Chapter 3
“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” she said suddenly, popping a piece of turkey bacon in her mouth.
If they were going to be here sharing a meal, the least she could do was get to know the man who’d stepped up for her. Plus, she was curious about what lay beneath that guarded exterior.
Brooks raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing at his lips. “Like what?”
“Anything. We’ve known each other for years but we don’t really know each other, do we?”
He studied her for a moment, deciding how much to share. “I’m a black belt in Taekwondo,” he said with a shrug. “My momma put me in it when I was a kid.”
Taylor’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth. “No way.”
“Way.” His smile grew, it was beautiful and bright. “Your turn.”
“I sing in the church choir,” Taylor offered, matching his revelation with one of her own.
“I know.” At her surprised look, he shrugged. “I heard you sing before. You got a beautiful voice.”
She felt her cheeks warm because she couldn’t remember the last time she received a compliment. “Your turn.”
“I hate wearing suits,” he said also popping a piece of bacon in his mouth. “But image is everything in business, so here we are.”
“Could’ve fooled me. You always look comfortable in them.” Among other things. Brooks could dress his ass off. When she did allow herself to look his way he was always put together.
“Nah, give me sweats and a t-shirt any day.” He studied her for a moment. “What’s something nobody would guess about you?”
Taylor took a sip of coffee, a slow smile spreading across her face. “I know every word to ‘Blow the Whistle.’”
Brooks nearly choked on his drink. “Hell nah. Taylor Bradshaw, the reverends daughter, listens to Too $hort?”
“Faithfully,” she said with a grin. “Something about that bass line just does it for me.”
“I wasn’t expecting that.” He laughed, shaking his head.
“See? I contain multitudes.” She pointed her fork at him with a laugh. “It’s Martin, you know. You keep calling me Bradshaw.”
Something darkened in his eyes, that easy warmth from earlier was replaced by stone, as he leaned up getting way too close. “Taylor, I ain’t calling you that shit. If your marriage was so important to that nigga he would’ve picked you up. Come hell or high water. No excuses.”
His voice wasn't harsh but it held an edge that made her pause.
“You were Taylor Bradshaw when I met you. That’s who you are until it’s changed to something wit’ some respect behind it. ”
She sat dumbfounded, feeling slightly humored but also annoyed by how easily he dismissed her marriage. He was erasing that part of her life with just his words. As if it could be that simple.
“It doesn’t work like that Brooks.”
“It does for me though.” She could see him wrestling with something bigger than just her name.
“I thought you didn’t wanna talk about that nigga.
Because we can get into it if you want. The nigga is a fuckin bum, a puppy, and he should be ashamed for putting anything before his responsibilities.
Before you. A man doesn’t leave his woman stranded.
A man doesn’t put his wife in a position to rely on another nigga.
I don’t respect that shit at all, I could never play games with or about what’s mine. ”
He’d been holding that back all night.
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’s why 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 he made 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.
Either way, it felt like the first real breath she’d taken in days.