Chapter 13 #2
Zaire shook his head once. “Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because when I come for her,” Zaire’s eyes were dark and certain, “I’m not lettin’ her go back.”
Brent drove with that lazy confidence Meadow remembered, one hand hanging off the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift, knuckles glinting under the passing streetlights.
The bass from the music vibrated through the car doors.
Meadow sat back in her seat, arms crossed loosely over her chest, wanting to relax but knowing the tension riding her shoulders wasn’t going anywhere tonight.
Brent kept glancing over at her with that half-smile tugging at his mouth every few minutes like he couldn’t help himself.
Every time he caught her looking, he’d shake his head and murmur under his breath, “You pretty as hell tonight,” and she’d ignore him but also not really ignore him, because Meadow was human and she hadn’t been adored out loud in a long time.
It wasn’t too long a drive from Juniper to Saint Loris, so it took them no time to get to their destination.
The restaurant was lively in a way Juniper Falls never was— music floating over soft conversation, people dressed like they took pride in being seen, and that warm hum of Black people with money and time and nowhere to be.
Brent knew half the damn staff; daps and hugs were exchanged before they were even seated.
Meadow felt herself loosen in her chair, not because of Brent specifically, but because it felt good to be out, to be in a room where nobody needed her to fix anything or carry anything.
She ordered what she wanted without thinking too hard about the price for once, and Brent cracked jokes through the whole appetizer like he’d made it his personal mission to get her to forget the world existed outside this table.
But the second the TV flickered to a sports segment above the bar, Meadow felt her entire body shift before her brain did. There he was. Blue golf bag slung over his shoulder. Cap low, jaw set, walking with that quiet, heavy energy she recognized now that she’d seen him up close.
Brent noticed the way her eyes locked onto the screen, but he didn’t comment…not immediately at least.
The commentators started talking, voices dripping with the exact condescension Meadow always hated hearing about Black athletes, and they did it with confidence too, like Zaire couldn’t hear them from wherever he’d disappeared to.
They questioned his work ethic, his mental strength, his ability to handle pressure.
One of them laughed and said the tour would survive without him because “talent that fragile never lasts.”
Meadow’s eyes were stuck to the point she didn’t blink for a long time. Letting out a low breath, she shook her head, and cut into her salmon like the plate offended her. After another condescending line floated down from the TV, she put her fork down and leaned slightly toward the screen.
“I swear y’all talk like he can’t hear you.” She was heated. “Always bringing up ‘pressure’ and ‘mental strength’ like he ain’t made y’all numbers shoot up the second he touched a golf course. He take one damn break and suddenly he weak? Please.” She rolled her eyes with a scoff.
Brent leaned back in his chair, watching her with a grin that wasn’t mocking…just amused. “You got a whole dissertation ready,” he laughed.
“I just don’t like ignorance,” she defended, taking a swallow of her drink. “He’s the best. They know he’s the best. They only talk like this because he’s Black and too good at a sport they ain’t used to sharing.”
The bartender cracked a smile. Brent lifted his glass toward her. “Tell ‘em, baby.”
Baby didn’t feel that good rolling from his lips. It was nice enough though.
Meadow tried to go back to enjoying the food, but it was pointless pretending her mind hadn’t wandered somewhere else entirely.
She laughed at Brent’s stories, nodded when appropriate, let herself appreciate the atmosphere, but there was a part of her that felt tugged somewhere deeper, like an invisible hand pulling her attention toward a man miles away.
Brent caught the shift eventually, the quieter breaths between her laughs, the way her eyes kept drifting toward nothing. He tilted his head and studied her for a long second, then shrugged lightly, not offended.
“You know,” he said, cutting into his steak, “ain’t nothing wrong with your mind being on two things at once. Life do be like that.”
She gave a small smile. “I’m here.”
“I know,” he replied, tone warm but too aware. “But I ain’t gon’ pretend I don’t see where your energy slid off to.”
Meadow didn’t deny it…she couldn’t even if she wanted to. She didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to lie convincingly tonight. Still, she enjoyed herself more than she expected to. She forgot to be strong for a couple hours and just…existed.
Brent wiped his mouth with his napkin and leaned forward a little, elbows on the table the way men do when they want to stay in a moment with you. “So what you been doin’ with yourself besides workin’ that range into the ground?”
Meadow scoffed playfully. “Working that range into the ground. That’s basically the whole list.”
They both laughed, falling into a more familiar rhythm.
