“Why didn’t she tell you?”
Meadow’s breath caught, she grabbed her throat, then her chest. So much was happening so fast, it felt like her whole body was failing. Her knees weakened and her heart fell out her chest. All she wanted to do was disappear.
Zaire saw it…felt it. His entire body snapped like a rubber band pulled too tight.
He reached behind his waist and Meadow’s scream ripped out before she could stop it. “Zaire, DON’T!”
It was too late. He’d curled his hand around the handle of his gun as rage swept over him. None of the reporters saw it coming. The draw was quick and clean in a way that only men who grew up around danger could do without thinking. It was second nature to Zaire. Touching a gun at five would do that to anyone.
Everything went silent. Terrifyingly silent.
Cameras dropped and microphones trembled. There wasn’t a question in sight.
“You got three seconds to get the fuck off her property cuh,” Zaire barked.
“Ziare!” Meadow, yelped grabbing his arm. That mouth and that skin, had already gotten him in enough trouble with the PGA. She didn’t want him to get into more trouble.
He kept his eyes focused on the crowd. “If you don’t move…I swear to God, cuh…”
A single tear dripped from Meadow’s eye. “Please, Zaire,” she choked out.
Lesha’s voice cut through the air so hard even the reporters were startled. “Ziare!” She ran across the porch in slippers, with her bonnet on and the tail of her robe flying behind her. She pushed through the green like she’d been preparing for this her whole motherhood. “If you don’t put that gun down!”
Zaire didn’t even blink. All he saw was red and the red he saw wasn’t just a color. It was warm and changed colors when it hit the ground.
“Zaire.” Lesha’s voice boomed.
Movement finally flickered in him. It wasn’t anger, it was pain. Deep, scared, old pain he had never learned how to hide.
Lesha placed one hand on his cheek, the other on his wrist. “Baby…you not him…you not your Pops…you not for the streets…you not what they want you to become.”
He exhaled like someone was squeezing the air out his chest because that’s what it felt like.
Meadow stepped closer, shaking. “Zaire…come back.”
His hand trembled.
The reporters backed up slowly…cameras retreating, bodies stumbling.
Zaire finally lowered the gun…not all the way, but down.
Lesha grabbed the weapon out of his hand like she’d been doing it since he was fifteen, because she had in fact been doing it that long…maybe longer. “Go inside,” she ordered. “Now!”
Zaire’s pulse raged and his nostrils flared as he grunted shit under his breath. He looked at Meadow with an intense stare showing a mixture of someone broken, furious, and scared all at once. The hurt in his eyes…the betrayal he felt…the humiliation…the fear.
Meadow took a shaky step toward him, her voice barely holding up. “Zaire…”
He stepped back like her touch would burn him. “Did you know?” he asked quietly.
That question split her in half. “Zaire, I-”
“Did…you...know?” His pink tongue jutted over his lips to cool his skin. Cool his words.
She swallowed hard with glossy eyes. “Yes, but?—”
His face twisted, with rage and heartbreak. He’d told her to pay the bills. Now, her pride had run over into his life.
Reporters yelled in the distance. “Just a statement… that’s all we need.”
