried himself like a man who had grown up with both chaos and structure.
He was hood enough to survive it and disciplined enough to outgrow it.
Everything about him felt quiet but intentional.
Finding her voice, Meadow said, “Didn’t expect you so early,” as she busied herself by folding a towel even though it didn’t need folding.
“Didn’t sleep last night,” he answered, his fingers running along the edge of the nightstand to check the finish. “I figured I’d come early instead of pacing around.”
“Hmmm,” she murmured, nodding slowly, “Makes sense.”
“You don’t gotta say it like I’m lying.” Zaire didn’t like her tone or the way her lips crinkled.
“I didn’t call you a liar.”
“You didn’t have to.” His eyes met hers daring her with a rebellious stare?
Meadow’s lips twitched. “I don’t know you enough to call you anything.”
“Well,” he said, leaning his weight, posting up, “guess that means we’ll figure it out.”
They studied each other openly for a second. His eyes held depth, hers held fire. It was the first moment neither of them felt the need to defend or joke.
“Anyway,” she murmured, clearing her throat, “you good?”
Zaire nodded, the chain on his neck catching the light when he inhaled. “I’m all right. Just…trying to settle my head.”
“Yea, I get that.” Meadow rested a hand on her hip. “You’re safe here. Nobody gon’ bother you.”
His gaze softened in a way that felt rare. “Good to know.”
“Anything else you need?”
“Just your name.”
“Meadow.”
He nodded, repeating it under his breath like he was testing how it felt. “Yeah, fits you.”
She tilted her head, genuinely curious. “Why’s that?”
Zaire lifted his eyes to hers, full of a quiet edginess and something like appreciation. “You look like fresh air.”
Meadow cleared her throat again because her heart dipped and she wasn’t about to show it.
“Well,” she muttered, walking toward the door, “I gotta finish the rest of the property. I’ll leave you to settle in.”
He stepped out of her way, watching the swing of her hips…just a man noticing beauty that he respected. His gaze didn’t linger. Zaire only nodded like he was in agreeance with what stood before him. “Good lookin’ out.”
Meadow paused at the doorway and looked back at him. “Welcome to Juniper Falls, Mr. Cooks.”
He held her eyes for a second. “I’m cool with Zaire, cuh.”
Her body tingled. “Mmhmm.” She tried not to smile. “We’ll see.”
“I’m already seeing,” his words escaped him before he could catch them.
Meadow giggled, adding an extra sway to her stride as it eased shut behind her, but her presence stayed in the room like she left her fingerprints in the air.
He exhaled slowly, rubbing both hands down his face. His pulse was doing something stupid in his neck, and he couldn’t tell if it was from the lack of sleep or the way she bent over earlier like gravity was trying to steal her kisses.
Zaire was a man who could appreciate a beautiful woman, so he appreciated Meadow’s body.
Finally, he dropped his duffel by the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. The springs gave a small sigh beneath him. His shoulders loosened for the first time in days…maybe weeks…maybe longer.
Juniper Falls.
He looked around his temporary home, feeling something twisting in his gut.
He didn’t know if this would somehow put him back on top in the league or not.
All he knew was he needed some peace. L.A.
was too crowded with opinions from people who shouldn’t matter.
But then again, he didn’t even know how to operate without noise and chaos.
All the things he learned in Crescent was accented by loud music, loud talking, and loud gunshots.
Meadow.
He said her name again in his head.
It fit her.
It was warm.
It was grounded.
It was a little wild around the edges yet still he liked the name.
“Marai,” he hummed with a smile. “Perfection,” he said aloud. That was what the name meant and for one reason or another it popped into his head when he thought of Meadow.
He hadn’t expected her, didn’t even think to wonder who lived on this land.
He came here to disappear, not look at anyone or feel anything.
He wasn’t trying to get caught up but she walked around this place like she held the deed in her DNA, like the sun rose because she told it to.
There was something real about her…something earthy…
something he wasn’t used to having right in his face.
He wasn’t trying to get caught up.
But damn…she had a face you couldn’t help but to look at… a face too easy to get lost in.
Zaire leaned back on his palms and stared at the ceiling.
Yesterday had been hell.
This morning wasn’t much better.
But being here…it felt like his lungs could finally expand.
He closed his eyes for a second, letting the silence settle.
