Chapter 22 #2
Brooks glanced at Taylor, letting her lead. He never pressured her, never pushed. He knew she was still adjusting to the idea of being seen with him in spaces like this. Still sorting through what it meant to be public. Still healing.
“That sounds fun,” Taylor said after a pause. “We’d love to go.”
Blake’s eyebrows shot up, a slow smile curling at her lips. “We, huh?”
Taylor ignored the heat crawling up her neck and took a long sip of her water.
Paige jumped in next. “Y’all on couple time, or should I get my own ticket?”
“No, we’ll get them all together,” Blake said quickly. “I’ll be in charge of the itinerary as usual.”
Everyone groaned in unison. They already knew what that meant, color-coordinated outfits, matching wristbands, a rented Sprinter, and an overly detailed group chat with daily agendas.
Blake didn’t know how to not do the most. They continued to laugh and bullshit about different things when the vibe shifted instantly.
One minute they were eating, laughing, settling into the comfort of family and the next, Emon’s phone rang, and tension snapped through the room like a rubber band.
Taylor remembered the way he stepped away from the table, the quiet urgency in his voice, the way Blake stood up fast and sharp, demanding answers.
They all sat up straighter, forks stilled halfway plates. The tension between Blake and Emon was sudden, tangible. They all had front row seats to a conversation they shouldn’t have.
The argument bubbled up quick. Blake throwing accusations, Emon holding his tongue but looking ready to snap. Brooks stepped in, whispering to his sister to chill, but the air had already shifted.
Taylor leaned into Brooks. “This night turned quick,” she whispered.
Brooks exhaled hard. “Shit, you telling me.”
After Blake and Emon left, Taylor and Paige cleaned up. Brooks offered to help, but Taylor waved him off. She needed a minute to herself. Needed to process.
Paige leaned against the counter, sipping her wine like it was tea.
“Whew, child… y’all over there acting like y’all ain’t in love and I don’t understand it. My cousin ain’t good enough for you?”
Taylor tried to play dumb. “What’re you talking about?”
“Girl, don’t do that. You know exactly what I’m talking about. You and Brooks still tryna keep it low? Or is it you? Miss Perfect?”
Taylor choked on a laugh. “You’re so dramatic.”
“I’m observant,” Paige said, setting down her glass. “You don’t gotta explain it to me, Tay. But don’t let your fears write a story your heart’s been begging you to live. That man is ready. And from the way you looked at him tonight? You are too. Just say that.”
She kissed her teeth and added, “Now pass me that foil before I start sounding like a TED Talk. Y’all gotta pay me for that.”
Later, in the car, Brooks was quiet. She hated that.
“You mad?” She asked gently.
He shook his head. “Not mad. Just thinking.”
“About Blake?”
A dry laugh slipped out. “Nah. This ain’t about Blake. It’s about you.”
Taylor turned to him, heart rate ticking up.
“I asked you to move in. You said you needed time, and I gave it to you. But I still feel like I’m standing on the porch waiting for an invite.”
Her chest tightened. “You know damn well that’s a reach.”
“Is it?” He asked. “I love you. I show up for you. I’ve never asked you to shrink, just build with me. But every time we get close, you act like I’m asking you to lose something.”
“That house is mine,” she whispered. “I earned it, worked hard for it. Sacrificed for it.”
“I know. But I’m trying to be yours too.”
When they pulled up to her place, the silence felt heavier than before.
Taylor’s eyes glistened. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. That house… it’s my home.”
“Nah,” Brooks said softly. “That shit is wood, cinderblock, paint and walls. I’m home. At least I’m trying to be.”
“Brooks, I didn’t mean…”
“Then figure it out,” he cut in. “But don’t keep showing up in my life halfway. I can’t build with somebody scared of the foundation. We gotta start somewhere.”
Taylor reached for his hand. “I’m working on it. Please know I’m working on it.”
He brought hers to his lips, kissed it once. “Alright then.”
They sat there for a moment in the quiet, the tension between them tender but not toxic.
This was love, too .
The messy middle.
The hard parts.
Brooks wasn’t sorry for being selfish.
Not sorry for wanting her full time in his life.
And he wasn’t bending on that.
But on the other hand?
He loved her too much to force it.
“Coming in?” She asked softly.
“Nah, I need some rest and I gotta handle some shit at the crib in the morning.” She rolled her eyes but said ok and exited the car. Everyone was having problems it seemed.
Taylor stood in her living room, watching Brooks’ taillights disappear down the street.
The hollow feeling in her chest surprised her, they hadn’t fought, not really, yet something about the evening left her unsettled.
Incomplete. She flipped on lights as she moved through the rooms, dropping her purse and keys on the entry table, slipping off her shoes by the couch.
But tonight, the silence felt different. Less like peace and more like absence.
In the bathroom, she turned the shower to its hottest setting, letting steam fill the small space as she undressed. The water scalded her skin when she stepped under the spray, but she welcomed the burn, tilting her face into the stream.
That shit is wood, cinderblock, paint and walls. I’m home. At least I’m trying to be.
Brooks’ words echoed in her mind as she reached for her shampoo. She worked the lather through her hair, eyes closed against the suds, but there was no escaping the truth he’d laid bare. She hated when he was right .
Brooks wasn’t Tyree. The comparison wasn’t even fair, one man who’d taken and taken until there was nothing left, versus a man who’d done nothing but give since that first night he’d picked her up from work.
He gave her space when she needed it. Strength when she faltered. Called her on her shit when she deserved it. Loved her even when she was still learning how to love herself again.
What was she afraid of, really?
The hot water began to cool, forcing her to finish her shower. As she stepped out, wrapping a towel around her body, Taylor caught her reflection in the steam-clouded mirror. She wiped away the condensation with her palm, revealing her face piece by piece.
There she was, Taylor Bradshaw. Divorced. Independent. Healing.
But also: Loved. Wanted. Chosen.
As she climbed into her empty bed in her quiet house, Taylor couldn’t shake the feeling that she was clinging to a symbol rather than a sanctuary. That her carefully constructed independence had become its own kind of prison.
She reached for her phone, thumb hovering over Brooks’ contact. What would she even say? I’m sorry I’m scared? I’m trying? I love you, but I don’t know how to do this?
If home wasn’t just wood and cinderblock and paint and walls, if home was the feeling of safety, of belonging, of being fully appreciated and accepted, then where was her home, really?
The answer came with a clarity that both frightened and freed her .
Home wasn’t this house.
Home was wherever Brooks was.
Taylor closed her eyes, feeling sleep begin to claim her. Tomorrow, she’d tell him. Not that she was ready to move in, she needed more time for that, but that she understood now what he was really asking for.
Not her independence. Her trust.
And that, at least, was something she could give.