Chapter 27
Brooks drummed his fingers on the steering wheel of his steering wheel, debating one last time if he should if he should even be here.
The Bradshaw home stood before him, a tidy two-story colonial with perfectly maintained flower beds and a large oak tree in the front yard. The kind of respectable, middle-class home that had produced someone like Taylor, grounded, principled, and capable of seeing the good in someone like him.
This conversation needed to happen between the men first.
With a deep breath, Brooks stepped out of his vehicle and approached the front door. He’d faced down men with guns before. Stared down threats that would have made most people crumble. Stood his ground when everything around him was chaos.
But something about standing on this porch, about to face Taylor’s father, made his heart pound in a way he wasn’t accustomed to.
He wasn’t afraid. Brooks Bishop didn’t do fear. But he respected what this meant, to Taylor, to their future together, to the child growing inside her.
Before he could knock, the door swung open.
Reverend Clarence Bradshaw stood in the doorway, his expression giving nothing away as he took in the sight of Brooks on his porch.
His eyes traveled from Brooks’ face down to his shorts and tennis shoes, then back up to the tattoos visible on his forearms, but his expression revealed nothing.
“Bishop.” The older man’s voice was neutral, neither welcoming nor hostile. “Teresa mentioned you called.”
Brooks nodded, extending his hand. “Reverend. Thank you for seeing me.”
A moment passed, then Reverend Bradshaw accepted the handshake. His grip was firm, assessing, the handshake of a man used to making judgments.
“Come in,” he said, stepping aside. “Teresa’s at her women’s group. It’s just us.”
Brooks followed him into the living room, taking in the space that had shaped Taylor. Family photos lined the walls. Taylor in her graduation cap and gown, Taylor with her parents at church functions, a younger Taylor with a gap-toothed smile. A life well-documented, well-loved.
“Have a seat,” Reverend Bradshaw gestured to an armchair across from the couch. “Can I get you something to drink? Water? Coffee?”
“I’m good, thank you,” Brooks replied, settling into the chair. He noted how the reverend chose the couch, maintaining a careful distance between them.
For a moment, neither man spoke. The ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner filled the silence, each second stretching like an hour.
Finally, Reverend Bradshaw leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees. “I assume this isn’t a social call.”
“No, sir,” Brooks confirmed, meeting the older man’s gaze directly. “It’s about Taylor. About us.”
“And you felt the need to come here today because...?”
Brooks appreciated the direct approach. It was something he understood, no games, no pretense, just cutting to the heart of the matter.
“Because Taylor’s pregnant,” he said, his voice steady despite the weight of the words. “We’re having a baby. And it’s not how either of us planned things, but it’s happening. And before we tell anyone else, I wanted to speak with you.”
“I see.” His voice had cooled several degrees. “And why did you think I needed to hear this from you, rather than my daughter?”
Brooks leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees. “Because I respect what you mean to Taylor. Because I know this isn’t the way she would have wanted things to happen. And because I wanted you to know, man to man, that I’m not going anywhere.”
“Is that right?” The reverend’s tone held a challenge. “And how am I supposed to believe that, when my daughter is barely divorced, and you’ve already gotten her pregnant?”
The accusation stung, but Brooks kept his composure. He hadn’t come here for a fight.
“I understand your concern,” he said carefully. “This isn’t what either of us planned. But I love your daughter. I have for longer than either of us realized. And this baby growing inside of her means that it’s important that we’re on the same page. I need her healthy and happy. ”
“And what page is that, exactly?” Reverend Bradshaw’s eyes narrowed. “The one where you play house until things get difficult?”
Brooks felt a flicker of irritation, but he tamped it down. The man was protecting his daughter. Brooks could respect that, even if he didn’t appreciate the implication.
“The page where I love her. Where I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving that to her, and to our child.
” Brooks maintained eye contact, his voice steady and certain.
“I’m not here to ask your permission, Reverend.
I’m here to tell you that I’m committed to Taylor and our baby.
I’d like your blessing, but I don’t need it to move forward. ”
Silence stretched between them again, the tension almost palpable. Then, to Brooks’ surprise, Reverend Bradshaw’s expression softened.
“You know,” he said, leaning back, “when Taylor was little, she used to say she’d never get married.
Said boys were stupid and she’d rather be the president.
