Chapter 20
“Iswear to God, Tia…you drive like you got nine lives,” Meadow gasped, gripping the door handle so tight her knuckles whitened.
Tia glanced over with her sunglasses still on despite being in the shade of the gated entrance. “Did you die?”
“Almost, hoe!” Meadow’s chest rose and fell dramatically. “I almost met the Lord because of you.”
Tia cackled, easing her speed now that they were rolling through the wealthy Black suburb. “You’re so dramatic.”
“No, you’re dramatic.”
“Girl, hush,” Tia waved her off. “You act like I didn’t get us here safely.”
Meadow sat up straight, eyes widening as she looked out the window.
Each house they passed looked like it had its own zip code.
Clean driveways, luxury sedans, palm trees somehow thriving in city soil and housewives walking Goldendoodles with their baby hairs slicked down like they owned stock in edge control.
“This is so nice,” Meadow breathed, “like…stupid nice.”
Tia nodded proudly. “The best part is this neighborhood is full of Black people with Black ass jobs.”
Meadow turned to her quick. “Say it again.”
“BLACK…ASS…JOBS.”
They both hollered.
“I’m serious,” Tia continued. “Everybody in this neighborhood is doing well. Doctors, tech people, Lawyers, boutique owners, and influencers making money for real.”
Meadow shook her head, still staring. “The pictures you sent didn’t do ANY of this justice.”
“Because I didn’t want you getting used to it before you got here,” Tia laughed. “You had to see it with your own two eyes.”
“Girl, look at that house!” Meadow pressed her forehead to the window like a child.
“That house ain’t got shit on mine,” Tia snorted, bigging herself up even though she was a housewife.
Meadow pulled back, blinking. “This ain’t even your street?”
“Nope…my house is around that curve.”
“Do you miss Juniper?”
“First of all, I haven’t been gone long enough to miss it,” Tia scoffed. “And no…all I miss is having you at my beck and call.”
Meadow laughed. “I miss you too.”
“I bet you don’t,” Tia teased. “Soon as I leave, you get swept off your feet by a rich nigga.”
Meadow’s face heated instantly. “Girl, I am hardly swept up.”
“Shiiiiddd,” Tia turned the wheel and pulled into her driveway. “Hardly swept up my ass.”
Meadow’s mouth fell open. “Tia,” she whispered, stepping out and gawking at the full two-story brick beauty with black-framed windows, wide steps, a porch swing, and landscaping so perfect it looked like God himself laid it there. “This your house?”
Tia stepped out the car like she was entering a music video. “Sure is.”
“Tia…this is a house-house.”
“I know,” she giggled.
“This is the kind of house rappers buy after signing their second contract.”
Tia beamed. “We do what we gotta do to live in excellence.”
Meadow spun in a slow circle. “It’s beautiful.”
“And you ain’t even seen inside.” Tia unlocked the front door and stepped aside with exaggerated flair. “Welcome to Casa Blain & Tia.”
Meadow stepped into the foyer and immediately lost her cool “Oh…y’all rich rich.”
The ceilings were tall, the floors clean and warm toned, and the furniture was a perfect blend of modern and cozy.
There were plants alive and thriving, framed pictures already on the wall, even though Tia moved in recently, and Meadow knew she didn’t put them there…
Blain did. He always seemed to move intentionally.
Tia grinned like she owned fifty percent of the universe. “Girl, this just the entryway.”
A deep male voice floated down from upstairs. “Bae, that you?”
Tia yelled back, “Who else would it be?”
Meadow smiled. “Is that Blain?”
“Yep, he’s around here somewhere.”
Meadow smiled. “This is so nice. I’m really happy for you Tia.”
“Thank you. I’m so excited to have you here!”
They walked through the kitchen next. First thing Meadow noticed was a huge island, new appliances, and a pantry big enough to house a small family. Everything smelled like candles and money.
Meadow shook her head. “Tia…this is crazy. Look at the pantry! I could dance in here!”
“You could! But please don’t.”
They laughed again.
Then steps sounded from the hallway.
A voice Meadow instantly recognized but wasn’t prepared for greeted them.
“Well, look who decided to pull up.”
“Bruh,” Meadow pointed at . “What are you doing here?!”
Brent leaned against the counter wearing sweatpants, a tight tee, and that arrogant ‘know it all’ grin. “Nice to see you too, sweetheart.”
Meadow spun to Tia. “Tia, why you ain’t tell me he was here?!”
Tia flopped onto the barstool. “I forgot.”
“You forgot?!” Meadow rolled her eyes.
“He popped up this morning,” Tia shrugged. “Don’t yell at me.”
Brent walked closer, nodding slowly like he was taking in every feature on Meadow’s body. “You came all the way out here to see us?”
