Chapter 21 #2
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 who knows she’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.
When they returned to the table, she found Brooks shaking her father’s hand firmly. They parted respectfully.
The ride back to his place was comfortably quiet, filled with unspoken reflections. At his place, Taylor paused before getting out. “Thank you. For enduring that.”
Brooks turned, sincerity heavy in his voice. “Your father’s concerns aren’t completely wrong. Men like me don’t change overnight. I’m still learning to be better.”
He kissed her palm softly.
“You’re already enough.”
They went inside his home… together.
No more explaining.
No more pretending.
Fuck the dinner.
∞∞∞
On the other side of town…
Reverend Bradshaw sat in his study, Bible open but unread on his desk.
Across the room, Teresa tucked her feet up under her in the worn armchair near the window, a throw blanket draped over her lap. No makeup. Bonnet on. Water resting on a coaster she’d been telling him to replace for five years.
It was their version of unwinding, quiet, familiar, heavy with unsaid things.
Both of them had a lot on their mind, starting with the person they loved more than life.
She was struggling because that love hadn’t come through clearly in a long time, and their daughter had suffered for it.
And Taylor didn’t deserve that. She’d never given them a problem.
She was a good baby, and that followed her into adulthood.
Good grades, teachers loved her. Good job.
Taylor was just good and they’d treated her as if she hadn’t done anything right.
It made Teresa sick to her stomach thinking about it.
“What’s on your mind?” She asked, breaking the silence. Dinner had been heavy and an experience. She enjoyed Taylor and Brooks. When Clarence wasn’t being rude and grilling them. Their love warmed her heart.
Clarence didn’t look up. “Bishop. The way he looks at our daughter. I don’t like her living in sin so openly.”
Teresa lifted her brows. “The way he loves her, you mean. And aren’t we all living in sin one way or another?”
He closed his Bible gently. “Is that what you saw?”
“I saw a man who listens when she talks. Caters to her, ensures her comfort. Who dealt with your childish antics. I saw what I needed to see.”
Clarence exhaled sharply. “I saw a man with a past. A man who came from streets and situations I’ve prayed all my life my daughter would never have to navigate.”
“I get it,” Teresa said. “I do. But Tyree had the right pedigree. Grew up in church, our church. Used all the right words. Wore the right suit. And you loved him. Brooks is a businessman and until I find out anything different. I will treat him as such.”
“Tyree was who I thought she was supposed to end up with,” Clarence admitted. His voice cracked just a little.
“He was who we were comfortable with,” she countered gently. “I fear we took her choice from her. All that talk of being ordained, we made sure she believed it. Made sure our voice was more important than her own voice.”
Clarence rubbed a hand down his face, the truth stinging in places he hadn’t dared name until now. “You know what the hardest part about this is?”
“That you might’ve been wrong?” Teresa guessed. “And your daughter might’ve been carrying hurt under your roof, and you didn’t see it?”
He didn’t answer, but the silence was loud. It said enough.
“I had to apologize to her,” Teresa continued. “When she finally let me in. Told me how tired she’d been. How she begged Tyree to love her better. How she prayed and compromised and swallowed her voice for a man who couldn’t even pick her up from work half the time. That broke me.”
Clarence looked down at his hands. “Why didn’t she come to us?”
“Because she knew exactly what we would do, and what we wouldn’t. She’d dropped hints and we bypassed. Minimized her struggles. This one’s on us, Clarence.”
He swallowed hard.
“We did what we thought was right but we made it hard for her to come to us with her shame,” Teresa said, her tone softening. “But I’m going to fix it. I love my child, and she needs to know that. Her choices are hers to make.”
Clarence leaned back in the chair, his eyes stinging. “You think Brooks is better for her?”
“I think he sees her. I think he values her. And I think if you’d been watching close, you would’ve seen it too.”
He nodded slowly, pain and realization colliding in his chest. “It’s hard,” he murmured. “Letting go of what you pictured. Accepting what is.”
“It is,” Teresa agreed. “But what matters now is what you do with that. Because she needs us to see her now . Not the young wife, not the prayer team leader, just our daughter. The one who thinks we don’t know she listens to secular music.
.. who still eats banana fudge ice cream when she’s stressed. Just our little girl.”
He didn’t speak for a long time. Then finally:
“I don’t want to lose her.”
“You won’t,” Teresa said simply. “But you might miss out on who she’s becoming if you don’t adjust your lens.”
Clarence, then looked at his wife and extended his hand to her. “Would you pray with me?”
Teresa stood, crossed the room, and took his hands. “Always.”
And together, in the soft light of the study, they bowed their heads and asked God to cover their daughter, just as she was.