Chapter 5
Taylor’s phone buzzed on the dresser, yanking her from a restless night of sleep. Visions of him had consumed her thoughts during the day and her dreams at night.
She groaned, squinting at the screen. Her pulse kicked up when she saw “Restricted” flashing across it. She already knew who it was.
She should’ve let it go to voicemail. God knew he deserved that much.
But fifteen years of history was hard to ignore. Fifteen years of hearing that their relationship was “ordained.” That word alone was the reason she was still answering.
And truthfully, she never wanted to hear it again.
What kind of ordained love left you stranded in hospital parking lots?
What kind of divine plan came with DUIs, empty promises, and nights spent praying your husband didn’t kill himself, or someone else, on the way home?
She’d been raised to believe marriage was sacred, that perseverance built character, and that any trial could be overcome with prayer.
And while she still respected the faith she was raised in; she was starting to question a thing or two.
Love wasn’t supposed to have you fighting for your sanity.
The math was no longer mathing for her. Her mother would disagree, but they’d just have to agree to disagree. Temptation was knocking on her door.
“Hello?”
“Taylor,” he croaked. “They holdin' me like I did something serious. I ain't even hit nobody. I didn't even fight. But they talkin' about priors and danger to the public, like I'm some kind of damn criminal.”
She closed her eyes, feeling nothing but exhaustion. “Tyree, you are a criminal. You broke the law.”
“Baby, I messed up. I know I did. But I'm not a bad person. I just been having a lot going on.”
“I don't care,” she cut him off, her voice flat. “I'm done with this. Done with you. Find somewhere else to stay when you get out.”
“Taylor, please not now with this dramatic shit.”
“Let me get unproper for you since you always thought I was too proper,” she said, her voice dropping low. “I refuse to argue with a nigga in jail. So, hear me clearly, this is your mess to clean up. Not mine."
"We're done. Enjoy your life.”
She ended the call before he could say another word, blocked his number, and tossed her phone aside. For the first time in years, she felt nothing but relief. Why would she keep sticking around when it was evident what was important to him? She was doing it alone, so she might as well be alone.
It was getting simple and clear each day. It was over. Not legally. Not on paper. But in her soul, in her mind. That was her goodbye.
For a moment, Taylor allowed herself to remember the boy she'd fallen for, seventeen-year-old Tyree with his bright smile and church choir voice.
The boy who'd quoted scripture and promised that he would always have her back.
Who'd helped elderly Mrs. Benson with her groceries every Tuesday without fail.
That boy had drowned in the bottom of a bottle years ago. The man who remained was just his shadow, hollow and distorted. And no matter how much she'd prayed, fasted, or bargained with God, she couldn't bring that boy back. Couldn't fix what was broken.
Putting herself first didn't feel selfish, it felt necessary. This was her life. And even if she had to work every day at choosing herself, it was what she would do.
“Hell yeah,” she whispered.
Her phone rang again, and Taylor rubbed her temples, fighting the headache she knew was coming. She silenced it. It went off again, it was her mother calling, probably being led by the holy spirit about her mouth and absence at church.
“Nope. Not today,” she said silencing the phone again and tossing it aside.
Whatever lecture was coming could wait. Taylor tossed the covers off her and decided it was time to start her day.
She’d lounged around enough. Up and on her feet, Taylor headed to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face.
She whispered her prayers in the mirror and headed downstairs to get her coffee started.
She heard the sound of a drill before she even made it to the kitchen. Her stomach flipped.
She peeked through the peephole—and of course, it was him.
Brooks. Hood up. Focused. Calm. Changing her locks like it was just another task.
When she opened the door, he didn’t say much. Just gave her that same unreadable look that made her chest tight.
“You said you were done,” he murmured, not looking up. “Figured your locks should say the same.”
“You didn’t have to do all this,” she whispered.
“I know,” he said, standing and wiping his hands.
“Brought your car back. It’s cleaned and gassed up,” he said simply coming back to the reason he was there.
The thought of Tyree having access to her space made her skin crawl. She was so thankful that she would be able to sleep and breathe easier.
