Page 83 of That: Taylor & Brooks

Brooks leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. His voice stayed even.

“She’s not playing. She’s healing. And she’s happy. Ask her?”

Her father opened his mouth, but Brooks cut in, calm and measured.

“I’m not perfect. But I show up. When her husband got arrested and left her stranded, I came. When she needed space to breathe, I gave it without making it about me.”

A beat of silence. Her father shifted slightly, like the words landed deeper than he’d admit.

“We want what’s best for her.”

Brooks scoffed, “I don’t know about that. You giving what’s best for her a hard time.”

Silence settled. Taylor’s mother softly whispered, “Amen.”

“You may not agree. You may not like me. But I protect her. I uplift her. I remind her who she is every damn day. Whether you accept it or not, she’s mine to protect now.”

Her father leaned back, studying Brooks hard. Measuring.

He didn’t flinch. They could stare at each other all night. The reverends daughter was leaving with him and about to get her back blown out. There wasn’t anything else to talk about.

Dinner was done, and Brooks couldn’t have been happier about it. Clarence Bradshaw had tried to push, tried to rattle him. But it wasn’t going to work. Brooks wasn’t the predator. He wasn’t the past. He wasn’t the mistake.

He was the upgrade.

And deep down, Clarence knew that and rattled him more than anything.

As they were preparing to leave, Taylor excused herself to the restroom. Her mother followed her, leaving Brooks and her father alone.

“I don’t like what he’s saying to Brooks,” Taylor murmured, checking her lipstick in the mirror. “He shouldn’t have to defend himself.”

Her mother stepped beside her, gently fixing a curl that had loosened. “Your father’s stubborn, but he’llcome around. And that man out there? He doesn’t seem like the type to flinch. I like that.”

Taylor smiled. “He’s not and I don’t care if he does or doesn’t. No disrespect. This is my life and it’s time y’all accept that.”

Her mother met her gaze seriously. “Does Brooks make you genuinely happy?”

Taylor didn’t even blink. “Yeah. He does. I told you that.”

“Brooks is good to me. There’s not enough time in the world for me to explain it. I’ve never felt like this before, Momma. Not even close.”

Her mother sighed deeply. “I see it now—the happiness, the strength. I’m sorry I didn’t notice before how unhappy you were. But I see the difference now. Keep praying for him, baby. Cover that man in prayer.”

Taylor tilted her head, searching her mother’s face. “Do you mean that, or are you just trying to pacify me?”

“I mean it, Taylor. Every word.”

Her voice cracked, just a little.

“You look like a woman whoknowsshe’s loved. That’s different. And rare. Don't give the devil a foothold.”

That part stuck with her.

Because if there was one thing her momma knew how to do, it was cover somebody in prayer.

And Brooks was the kind of man you pray for. Not the surface-level prayer either. The deep, intimate kind. The quiet petition between you and God for his protection, his strength, his mind, his abundance, and his transformation. The type of prayer that sees what’s not there yet and asks for it anyway.

She wasn’t going to force him into a church building. That wasn’t her place and never would be. But she would ask God to move in his life. Not to change him, but to cover him. Guide him. Grow him in the places only God could reach. Because if she was going to love a man like Brooks Bishop... she needed to make sure heaven was in on it too.

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