Chapter 21
Tia dragged Meadow out to brunch the next day, promising mimosas and all the girl time they used to have before she turned into somebody’s wife.
Meadow tried to enjoy it, but her knee kept bouncing under the table.
Every time her phone lit up, her stomach flipped, thinking it might be him.
She kept checking the time, sliding her nail across the glass, counting down the hours.
Tia caught on, halfway through her grits.
“You good?” She leaned her elbow on the table, squinting.
“No,” Meadow muttered, gulping her drink. “I need my ass at home. Zaire’s game starts at three.”
Tia smirked, stabbing a sausage link. “Girl, you act like a wife.”
“Don’t play with me,” Meadow warned, wiping her hands on a napkin. “Let’s go.”
They paid the bill and left. Tia drove like she knew Meadow was two seconds from jumping out the car and sprinting back to the house.
When Meadow walked inside, the TV remote was already in her hand before she even kicked her shoes off.
The pre-game show wasn’t on yet, just some sports talk show running their mouths about football.
She clicked through the channels until she found the network airing his tournament.
The countdown ticker at the bottom read 1 hour, 13 minutes.
Her phone vibrated. She snatched it up so fast she almost dropped it.
She pressed answer with a grin she couldn’t hold back. “Hey,” she said, trying to sound calm but failing miserably.
Zaire’s voice slipped through the speaker warm and teasing. “Why you sound outta breath, baby?”
“I don’t,” she lied, flopping onto the couch. “Where you at?”
“In the locker room,” he said, adjusting something. She heard fabric brushing and metal clinking. “They got me mic’d up for all that behind-the-scenes bullshit. Figured I’d call you before they drag me out there.”
Meadow tucked her hair behind her ear, smiling into the phone like she could see him. “How you feelin’?”
“Focused,” he muttered. “But hearing you makes this shit easier.
She bit her bottom lip, kicking her feet up. “You better show out today, Zaire. I’m not playin’. Make it nasty. Don’t embarrass me.”
He laughed, his smile audible. “Oh, it’s gon’ get disrespectful out there. But don’t be cussin’ at the TV, I know how your competitive ass is.”
“You know damn well I am.”
That made him chuckle again. “I’ll call you after. Lemme go handle business.”
“Go handle it then,” Meadow whispered. “I’m watching.”
“I…” Zaire stopped, inhaling then releasing it. “I appreciate you.”
Then he hung up.
Meadow got comfortable on Tia’s couch after making herself a drink. She was so on edge, she almost asked Brent for some weed but thought against it. The last time she hit a blunt, she got put through the mattress. With Zaire not being there, she didn’t want to take the risk.
“You swear you’re not pressed,” Tia teased, leaning back and stretching her arm across Blain’s shoulder as he cracked up.
“I’m not,” Meadow lied. “I just…wanna see how he plays today.”
Blain dipped his head, hiding a grin. “Sis, you been checking that clock like you got money on the game.”
“She do,” Tia cackled at her own joke. “How much is the win? Four point five, million?”
“Mind your business.” Meadow shot them a bird.
Brent oblivious to the playful tension, flopped down beside her. “Look who ran back home to watch her man.”
“He’s not my man,” Meadow shot back, adjusting her body.
“Mmhmm.”
“Tia, control your brother-in-law,” Meadow muttered.
Tia smirked. “He grown. I can’t help you there.”
Brent only smirked at her when she glared at him. “It’s so funny that I liked you…I’m so happy I kept my pussy to myself.”
Brent hollered. “You wasn’t giving that up anyway. You like to flirt real heavy but you ain’t a casual fuck type of girl.”
“You don’t know me,” Meadow fired back.
“But he clocked you, friend,” Tia hid her face in Blain’s chest when Meadow gave her a look that could kill.
“It’s all good though, Meadow. I’m a long game type of nigga.”
“Please don’t be,” she scoffed, her chest hurting at him subliminally telling her Zaire was temporary.
It hit her different because that was what she was afraid of.
His life wasn’t slow mornings and manual labor.
Zaire’s life was loud parties, press runs, and business meetings.
On paper they didn’t match. But why was her heart telling her she could walk a red carpet and he could pick up balls before the sun comes out?
By 3:01, the TV was blaring. Meadow had snacks on the coffee table but wasn’t touching a single one. Tia curled up beside her, and Blain took the big armchair with his hands behind his head.
Brent walked back in after leaving for a little. “What I miss?”
“Nothin’ yet,” Meadow said, eyes glued to the screen. “Sit down and don’t talk to me too much. I’m locked in.”
“Oh, so you his coach now?”
