Chapter 17 #2
Zaire kept talking. “But don’t get it twisted. I ain’t been quiet ‘cause I don’t care.”
She looked at him.
His gaze didn’t waver. “I been thinkin’ about you every day since…thinkin’ about what we did… thinkin’ about how you sound…thinkin’ about how you look when you tryna hide how soft you really are.”
Meadow’s lips parted.
Zaire studied her face. “I don’t regret shit besides not bending you over the first day I seen all that ass.”
Meadow chewed on her lip. “You sure? I’m a big girl, so I won’t trip if it was just sex.”
“I’m lookin’ at you, ain’t I?”
She tried to bite back a smile, but it broke through anyway.
Zaire reached out and tapped the back of her hand. “I like you, Meadow.”
Her lashes fluttered.
“I’m not playin’ no games with you,” he said. “I ain’t perfect. But I ain’t gon’ waste your time.”
Meadow tucked her legs under herself, sitting a little taller. “You really like me?”
“Yeah. I do.” His eyes warmed. “You surprised?”
“Yes,” she admitted.
“Why?”
She shrugged, suddenly shy. “Because most people don’t stick around after they see how my life really is…how I barely have time for myself so I won’t have time to cater to a man.”
“Yeah, well…I ain’t most people and my money so long… you don’t gotta cater to me at all.”
She stared at him, letting her guard slip an inch or two.
Zaire nudged her knee with his.
“And Meadow? I didn’t stop talkin’ to you. I was givin’ you space ‘cause you looked like you had the weight of the world on your back. I know how that feels, baby.”
Meadow’s throat tightened.
“I hate how they make you feel,” she whispered, her blood boiling at them putting him in a box like they didn’t know how amazing he was. On and off the green.
Zaire leaned in a little more. “But I’m right here. So, if you want me to back up, say that. If you want me close, say that too.”
She let the words settle, let the truth settle, let the last few days melt off her shoulders.
“I want you close.”
Zaire’s smile spread, lighting up his whole face. “Say less.”
He shifted beside her, his shoulder brushing hers, warm and grounding. Meadow leaned into him without thinking. Zaire let out a breath and slipped his arm behind her, not pulling her in, just making room in his body for her.
The sun dipped even lower. Fireflies blinked across the field. Magnolia’s voice drifted faintly from the house, but for once, Meadow didn’t jump up. She didn’t rush. She let herself stay still.
Zaire glanced down at her again. “We good now?”
She nodded. “Yeah, we good cuh.”
“Good,” he said, settling deeper into the grass. “Now tell me why the hell you dumped water on me.”
Meadow burst out laughing. “You know why…”
“All that instead of just talking to me?” He looked down at her while she looked up into his eyes.
“I know you ain’t never fucked with a real nigga so I try to give you grace but I like to talk.
I don’t like all that reading between the lines shit.
You got something to say, say it with your chest. You need some understanding, I’m the best nigga to get that from. You understand?”
Her whole body buzzed, answering for her. The way he talked to her made her feel like she’d morphed into one of those fireflies that flickered around them. Her eyes didn’t leave his, even though every nerve in her body wanted her to look away. Zaire had her pinned down without even touching her.
His calloused thumb nipped her lip. “You hear me, baby?”
“Ye— yes, Zaire.”
He stood up from the ground, holding his hand out for her to do the same. “This cute and all but I’m a city nigga and these bugs ‘bout to drive me crazy.”
Meadow laughed. “You got your gun on you, don’t you?”
He chuckled. “Watch out, cuh.”
“I’m just saying, shoot them like you almost shot me.”
“Like I almost shot up the club,” he growled, his hand coming down hard on her ass. But he didn’t stop there. Zaire pushed his hand down lower to feel the heat from her pussy through the leggings she had on.
“Zaire,” Meadow blushed.
“Aye,” he got serious. “We got an understanding right?”
She chewed her lip, stealing a quick glance at him. “I just…didn’t know where you stood.”
“In front of you,” he answered simply.
“Zaire.”
“What?”
“Be serious.”
“Shit, I am being serious,” he told her. “On the gang.”
“I like when you talk like that,” Meadow had no idea how sensual her voice sounded to Zaire.