Footsteps sounded outside. He heard a light tap on the door before it was pushed open.
A voice called out, “You decent, son?”
“Y’all just walk in people’s shit like that around here?” Zaire sat up, his mind taking him to the loaded gun tucked in his duffle bag. He never left home without it.
Ray laughed with his hands in the air. “My bad…just wanted to check in on you, welcome you to Greens Driving Range. You good?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” Zaire answered, sitting up straighter.
Ray nodded and gave the room a quick glance, then grabbed the chair by the small table. He lowered himself into it with a grunt that only men who’d lived long could make sound distinguished.
“You settling in okay?” Ray asked.
“Yeah,” Zaire said. “It’s real nice…peaceful.”
Ray chuckled under his breath. “That’s code for ‘not what I’m used to,’ huh?”
Zaire smirked. “Something like that.”
Ray nodded, folding his hands over his knee. “Good. You look like you need peace…got the weight of a whole empire on your back.”
Zaire didn’t answer, didn’t know how.
He just looked around the room while Ray’s eyes assessed him.
After a little while, the older man leaned back and sighed. “You know…bein’ a Black man in a white-ass sport is somethin’ they ain’t never gon’ write no manual for. You wake up every day bein’ told you don’t belong. Then when you prove ‘em wrong, they tell you - you shoulda been humble about it.”
Zaire’s jaw flexed, because it was true.
Scouts and coaches praised him, told him he could and would make it to the top.
The part they missed was how racist America still was.
They didn’t warn him about the locker room jokes tailored only for him.
Then add the hood edge he had to the mix, and they watched his every move under a microscope.
Ray watched his face take him through a range of emotions within seconds. “You got a gift, son. Ain’t no question about that. But gifted Black boys always get taught the same two lessons - be better and even when you are better, somebody gon’ hate that you are.”
Zaire looked down at his hands. “I can’t be perfect,” he muttered.
Ray shrugged. “Ain’t nobody ask you to be perfect. They just expect you to survive the backlash. Black men don’t get grace. We get lessons…hard ass lessons.”
“Feels like everything I worked for is slipping through my fingers.”
“Then grip tighter.” Ray sounded like Lesha, “or change what you holdin’. But don’t you ever let a room full of people who couldn’t last ten minutes in your shoes make you believe you ain’t built for this.”
Zaire heard every word, but that was all it felt like…words. The league wasn’t trying to hear words. They didn’t respond to that shit. They just wanted his Black ass to blend in with their White boys.
Ray rapped his knuckles against the table, leaning forward.
“Let me tell you somethin’ I told my daughter once…
the world gon’ talk. That’s what the world does.
You can’t stop it. But you can pick where you want to stand when the noise hits.
You got two choices, either fold cause you scared or stand solid with your head up and your chest out. ”
Zaire looked up.
Ray nodded toward him. “And son…you look like somebody who ain’t never been scared.”
Zaire swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “What if I ain’t got nothin’ left to prove?”
Ray laughed unbothered. “Oh, you got plenty left. You just forgot who the hell you were for a minute. It happens to the best of us.”
Zaire rubbed a hand over his beard. “What if I messed up too bad this time?”
“You punched a man,” Ray said plainly. “It’s not the end of the world. I done punched twenty,” he laughed, “…stayed married through it all.”
Zaire snorted before he could stop himself.
Ray smiled. “See? It ain’t over. You just hurt. And when Black men hurt, we isolate. But you’re here now. This land gon’ give you room to think. And maybe,” he lifted his brow, “someone here gon’ give you room to feel.”
Zaire caught the hint.
Ray didn’t call attention to it.
Older men never did.
Ray pushed himself to his feet slowly, patting the back of the chair. “Breakfast’ll be ready soon. My daughter’ll plate you some. She’s mean in the mornings, but she got a good heart.”
Zaire nodded once. “She seems…like she’s something else.”
“Yeah,” Ray chuckled, “she is.”
Zaire watched him head toward the door. “Hey,” he called quietly.
Ray turned.
“Thanks,” Zaire said. “For the…advice.”
Ray smiled, revealing his yellowing teeth from years of coffee.
“Every Black man needs an older Black man to talk to, otherwise we go crazy.” As he opened the door, he added, “Welcome to the Falls, son. Heal up. Then show the world why they shoulda kept your name out they mouths.” The door clicked behind him.