Chapter 25
He left church in silence, the choir’s final note still echoing in his ears.
He wasn’t in a rush to go anywhere, just driving with no real plan, letting the city pass him by.
Somewhere between the back roads and his thoughts, he knew exactly where he needed to be.
And he didn’t have to use GPS to get there.
Her father’s sermon on seasons hit him harder than he let on. He wasn’t in mourning anymore. That weight had been replaced with something softer. Something sacred. Love was blooming now, where grief used to settle.
The cemetery sat beyond a line of oaks, tall and weathered, standing guard like old men who’d seen too much. Gravel popped beneath his tires as he pulled in, the silence pressing in tight around him. He hadn’t been here in years. Too long.
But he was here now.
Brooks sat in the car for a moment, letting his heartbeat slow. Peace hung in the air—but even that made him flinch a little. Peace hadn’t always been constant. When things got quiet in his world, it usually meant something was about to go wrong.
But that was before Taylor.
She’d changed the way silence felt. Changed the way he felt.
Taylor didn’t just love him, she saw him. And now, standing at the edge of who he’d been and who he was becoming, Brooks knew he couldn’t fully step forward until he looked back.
Until he faced them.
The ones who gave him life.
The ones he’d been running from ever since they were gone.
He left the engine running, as if part of him still thought he might need a quick escape.
A fresh bouquet of white lilies sat on the passenger seat.
Taylor had said they reminded her of fresh starts, of resurrection.
So, he’d stopped to grab some. His dad would be laughing or fussing; he always said flowers were just overpriced decorations for dead folks.
‘What the hell I need flowers for, Brooks? Imma be dead.’
The memory of his father’s voice, so clear it could have been yesterday, made his chest ache with hollowness.
He walked the path he could never forget, like grief had carved it into his bones.
Each step felt heavier than the last, carrying the weight of years of absence, of conversations never had, of moments never shared.
When he reached the two headstones, he froze.
His father’s was simple. Strong. No-frills.
Just like the man. Donald ‘Soulja’ Bishop.
Beloved husband and father. Rest in Power.
His mother’s was the opposite, classy script etched into smooth granite. Robinette Yvonne Bishop. Beloved wife, mother, light of our lives.
He’d made sure she went out in style and elegance. It was what she requested. She wanted it all. His father had created a monster in both of his girls .
He crouched slowly, knees cracking like old doors, and set the lilies between them. Gently, he wiped the dust from their names with the edge of his sleeve, fingers trembling just slightly. This small act of care felt like atonement. He hoped they could see him trying.
“Ma. Pops,” he whispered, as if not wanting to disturb them or hoping they were already listening.
“I know it’s been a minute. I wasn’t ready. But I am now.” The wind stirred softly through the trees. They’d joined him, he could feel it in that sudden warmth that wrapped around him.
“I miss y’all. I miss you bad.” His voice caught, thick with emotion he rarely let surface. “Wish heaven had a damn phone line, Ma. You know I’d blow that bitch up every day just to hear you say, ‘Brooksie, give your momma the biggest hug.’”
He smiled, but it was broken. Fractured. That memory had teeth that tore at him sometimes at night.
He paused, swallowing hard, jaw clenched to keep the emotions from spilling over.
“I was mad at you for a long time,” he confessed.
“Never said it out loud. Not to Blake, not to nobody. But I was. Mad that you gave up. Mad that you let the grief win. I get it now, I do. You lost your person, and nobody checked on you as hard as you checked on them. But we were still here, Ma. I was still here.”
He crouched down, resting a hand gently on the edge of her stone, thumb brushing the smooth marble like he used to rub the back of her hand when she was too tired to speak.
“I didn’t know how to carry all that pain back then. Thought I had to be stronger than the loss, tougher than the silence you left behind. But grief ain't something you muscle through. It lives with you. Changes you.”
He stroked his beard to calm the burn behind his eyes.
