Page 105 of That: Taylor & Brooks

“And what page is that, exactly?” Reverend Bradshaw’s eyes narrowed. “The one where you play house until things get difficult?”

Brooks felt a flicker of irritation, but he tamped it down. The man was protecting his daughter. Brooks could respect that, even if he didn’t appreciate the implication.

“The page where I love her. Where I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving that to her, and to our child.” Brooks maintained eye contact, his voice steady and certain. “I’m not here to ask your permission, Reverend. I’m here to tell you that I’m committed to Taylor and our baby. I’d like your blessing, but I don’t need it to move forward.”

Silence stretched between them again, the tension almost palpable. Then, to Brooks’ surprise, Reverend Bradshaw’s expression softened.

“You know,” he said, leaning back, “when Taylor was little, she used to say she’d never get married. Said boys were stupid and she’d rather be the president.” A slight smile appeared on his lips. “Then she met Tyree, and suddenly it was all about this boy from the church choir who wrote her poems and talked about God’s plan for them.”

Brooks remained silent, sensing the reverend had more to say.

“I thought he was a good man. Thought he’d be good to her, good for her.” His expression darkened. “I was wrong.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Brooks offered.

Reverend Bradshaw shook his head. “A father should know. Should see past the surface to what’s underneath.” He fixed Brooks with a penetrating stare. “That’s why I’ve been watching you.”

“Watching me?”

“At church. At dinner. The way you look at my daughter when you think no one’s paying attention.” The reverend’s voice remained even. “I’ve seen a lot in my years, Bishop. Seen men who say the right things but mean none of them. Met men whose actions speak louder than any words could.” He paused. “And I’ve seen how you’ve been with Taylor.”

Brooks waited, unsure where this was going.

“You’ve given her space to be herself,” Reverend Bradshaw continued. “You don’t try to change her or control her. You show up when she needs you, even when it means stepping into territory that makes you uncomfortable. Like showing up to the Lord’s house.”

“I’d do anything for her,” Brooks said simply.

“I’m beginning to see that.” The reverend studied him for a long moment. “Tell me something, Bishop. What do you want for my daughter? Not what you think I want to hear. The truth.”

Brooks didn’t hesitate. “I want her to be happy. Protected, loved, and supported in going after whatever she wants. I want her to know she’s valued, not just for what she gives to others, but for who she is.” He leaned forward, his eyes intent. “I want her to never doubt her worth again. And I want to be the man who reminds her of it every day for the rest of my life.”

“That’s a lot of responsibility,” Reverend Bradshaw said quietly.

“One I take seriously.”

“And the baby?”

Brooks felt a surge of emotion, the same mixture of pride and protectiveness that had overwhelmed himwhen Taylor first shared the news. He was still in disbelief that he was going to be a father. That God had entrusted him with something he had part in creating.

“Our baby is a blessing,” he said firmly. “Not a mistake, not an accident. A blessing. And I plan to be the kind of father who deserves that blessing.”

For the first time since Brooks had arrived, the reverend’s expression relaxed into something approaching approval. “That’s the right answer.”

“It’s the only answer,” Brooks replied. “I’m going to love this child. Protect them. Teach them. Be there for every milestone, every scraped knee, every loose tooth, all of it.”

“The way your father was for you?”

The question caught Brooks off-guard, a reminder that the reverend knew more about his background than he sometimes remembered.

“My father did the best he could with what he had,” Brooks said carefully. “He loved us. Protected us. Made sure we knew we mattered.”

He met the older man’s gaze. “But he also lived in a world with rules I don’t want for my child. I want better. Safer. More options.”

Reverend Bradshaw nodded slowly, understanding passing between them.

He stood suddenly, moving to a small bar cart in the corner. He pulled out two glasses and a decanter of amber liquid. He poured a finger of whiskey into each glass, then returned, offering one to Brooks.

Brooks accepted the glass, surprised by the gesture.

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