His dick jumped and he pushed it down through his pants. “You can’t talk to me like that.”
“You just said I can say what I want to say.”
“That’s what you got from that?”
Her head bobbed and her eyes fluttered. “Ye—”
Before she finished, Zaire hooked a hand around her waist and pulled her into him so fast her breath jumped. His mouth met hers, hot and hungry, kissing her like he meant every word he’d been holding in. Meadow gripped his shoulders hard, knees going weak.
He caught her, his hand firm on her hip, deepening the kiss until she melted against him.
By the time he pulled back, Meadow’s chest was rising quick, lips swollen, eyes glassy.
Zaire wiped his thumb across her bottom lip and shook his head slow. “That’s ‘cause I ain’t tasted you in four days…don’t do that shit again.”
“Okay,” she sighed still drunk from his kiss. “C’mon before Ray sends out a search team…we’re late for dinner.”
Zaire pulled her back again just to stare into her eyes. The way he smiled, it rivaled the sun. “Marai,” he nodded. “My Black Cinderella.”
“How you know?” She tripped on her emotions. “You said it before but now I have the courage to ask.”
“I’m an educated nigga and remember a story about the Black Cinderella— Marai.”
“I tell my Mama stories about Marai except it’s me…I’m Marai.”
He gazed down at her. “The finest Marai I’ve ever seen.”
Meadow froze under his words, her chest tight in that aching, beautiful way.
Marai wasn’t some KidVerse character everybody grew up with.
It was a story whispered through Black households - passed down, remixed and reimagined.
A girl who didn’t have magical godmothers or glass slippers, just grit and heart and a belief that the world could be bigger than the small life she’d been handed.
Marai worked with what she had, made beauty out of scraps, kept dreaming even when nobody gave her a reason to. She wasn’t saved - she survived, standing tall enough for love to finally see her…to choose her.
Meadow had been telling her Mama that story for years, never admitting why she loved it so much.
She loved it because Marai was the girl who kept going.
The girl who never felt seen.
The girl who wanted more but didn’t know if she deserved it.
Hearing Zaire say it…naming her as that girl…it cracked her walls right open.
Meadow blinked, emotion burning behind her lashes. He wasn’t just flattering her. He understood her in a way she didn’t expect from somebody who’d only been in her life a short time.
He wasn’t calling her Cinderella because she needed saving.
He was calling her Marai because he saw the royalty she fought her way into on her own.
Zaire saw her.
And nobody had ever done that before.
“C’mon, baby,” Zaire’s swirly voice pulled her back into the moment.
As they made it to the house, Meadow saw the utility truck pulling off and she choked on her own breath as cold dread washed over her.
Her mama always said, your dirty laundry would start to smell one day.
She tried to brush past Zaire like the notice meant nothing, like her chest hadn’t just sunk ten feet into the dirt.
She went to grab the flowerpot to hide the orange paper better, but Zaire put his hand on it first.
“Move,” she said quietly.
He didn’t. He picked up the pot, slid the folded notice free, and opened it.
“Zaire—”
He held up one finger as he scanned the disconnect notice.
She sucked her teeth. “Give it here.”
Zaire kept reading, kept invading her personal business and Meadow was ten seconds from killing him with her eyes.
Meadow snatched for it, but he lifted it out of reach. “Relax, cuh.”
“Don’t tell me to relax. Gimme the damn paper.”
“Nah,” he said calmly.
“Zaire,” she warned.
“What?” He looked down at her, eyes blazing with fire. “You want me to pretend I ain’t see this?”
“Yes!” Her arms went into the air before slapping against her sides.
“You got me fucked up,” he snapped, his face balled up like she’d said the dumbest thing he ever heard.
Meadow stepped back, crossing her arms. “Don’t do that…don’t act like you gotta fix something.”
He laughed under his breath, folding the notice like it was nothing. “Ain’t nobody tryna fix you, Meadow. I’m tryna make sure your lights,” he scanned the paper again, “…your water stay on.”
“We’re fine.”
He stared at her like he knew damn well she was lying. “You fine, but these bills ain’t.”
Meadow rolled her eyes so hard it looked painful. “This how you talk to everybody you sleep with?”
She was ready to fight and make this about something it wasn’t. Zaire had learned her within the first week of being introduced.