“I never told nobody about how bad it got for you.” He confessed, a truth he’d guarded fiercely.
“How you’d whisper to me that you were tired.
That you didn’t know how long you could do this without Pops.
That some days you felt like you already had one foot in the grave.
How I’d find you sitting in the dark, holding his picture, crying like your soul was trying to leave your body. ”
His hand balled into a fist on his knee, knuckles white with the effort of containing what threatened to break loose.
“I held that for you, Ma. Still do.”
He paused. Breathed. Let the silence cover him.
He’d never shared that with Blake. They all sheltered her from the worst of it, him, their mother, the aunties who came to check on them.
Made sure when they said “Momma’s not feeling well,” Blake wouldn’t question it.
His father would just take her to the park, out for the day, letting Brooks stand guard over his mother’s sorrow.
“I went to church today.” The change in topic was abrupt, but necessary, a bridge to what he really came to say. “Wild, right? But it was a good experience. That’s why I’m here. That sermon hit something in me. I came to tell y’all something important.”
He looked from one headstone to the other, his voice steady now with purpose.
“I’m doing good. Real good. The business is solid. Fifteen trucks now. Contracts with the city. Bishop Towing is going up, doing good, better than I ever expected.”
Pride crept into his voice, because he knew they would have been proud too.
“Pops, I wish you could see what I’ve built, what I made out of myself using everything you taught me.
And Ma, you’d be somewhere loud in the crowd at every award ceremony, embarrassing me with an air horn and hollering about your baby boy. ”
He laughed quietly, tears unshed, wiping his eyes with his palm.
“And I know y’all been wondering when I was going to get some kids and a wife.” He shook his head, imagining his mother’s persistent questioning if she were still here. “Well, I got me somebody, a special somebody. Her name is Taylor.”
Taylor had met his parents but not in this capacity.
“She’s the peace I didn’t think I could ever have.” The admission was sacred just for them. He prayed it eased their mind, “She challenges me. Holds me down. Loves me in ways I ain’t even known I needed. She’s a runner, but we working on that.” He smiled faintly.
“She’s the one, Ma. The one I think you been praying I’d find even from up there.”
He stood slowly, brushing his hands on his pants, eyes never leaving the stones that marked where his parents rested.
“I used to be afraid to love like this. Afraid of what I might lose. Because losing y’all broke me in ways I’m still finding pieces of.
But I get it now. Y’all taught me what it means to show up even when it’s hard.
To love even when it hurts. To build something that lasts.
I remember watching you, Pops, holding Ma’s hand through every hardship.
I remember you, Ma, wiping his brow when he’d cut the grass. Small acts. Big love.”
He took a shaky breath that seemed to come from the very depths of him.
“I’m still figuring it all out. Still healing. Still unlearning all the hard edges, I grew to protect after y’all left. But I’m trying. Every damn day.”
The breeze picked up, rustling the leaves overhead, carrying what felt like a benediction.
“Blake found her somebody too. A good man named Emon. I like him. He’s good people. Reminds me of you sometimes, Pops, steady, sure about what he wants. And Blake... she’s so strong, Ma. So smart. Graduating soon. She’s doing everything you dreamed for her, and then some. I got her forever.”
Brooks stepped back, letting the breeze have its way.
“I love y’all.” The words were simple but carried the force of everything he’d held back for too long. “Always have. Always will. And I promise I’ll be back, but next time, she’ll be with me.”
He touched each headstone before turning and walking toward his truck. His shoulders felt less tense, and breathing became easier compared to when he arrived. With each step away, he noticed a change within himself. A sense of peace was now present, associated with the name Taylor.
As he drove away, leaving pieces of his heart behind with the lilies, Brooks knew with absolute certainty that his parents would have loved her as a daughter in law.
Would have welcomed her into their family with the same warmth and fierceness they’d shown when Blake brought her home.
He couldn’t wait to change her last name.
It would be forever this time. He could promise that!