“Us?” Meadow clutched her chest. “Who the hell is ‘us’? You live in the city…not this one neither.”
“Me, and a little birdie told me you was coming so I decided to come and keep you company,” Brent smirked.
“Boy, go to hell.”
He laughed. “Still spicy.”
Meadow rolled her eyes so hard.
“C’mon,” Tia grabbed her arm. “Let me show you your room before you catch a charge.”
Meadow shot Brent one last glare then followed Tia upstairs.
The second floor was just as stunning with its wide hallways, thick carpet, and black-and-white photos of Tia and Blain already framed like a love museum.
Tia opened the bedroom door. “This is you.”
Meadow stepped inside and gasped again.
The room was huge, bright, and airy, with a king-sized bed and an oversized velvet headboard. Soft pillows, a full vanity, and a sitting area by the window. The bathroom attached was big enough for a few people to get ready and not bump into each other.
Meadow turned in a full circle. “Tia, I’m moving in.”
“No, the hell you not.”
“Yes, the hell I am.”
Tia lay across the bed dramatically. “Girl, get comfortable. We got a full day.”
Meadow looked around again, overwhelmed in the best way.
She dropped her bag and sat beside Tia.
“So,” Tia asked with a grin, “you ready to tell me everything about how you’re falling in love with your rich nigga?”
Meadow groaned into her hands. “Oh Lord… where do I even start?”
The room filled with laughter, warmth, and the comfort of best friends who finally had each other in the same space again.
Zaire stepped out of the black SUV, stretching his arms behind his head as the humid South Carolina air wrapped around him. Mossbury wasn’t big, but the whole town felt alive with tournament energy. Flags, banners, camera crews, and golf carts buzzing like bees.
They booked a five-star hotel for him with a glass front, and tall palms lining the walkway. Nothing too flashy, but it was clean, modern, and it was expensive, exactly how Zaire liked it.
As soon as he walked in, True was waiting in the lobby - fresh cut, tailored suit, gold bracelets, smiling like he just landed the client of the century.
“Zaire,” True said, clapping him on the back. “The man of the hour. You good?”
“Yeah,” Zaire nodded, adjusting his bag over his shoulder. “Long ass flight.”
True motioned to the concierge to handle Zaire’s luggage. “Come on, let’s get you upstairs. I want you settled before we run through tomorrow.”
Zaire followed him to the elevator, pressing the button for the twentieth floor. His mind was on the tournament, but not fully. Half of him was here. The other half, was in Emerald City. With a loud, mouthy, stubborn, fine-ass woman who already had him pacing hotel rooms like he was sixteen again.
They stepped into the suite, a large space with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view overlooking the golf course. Zaire dropped his bag by the entrance and nodded in approval. “This is nice. Thank you.”
True grinned. “Get used to it. My clients stay right…always.”
“Your clients?” Zaire laughed. “I’m your only client.”
True cracked up. “Shit, with all that comes with you, you’re a few all on your own.”
Zaire couldn’t disagree with that. He knew his image was fucked up, but his talent should’ve done all the talking.
A knock sounded at the door.
“That’s them,” True announced, giddy like a kid in the candy store.
Zaire raised an eyebrow. “Them who?”
True opened the door wide, revealing a tall Black man with broad shoulders, locs pulled back neatly, and calm eyes that read everything in the room at once.
“Zaire,” True introduced, “this is your new caddy, Mike Johnson.”
Mike stepped forward, firm handshake ready. “Good to meet you, brother. Been studying your game all week. I’m excited to work with you.”
Zaire looked him up and down, appreciating the confidence but checking for ego. He didn’t pick up any. “You’ve been caddying long?”
“Seven years,” Mike replied. “Played before that, got injured so I decided to stay in the game another way.”
Zaire nodded. “Bet, glad to have you.”
True clapped his hands. “And that’s not all. I got you a nutritionist, Black woman out of Florida and a trainer, Black dude from Houston who starts Monday. Your new social media team is Black-owned. So everybody with you from here on out…looks like us.”
Zaire’s jaw clenched, but not from anger, from something else, something that tightened behind his ribs…appreciation. “You didn’t have to do all that,” he said.
“I did,” True corrected. “Because you deserve a team that believes in you, and because I see where you going.”
Zaire swallowed that down, steadying himself. He used to dream about this…about being surrounded by people who didn’t see him as a problem, or a project, or a brand risk.
This felt like being surrounded by kin.
Mike glanced around the suite. “Where you want your clubs? In the corner or by the balcony?”
“Balcony,” Zaire said. “I’mma swing a little before bed.”
“You got it.”
Mike carried the clubs out, moving like he’d been doing this for decades.
True nudged Zaire with his elbow. “We gon’ run through your media schedule later, but I want you to breathe first. This week is big, Z. Eyes on you everywhere.”