“I’m going to shower and get my day started. If you leave before I’m done. I just want to say thank you and leave the bill on the counter.”
“Nah, I’ll be here waiting, working. Don’t start that shit. I don’t want money from you.”
“Ok,” Taylor smiled widely as she headed up her stairs. What was happening? She looked back but kept it pushing. If he didn’t want money from her, what did he want?
In her room, she moved through her routine. Shower. Bible plan on the app, get dressed for the day. Comfortable t-shirt. Leggings, and well-worn slippers. No plans today, just space. Time to breathe. Time to exist without performing, working, or wondering about her safety or next steps.
Within an hour, he had her locks changed. Taylor stood in her kitchen making some lunch while he was on the phone barking orders for someone to get a U-Haul. She minded her business and kept mixing her Caesar salad until he appeared at the entrance of the kitchen.
“My boy gon’ slide through and put that nigga’s shit in a U-Haul,” he said after hanging up. “Imma get it gone before he tries coming back here on some clown shit.”
Taylor stirred her dressing into the lettuce, barely looking up. “You want me to text him and tell him where to pick up his car?”
Brooks leaned against the doorframe; arms folded. Voice low. Calm. Final. “Nah. I already took care of that.”
She turned, confused. “So, what should I tell him?”
A smirk grew on his face. “Absolutely nothing. Mack told me what he did to your car.”
Taylor said nothing.
Brooks pushed off the doorframe and walked toward her, slow and steady. “I figured... if he was gon’ be petty, I could be petty too.”
He met her eyes. Steady. Unbothered.
“I had it crushed.”
Taylor blinked. “You did what?”
“Crushed. Bent. Flattened. That bitch is aluminum foil now.”
A slow smile tugged at her lips. “Brooks, that’s too far.”
He shrugged. “Fuck him. I heard what he did. You don’t even gotta admit it. Just know I ain’t letting nobody play with you. Ain’t no nigga bigger than the program. Remember that.”
But even as she tried to protest, relief flooded her.
The thought of facing Tyree alone when he came for his things had been heavy.
Terrifying. Because she didn’t know when he’d show up, only that he would.
He always did. That was his pattern, do something reckless, disappear in shame, and reappear like nothing happened.
“I don’t trust him and you shouldn’t either,” Brooks said, stepping closer, his voice dropping.
“I’ve seen how niggas act when they feel like they’re losing control. Don’t make me have to body somebody because he can’t take no for an answer. Where I need to drop this shit off?”
His tone made her pause. She twiddled her thumbs and gave him a bashful look before asking, “You’d do that for me?”
“I’d do that for you.” He said it casually, but the way he looked at her, there was nothing casual about it.
Brooks checked his phone, avoiding her eyes and question. “My boys will be here soon. Text me where to take it or it’s going to Salvation Army. Nigga’s gon’ be wearin’ his weak-ass U.S. Polo Assassination fits to meet they probation officer messin’ wit me.”
Taylor choked out a laugh. “Brooks, stop. It’s Association . And you can’t just get rid of his stuff.”
“Yeah, ok. It’s bullshit either way. You might want to go through the house, make sure anything that’s yours is separate from his shit. Don’t leave a sock, durag, brush,- hell not even a toenail. Nothing is to be left behind.”
Taylor watched him move toward the window, presumably checking for his people, but really just creating distance between them. She could feel it in the air between them, in the way he kept finding reasons to be near her while simultaneously keeping his distance.
“Brooks?”
“Yeah?” He didn’t turn around but looked over his shoulder .
“Thank you. For all of this.”
He nodded once, still barely facing her, “Anytime, and I mean that.”
Their eyes met. No words necessary. She headed upstairs to sort through belongings, trying not to think about how Brooks’s presence made her feel both safer and more uncertain than she’d ever been.
She called his aunt, she wasn’t thrilled about helping, he’d burned that bridge but she was willing to help her, and Taylor was grateful.
Something was ending. Something else was beginning. That was life, she was just thankful, she wasn’t doing this by herself. Even if she wasn’t sure about Brooks’ motives or intentions. For now, she’d let him exist in her orbit as she existed in his.