Page 74 of That: Taylor & Brooks

Brooks couldn’t wait any longer. He walked through his office, went down the stairs, and crossed the yard to meet her halfway. Their bodies drawn together like magnets finding their match.

“How was work?”

She let out a dry laugh. “Work.”

He understood that. He’d had that kind of dayalso, a bunch of shit to handle, not really in the mood but the grind continued. It didn’t care if you had a bad day.

He walked them inside, massaging her shoulders as he walked behind her. He nuzzled her neck, happy to see her. He’d fought alone for so long, the idea of someone fighting for him felt foreign. His instincts told him to handle it alone, to make the problem disappear with brute force or sheer will.

But here was Taylor, standing in front of him, armed with receipts and a look that said she would go to war for him in a heartbeat. And he didn’t know how to process that.

Taylor handed him the folder, her eyes gleaming with victory.

“Five documented cases of Premier delaying emergency services,” she said, her voice steady but laced with righteous anger. “Including one where an ambulance couldn’t get through because they blocked the emergency lane. There’s a patient who nearly died, Brooks. And three incidents of them damaging medical equipment during transport. They a mess.”

Brooks flipped through the papers, his face contorting as he absorbed what she’d found. Each page was ammunition, each incident a bullet he could fire at the corrupt system trying to shut him down. But more than that, each page represented Taylor showing up for him, in ways no one ever had.

“This enough?” She asked, watching his face carefully.

Brooks let out a slow, dangerous chuckle, the sound warming into something genuine as he looked from the papers to her face. “Oh yeah,” he said, eyes darkwith determination rather than rage now. “This is more than enough. This is everything.”

Brooks had spent years building this business with his own two hands, fighting for respect in a world that wanted to count him out. Now, for the first time, he wasn’t the only one fighting.

He closed the file, holding it like the precious gift it was. For a moment, he just looked at her, this woman who had called him out on his bullshit, who hadn’t flinched when he was at his worst, who had leveraged her own connections to help him fight.

"No one's ever done this for me before," he said, his voice rough with rarely shown emotion. “You didn’t have to.”

“Yes, I did.” Taylor stepped closer, her hand finding his arm. “That’s what this is, Brooks. Not just Denver. Not just fancy dinners. It’s having someone in your corner. It’s give and take. I’ve taken enough. I needed to give to you.”

In that moment, looking at her determined face in the harsh security lights of his shop, Brooks realized something fundamental: he wasn’t his father. He’d spent so long trying to transform his father’s legacy into something legitimate, he hadn’t noticed how he’d transformed himself in the process. His father had ruled through fear and control. Brooks had built something people wanted to protect.

He pulled her close, one hand at the small of her back, the other lifting her chin until their eyes met. “Thank you,” he said, simple and sure. It wasn’t a casual thank you. He was moved by her doing this for him. “But you give me plenty, baby. More than I ever thought I’d have.”

Taylor’s eyes held his, unwavering. “You’re welcome. I didn’t need you in jail. And no one gets over on you. Not on my watch.”

And he believed her. Because by now, it wasn’t just about taking down Premier or locking in some contract. This was about them. Not just lovers, but partners. Taylor wasn’t just the woman he was falling for. She was the woman who refused to let him fall.

Chapter 19

A week later

Things had changed since Denver. Not loudly, but in the way, Brooks checked his phone a little more. Listened a little harder. Waited.

Brooks sat at his desk, rubbing a rough hand down his face. The stack of invoices and paperwork waiting for his signature blurred together—white noise on paper. It was all noise. All of it. And none of it could drown out the only thing that had been on his mind for days now:

Taylor.

He was distracted. Obsessed. Choosing her over everything else, including the one person who usually came first.

His sister.

He leaned back in the chair, eyes closed. Exhaling and gripping the back of his neck. The things that his mind did now was also a problem. Without permission his thoughts would go to her. Their time in the shower. Her robe. Loose, barely hanging on, teasing a man into insanity. Her. Under him, around him, looking at him with that look, the one that said he was all she needed.

He let out a low curse and leaned back in his chair. Denver had been a turning point. But the other night, confirmed it. Taylor wasn’t just the woman in his bed. She was the one standing beside him.

And Brooks Bishop had never had that before.

Had never had, a her.

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