He stepped closer, grabbed her hips with the gentlest grip she’d ever felt, only for his voice to betray him—rougher, lower, almost hoarse. “Com’ere,” he murmured.
She didn’t…she couldn’t…she was too busy trying not to drown in guilt.
So Zaire moved even closer, chest brushing hers, forehead dipping until their breaths mingled. His voice was steady, but the crack underneath it was undeniable. “You think you the only one who’s scared?” he asked in a low voice. “You think you the only one who carries shit you never asked for?”
Meadow blinked and a tear ran down her cheek, holding her breath.
Zaire exhaled through his nose, voice trembling as he continued. “I been scared since I was nine years old. People look at me now and see my wins and money and interviews. They don’t see the trauma sitting in my stomach every morning. They don’t see a little boy who had to become a man ‘cause life ain’t give him no time to greet childhood.”
Zaire shook his head as if fighting back something heavy. “You talkin’ ‘bout bein’ the only child…the first daughter…theone they depend on.” His voice dropped, thick with emotion. “Try being the son who didn’t sleep to make sure his Mama walked through the door from the grave shift. Try bein’ the one who had to sneak his Dad candy in a jail visitation ‘cause that was the only thing you could give a man who couldn’t protect you.”
Her chest tightened. His eyes glistened. This wasn’t a tit for tat moment. This was the both of them being as open and honest has humanly possibility. This was Zaire’s way of saying ‘I see you because I am you’… in his own distinct way.
“And you talkin’ ‘bout guilt?” he whispered. “Baby…I been walkin’ around with survivor’s remorse my whole life , feeling like if I relax for two seconds, the whole world gon’ crumble ‘cause I wasn’t paying attention. Feeling like if I succeed, I’m leaving my people behind. Feeling like if I love somebody…really love ‘em…they gon’ pay the price for bein’ too close to me.”
A tear finally fell down his cheek. He didn’t wipe it away either. He wanted to be as open and vulnerable with her as humanly possible. Zaire had never felt a safer space to say this shit…to leave it on the table.
“I’m terrified every day,” he admitted. “Terrified of failing. Terrified of bein’ vulnerable. Terrified of my anger. Terrified of losing everything good before I even get to hold it.”
His jaw tightened as he studied her. “And now I got you, and I swear to God, cuh…”
His voice broke again. “…I don’t know what the hell to do with you ‘cause I ain’t never had somethin’ good fall into my hands without the world trying to snatch it away.”
Meadow pressed a hand to her mouth as her own tears rolled freely.
Zaire gently took her wrist and lowered her hand so he could see her full face. His thumb stroked her cheekbone, slow and reverent. “You ain’t the only one scared. I’m scared too…of yourpain…of my pain…of how much I already feel for you…of how bad I want you to trust me...of how soft I get around you.” He paused. “Ain’t nobody ever made me feel soft before.”
More tears slipped down Meadow’s face. “Zaire…”
He shook his head gently, brushing her tears with his thumb. “And I’m scared ‘cause you so strong you forget you’re allowed to break and ‘cause I want to be the person you break on. I want you to lean on me until your bones get tired. I want you to stop carrying everything alone just ‘cause the world told you nobody would carryyou.”
Zaire gulped, his hands itching to touch her. “I’ll carry you.”
Meadow’s legs weakened. Her breath trembled.
“And you talkin’ ‘bout glass slippers?” Zaire whispered, his eyes locking with hers. He’d heard the story. “I’m not the slipper, baby. I’m the one who holds your foot steady. I’m the one who picks it up off the ground. I’m the one who finds you when life makes you run.”
Her lips shook.
“…and I chase you…” he declared. “I’m scared ‘cause I look at you and see every good thing I never thought I’d have but you make me feel like I deserve it.”
Meadow finally exhaled, a slow, broken release before she fell into him.
“You’re not alone,” he comforted, “not in fear…not in guilt…not in this life…not in this pain…not in this house.”
“Ugh,” she sobbed.
They stayed like that until Meadow’s sobs thinned into quiet hiccups. Eventually, the weight of the day pulled her down. Zaire got her to the guest house, coaxed her out of her clothes, and pulled one of his big shirts over her head. She didn’t even protest. She lie down and was out before her head fully hit the pillow, lashes still damp, lips parted like she’d cried herself hollow.
He stood there for a little while, just watching her, feeling a protective rage and a deep love war inside his chest. Then he grabbed his Backwoods and stepped out to the small porch. He was thankful for flying private back to Juniper Falls. It allowed him to get some good weed for the road.
The night had settled in heavy over the green. Crickets sang, the porch light over the main house spilled a soft yellow circle on the ground, and Ray’s rocking chair creaked every so often.
Zaire lit the blunt. He took a slow drag and let the smoke sit in his lungs until it burned. Then he exhaled toward the stars, jaw tight, shoulders finally dropping.
He heard Ray’s footsteps before he saw him.
Ray walked over from the main house with a groan that sounded more like habit than pain. He dropped down on the top step of the guest house porch, knees spread, elbows on his thighs. For a second, he just sat there, staring into the yard like it was a movie only he could see.