” A slight smile appeared on his lips. “Then she met Tyree, and suddenly it was all about this boy from the church choir who wrote her poems and talked about God’s plan for them. ”
Brooks remained silent, sensing the reverend had more to say.
“I thought he was a good man. Thought he’d be good to her, good for her.” His expression darkened. “I was wrong.”
“You couldn’t have known,” Brooks offered.
Reverend Bradshaw shook his head. “A father should know. Should see past the surface to what’s underneath.” He fixed Brooks with a penetrating stare. “ That’s why I’ve been watching you.”
“Watching me?”
“At church. At dinner. The way you look at my daughter when you think no one’s paying attention.
” The reverend’s voice remained even. “I’ve seen a lot in my years, Bishop.
Seen men who say the right things but mean none of them.
Met men whose actions speak louder than any words could.
” He paused. “And I’ve seen how you’ve been with Taylor. ”
Brooks waited, unsure where this was going.
“You’ve given her space to be herself,” Reverend Bradshaw continued. “You don’t try to change her or control her. You show up when she needs you, even when it means stepping into territory that makes you uncomfortable. Like showing up to the Lord’s house.”
“I’d do anything for her,” Brooks said simply.
“I’m beginning to see that.” The reverend studied him for a long moment. “Tell me something, Bishop. What do you want for my daughter? Not what you think I want to hear. The truth.”
Brooks didn’t hesitate. “I want her to be happy. Protected, loved, and supported in going after whatever she wants. I want her to know she’s valued, not just for what she gives to others, but for who she is.
” He leaned forward, his eyes intent. “I want her to never doubt her worth again. And I want to be the man who reminds her of it every day for the rest of my life.”
“That’s a lot of responsibility,” Reverend Bradshaw said quietly.
“One I take seriously.”
“And the baby?”
Brooks felt a surge of emotion, the same mixture of pride and protectiveness that had overwhelmed him when Taylor first shared the news. He was still in disbelief that he was going to be a father. That God had entrusted him with something he had part in creating.
“Our baby is a blessing,” he said firmly. “Not a mistake, not an accident. A blessing. And I plan to be the kind of father who deserves that blessing.”
For the first time since Brooks had arrived, the reverend’s expression relaxed into something approaching approval. “That’s the right answer.”
“It’s the only answer,” Brooks replied. “I’m going to love this child. Protect them. Teach them. Be there for every milestone, every scraped knee, every loose tooth, all of it.”
“The way your father was for you?”
The question caught Brooks off-guard, a reminder that the reverend knew more about his background than he sometimes remembered.
“My father did the best he could with what he had,” Brooks said carefully. “He loved us. Protected us. Made sure we knew we mattered.”
He met the older man’s gaze. “But he also lived in a world with rules I don’t want for my child. I want better. Safer. More options.”
Reverend Bradshaw nodded slowly, understanding passing between them.
He stood suddenly, moving to a small bar cart in the corner. He pulled out two glasses and a decanter of amber liquid. He poured a finger of whiskey into each glass, then returned, offering one to Brooks.
Brooks accepted the glass, surprised by the gesture.
“To new beginnings,” the reverend said, raising his glass slightly .
Brooks mirrored the action. “New beginnings.”
They sipped in silence, the burn of the whiskey a counterpoint to the easing tension in the room.
“You know,” Reverend Bradshaw said after a moment, “when Taylor was born, I promised God I’d protect her from anything that might hurt her.
” A wry smile crossed his lips. “Turns out, you can’t protect your children from life.
From choices, consequences, pain. All you can do is be there to help them through it. Help them find their own way.”
“That’s what I want to do for our child,” Brooks said.
“I believe you.” The reverend set his glass down.
“Brooks, I won’t pretend this is how I envisioned things for my daughter.
But I’ve learned over the years that God’s plan rarely aligns with our expectations.
” He met Brooks’ gaze steadily. “Taylor loves you. That much is clear to anyone with eyes. And if you love her even half as much as you claim to...”
“More,” Brooks said firmly.
A small smile touched the reverend’s lips. “Then who am I to stand in the way of that?”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I appreciate your time, Reverend,” Brooks said, standing as well.
“Clarence,” the older man corrected. “If you’re going to be the father of my grandchild, I think we can move past the formalities.”