“Nah,” Zaire said, stepping closer. “This how I talk to women I care about.”
She froze in place, her brain searching for a witty come back but it was blank. There was nothing she could say even if she wanted to.
Zaire reached into his back pocket, pulled out his slim designer wallet, and slid out a solid black card. There was no logo, just heavy metal. It was one of those cards you couldn’t even apply for unless somebody important called on your behalf.
Zaire held it between his fingers, and before she could even protest, he pressed it right into her chest with enough pressure to make her stumble back. “Pay the bill Meadow.”
Meadow pushed it away. “Zaire, no.”
He pressed it back into her. “Yes.”
“We don’t need- ”
“We do.”
Zaire had been inside of her, wanted to get back inside of her and he had enough money to make shit move so all he knew was we. There was no them and him. Just we.
“We are not takin’ your money.”
“Meadow,” he growled, voice dropping deeper. “That card don’t mean shit to me, but this place?” He nodded toward the range. “This your whole life. This your family’s whole life…and I’m not watchin’ you drown when I can throw you a life vest.”
Meadow clenched her jaw, her chest rising faster from the rapid patter of her heart. “You can’t just throw your money at me.”
“I ain’t throwin’ shit. I’m handin’ it to you. Respectfully.”
She pushed his chest. “Stop bein’ smooth.”
“Stop bein’ stubborn,” he shot back.
“I’m not stubborn.”
“You are.”
“I don’t want your help.”
“Too bad.”
“You don’t just get to decide-”
“I do,” he said, stepping closer. “When it comes to makin’ sure you not out here stressin’ over a goddamn water bill? I absolutely do.” His voice rose because sometimes Meadow was exhausting.
Meadow shook her head, curls bouncing. “Zaire. No, I don’t take handouts.”
“Ain’t a handout. It’s just a fuckin’ hand... Gotdamn, Meadow!” His hands rested on his head while he stared at her like she had two heads.
“Same thing…and don’t yell at me.”
“No, it ain’t.”
“How?”
“‘Cause I’m standin’ right here with you.” He held her gaze steady. “I ain’t leavin’ you with the weight. I’m liftin’ with you. That’s a partnership, not a charity.”
Meadow swallowed. “Partnership?”
“Yeah,” he said without flinching because he said what he meant. If this was falling, Zaire was doing it headfirst.
Her lips parted, words tangled somewhere between pride, and relief, and fear she didn’t want to name. She looked at the card again. Black and heavy and unreal. “Zaire… I can’t take this.”
“Yes you can.” He stepped even closer, lowering his forehead toward hers. “You will.”
Meadow savored him. His head pressed against hers, breathing the same little pocket of air, as if refusing to let her float off into doubt.
Her fingers shook around the card…not from the money…
not even from the gesture. It was the weight of being cared for out loud.
She wasn’t used to a man seeing her struggle and stepping in without making her feel small.
Nobody ever told her she deserved ease. She was the daughter who held everything together, the woman who figured it out, the girl who never asked for help because help never came.
But Zaire came in with his own world he carried but still found the strength to ask to carry hers too, and he didn’t ask for permission to show up for her.
He held her there, steadied her there, let her breathe against him, sharing his oxygen when he barely had enough for himself. “Stop carrying shit alone,” he whispered, voice thick enough to break open the part of her she always kept padlocked. “You mine. Let me hold you too.”
Meadow closed her eyes, chest tightening, the truth hitting her all at once—
This wasn’t about a card.
He was giving her room to rest…to want more...to be chosen without conditions, and it scared her almost as much as it healed her.
“This ain’t about money,” he continued. “This about you finally lettin’ somebody give a fuck about you the way you give a fuck about everybody else in this house. Let me in, Meadow.”
Her eyes softened…the smallest crack.
He slid the card slowly into her hand, curling her fingers around it. “Let me help you breathe, baby.”
Meadow’s eyes fluttered shut for a second.
She wasn’t used to surrender…wasn’t used to receiving anything without fighting for it, but Zaire’s voice, his heat, his certainty…it tugged something loose inside her.
“…Fine,” she surrendered.
Zaire’s grin was slow, dangerous, and satisfied. “Good girl.”