“Brent, shut the fuck up,” Meadow muttered, pulling her blanket tighter.
The commentators appeared onscreen, two older White men who always had too much to say about Zaire.
The first one started his usual slick talk. “Cooks has been known to lose focus when emotions are high. With the league watching closely…”
Meadow threw her hands up. “Don’t start that shit today! Don’t!”
Blain howled. “Here she go!”
The second commentator chimed in. “If he can control his temper and actually play smart…”
“I know you not talking about smart when he could smoke every man y’all ever praised,” Meadow snapped at the TV. “Keep his name out yo’ crusty-ass mouth.”
Tia slapped her thigh laughing. “Oh my God!”
Brent bit down on a grin. “You hate them old men, what they do to you?”
Meadow leaned forward so fast she almost fell off the couch. “Because they swear he wasn’t built for this. Watch…watch my man eat them alive today.”
Tia raised an eyebrow. “Your man?”
Meadow waved her off. “Be quiet.”
When the camera finally panned in on Zaire, Meadow’s voice softened and chill bumps covered her whole body. He was stretching his shoulders, jaws locked, eyes narrowed in that deadly, razor-sharp look he got right before he dominated a course.
His lips moved even though there was no music playing.
She recognized the song just based off the swing of his head and the words she couldn’t hear but swore she felt.
Without thinking, she rapped every line under her breath. “They begging for mercy like the Lambo…know they wanna see me fall, look where I am though.”
Tia said, “Lord…she rapping like she in the video.”
“He swings on beat,” Meadow whispered, chest swelling. “Watch…watch him.”
After more bullshit comments from the commentators and a few commercials, it was Tee time. The first swing came. His whole frame was locked and flowed in one motion, and the ball sliced out across the green.
Blain sat forward. “Damn.”
Tia clapped her hands. “Come on, Zaire!”
Meadow stood up without thinking. “That’s what the fuck I’m talking about…comin’ out strong!”
Brent didn’t have anything slick to say because the hit was good as hell, and he wasn’t a hater.
“This gonna be a sad night for them.” Meadow flopped back down to get comfortable again. That one swing was going to set the tone. She was going to sip her rum punch and snack on a few things, while enjoying the game, wishing she was there.
Zaire was killing everybody.
By the third hole, he was so far ahead, the commentators had to swallow their critiques.
“Cooks may actually be showing us something impressive today…”
“Oh now he impressive?” Meadow scoffed. “Y’all fake as hell.”
Tia leaned forward excited. “He is draggin’ these men!”
Tia didn’t know exactly what she was watching, but she understood Zaire was on their necks.
“This shit ain’t even close.” Blain whistled, beyond impressed.
The next few shots were flawless. Every stance precise, every swing heavy with purpose. Meadow felt each one in her stomach. She talked through all of it.
“Line it up, baby… c’mon Z…yup…yup. There you go. Send that shit!”
Brent laughed. “He can’t hear you, Meadow.”
“Shut up. He feels me spiritually.”
The camera zoomed in on Zaire again, sweat glistening across his forehead. Meadow licked her lips. He adjusted his glove the way he always did when he got locked in, nodding to himself like he was answering an internal question.
He swung.
The ball lifted into the air. It was perfect, cutting through the air with so much velocity it made the crowd murmur.
Meadow jumped up for the hundredth time. “Talk to ‘em! Talk to ’em, Zaire!” she clapped each word out.
Tia slapped her shoulder. “Hoe, calm down.”
Meadow ignored her. She was pacing now, palms sweaty. Her heart was beating fast enough to make her dizzy.
By the time he got to the last hole, the entire living room was quiet. Even Brent’s shit talking had died all the way down.
The tournament wasn’t even close.
Zaire was drowning them but this last shot mattered. This was the one they’d replay everywhere. The one people would remember.
Meadow held her breath.
Zaire lined up, stilled…centered.
Then he launched his club forward in one violent, beautiful arc. The ball burst off the ground with a force that looked personal, rising high and smooth before dropping right where he wanted it.
The crowd exploded.
Tia screamed.
Blain jumped up. He’d never really paid attention to golf, but knowing of Zaire had him locked in and he decided he might start going to the range to hit a few balls. It looked more exciting than he expected.
Meadow just covered her mouth, tears stinging her eyes.
The commentators sounded stunned. “Cooks! What a performance!”
Brent nodded slowly.
“He did it.” Meadow whispered like it was a prayer.
Meadow had been calling him since the broadcast ended.
Call #1: straight to voicemail.
Call #2: two rings, then silence.
Call #3: nothing.
Call #4: absolutely nothing.
Every call she made went unanswered.
Every text was delivered with no reply.