“Nah,” Brent disagreed, tapping his finger on the table. “Ain’t no way you don’t do nothing fun.”
“I don’t,” she spoke honestly, shrugging one shoulder. “I be tired.”
“That’s sad as hell,” he laughed. “You too young to be livin’ like a retired auntie.”
She rolled her eyes. “Boy, shut up.”
“I’m serious.” Brent pointed at her with his fork. “You need a hobby, or a vacation, or a sin.” He grinned mischievously.
Meadow choked on her drink and coughed out a laugh. “A what?”
“A sin,” Brent repeated calmly, like he was discussing grocery lists. “A little one…nothing crazy. Just… something for you…something that make your shoulders drop.”
“My shoulders are dropped.” She rolled her eyes.
He squinted. “Them shoulders up to your ears, girl. Stop playin’.”
Meadow looked away, suddenly aware of how tense she had been all night. “I’m working on it.”
“Lemme help then,” Brent suggested lightly. “We could hit a day party one of these weekends or the lake. You ever been out there? Folks be cooking, drinking, spades tables going crazy… you might actually laugh and not be thinking about the range for ten minutes.”
She smirked. “You just want somebody on your spades team.”
“That too,” he admitted. “You look like you cut real quick and don’t warn nobody.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Meadow chuckled while nodding her head. “I’m not saving you, though.”
Brent grinned, tongue pressed to his cheek. “I knew it. You one of them.”
“One of who?”
“One of them quiet assassins. Sweet until there’s cards on the table.”
“Don’t project your trauma on me,” she teased.
He chuckled and took another sip of his drink, eyes drifting over her face like he was memorizing her without trying too hard. “It’s good seein’ you out, though,” he said after a moment. “You be hidin’. Folks don’t even know you exist unless they need somethin’ from you.”
Meadow sighed and looked down at her plate. “That’s life.”
“It don’t gotta be,” Brent responded softly. “You deserve more than bein’ the family fix-it. You deserve a night where you ain’t thinkin’ about nobody but yourself.”
Brent didn’t have all the details of her life, but he’d put two and two together while listening to her and Tia talk quite a few times.
She didn’t have anything smart to say to that.
Brent noticed, but he didn’t push. Instead, he nudged her foot under the table with his own, light enough to keep it playful. “You ordering dessert or what?” he asked. “I’m tryna stay out long enough to make this outfit worth it.”
Meadow laughed and shook her head. “You are ridiculous.”
“Thank you,” he said, leaning back with a satisfied grin. “Takes effort.”
She scanned the dessert menu even though she already knew she wouldn’t finish anything she ordered. “What you want?”
“You,” he said, in a deadpan tone.
Meadow’s eyes snapped up, and Brent barked out a laugh. “I’m just playin’. Look at you ready to walk out on me.”
“I wasn’t,” she protested, though her lips betrayed her with a smile. “That caught me off guard.”
“Good,” Brent said. “You a little too smooth tonight. Needed to shake you up… This ain’t the witty Meadow I’m used to.”
“You don’t shake me,” she glinted through slitted eyes with a playful tease on her lips.
“Yeah,” he said, holding her gaze. “I do.”
The moment lingered, not electric, not overwhelming - just warm, easy, and much needed.
It felt good to sit across from someone who wasn’t asking for anything, who didn’t expect her to lift the world for them.
Brent wasn’t trying to dig into her soul; he was just trying to enjoy her presence. She appreciated that.
Meadow exhaled slowly, easing back into her chair as the server placed the dessert on the table. For the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to feel the softness of a night out without guilt weighing down her spine.
“You know,” she hummed as she picked up her fork, “this wasn’t a bad idea.”
Brent clutched his chest dramatically. “High praise. Wow!”
She rolled her eyes again. “Relax.”
“I can’t.” Brent wagged his brows. “I’m sensitive.”
“You are not.”
“I’m delicate,” he insisted.
“You’re a menace.”
“Same thing, Meadow.”
She laughed, genuinely this time, letting the moment stretch between them. It was warm and uncomplicated, even if her thoughts drifted every now and then.
After dinner, Brent walked her back to the car, his hand grazing her lower back. He didn’t touch her without permission like Zaire did— didn’t understand how overworked women liked to be claimed without permission. He didn’t know her body wasn’t as fragile as he’d like to believe.
When they stopped by the passenger door, he took a breath like he’d been waiting all night to decide whether or not to go for it, and Meadow didn’t do anything to stop him.