Page 11 of That: Taylor & Brooks

The intensity in his voice made her stomach dropped. Brooks wasn’t wrong, he was spot on. But hearing it laid out so plainly made her ears ring, like an alarm. It wasn’t just the way he said it. It was the way she felt hearing it. Bradshaw sounded like hers again. Martin? That name had become a lie she no longer wanted to live.

“My bad,” he said. He couldn’t walk that back and honestly, she needed to hear it. But he didn’t want to make her feel worse than she did.

“Your turn,” she said quietly, choosing to move past it because she couldn’t handle this tonight. Not when the wound was still fresh, not when Brooks was looking at her of every bruise Tyree had left on her spirit. “Tell me something else that would surprise me.”

He leaned forward, voice dropping. “I don’t sleep that well. Been that way since my parents died. That’swhy I’m always at the shop early, might as well work if I can’t sleep.”

Taylor studied him. She used to think he had it all figured out.

In her head, he had a six-hour morning routine—smoothies, gym, meditation, the whole nine.

But this? Him sharing his broken pieces?

That hit different.

She recognized that kind of pain. The restlessness that kept you wide awake at 3 AM, staring at the ceiling, wishing your thoughts would hush.

“Grief and loss are a different kind of lonely,” she said gently. “Especially at night.”

Brooks’s eyes found hers, surprise flickering across his features before settling into understanding. Maybe they weren’t so different after all. Both of them were walking around carrying weight nobody else could see, both of them experts at wearing masks.

“Yeah,” he agreed, his voice rough. “Exactly like that.”

The conversation flowed easier after that, walls coming down brick by brick as they shared pieces of themselves between bites of food and sips of coffee. She told him about her love for candles, bananas and fudge, specifically them together. He shared he hated banana’s but liked banana pudding. The Diner had emptied around them, but neither seemed to notice. For a few hours, Taylor forgot about everything waiting outside these walls.

When Millie finally came to clear their plates, Brooks watched Taylor stifle a yawn.

“Come on,” he said smoothly. “Let me get you home.”

The thought of going home alone settled on her like a wet blanket, heavy and cold. She could already tell she wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight.

“Brooks,” she said nervously.

“Huh?” He asked, dropping a hundred-dollar bill on the table.

“Uhm, nothing, never mind.”

“I told you I was your ear tonight. Speak freely.”

“Nothing, it’s too weird.”

“Taylor Marie Bradshaw, what’s on your mind?” His voice was gentle but firm. They’d spent two hours laughing and chilling, the ice was broken, she could trust him.

She paused, smoothing her bun, unable to make eye contact. The words felt stuck in her throat, pride duking it out with need. “I just... I don’t want to go home. Not tonight. Not alone.” The admission cost her something; he could see it in the set of her shoulders.

Brooks studied her for a long moment, understanding. “I got a guest room,” he said simply. “Clean sheets, private bathroom. You can stay as long as you need.”

“Blake…” she started, finally meeting his eyes.

“Blake don’t have nothing to do with this,” he cut in smoothly. “You need somewhere safe to sleep, I got space. Simple as that,” a small smile played at his lips. “What Blake don’t know won’t hurt her.”

Taylor exhaled slowly. “You sure?”

“Wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t.” He held out his hand to help her up. “Come on. You look dead on your feet.”

As they walked to his truck, Taylor smiled behind his back like a schoolgirl dating the coolest boy in school. It wasn’t just what he said, it was how easy hemade it sound, like leaning on someone wasn’t a failure.

Or maybe it was knowing she wouldn’t have to face the echo of her own thoughts tonight.

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