2. Josiah Brooks #2
“Specific help. The last woman handed you a résumé on scented paper.”
“It wasn’t scented.”
“It smelled like vanilla and intentions. I opened that folder and thought we were hiring for a cupcake ministry.”
“She asked about benefits.”
“She asked if you worked late nights while looking at your hands. Ain’t nobody studying knuckles and veins because they care about emergency service.”
“She was qualified.”
“She was fertile in the spirit. That résumé had three references and a hidden agenda.”
A laugh slipped out before I could stop it.
Juice pointed at me with the pork chop. “Exactly. Don’t laugh now. Nah, but real talk. We need somebody married, retired, or saved past temptation.”
“Saved past temptation is rare.”
“That’s why I put retired first.”
I glanced over. “You might be on to something.”
“Of course I am.” He pulled out his phone and opened his notes app. “Administrative assistant,” he announced. “Must know QuickBooks, scheduling, purchase orders, permit follow-ups, and how to maintain professional eye contact around fine men with broad shoulders.”
“Take that last part out, fool.” I laughed.
“Must respect workplace boundaries.”
“Better.”
“Must understand emergency calls refer to electrical issues only.”
“Keep that.”
“And must not answer the phone saying, ‘J. Brooks Hardwire Electric, where the owner is single, serious, and shaped like answered prayer.’”
I barked out a laugh because this fool was ignorant as hell.
Juice slapped his knee. “See? That’s the laugh of a man who knows I’m right.”
“That’s the laugh of a man considering leaving you at this light.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I might.”
He leaned back, completely unbothered. “Cool. I’ll walk and still be correct.”
We passed the old rec center, and my hand tightened on the wheel.
Juice noticed. Of course he did.
The courts were empty, but I could still see three of us running full court beneath the summer heat: Me, Juice, and Kacey. Pops near the fence after work, tie loosened and sleeves rolled up, correcting our footwork like he was training champions instead of three hardheaded boys.
“You good?” Juice asked.
“I’m straight.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I’m good, fam.”
He let the silence sit before looking toward the courts.
“That fence still crooked from when Kacey tried to fight Demarcus and lost.”
“He didn’t lose. He got relocated.”
Juice snorted. “Boy got folded like a lawn chair at a family reunion.”
I laughed.
His smile faded first.
“I never liked how that dude watched you,” Juice said. “He’d clap for you, but his face always came late. Like, his hands knew what love was supposed to do, but his spirit had to be dragged behind them. Every time you won, something in him looked inconvenienced before it remembered to look proud.”
The truth of it settled in my chest.
I’d spent years calling it friendship because history made betrayal harder to name.
Juice shifted in the seat. “Kacey wanted your life without earning your discipline. Wanted the fruit, the shade, the fence, the mailbox, and the alarm code, but didn’t want to plant nothing but drama.”
I glanced at him. “When you get profound?”
Juice lifted his chin. “I been profound.”
“You been loud.”
“Loudly profound,” Juice corrected. “That’s different. That’s wisdom with surround sound.”
A reluctant smile pulled at my mouth.
The light ahead turned yellow, and I stopped.
Juice looked through the windshield, then at me. “You drive like somebody got court in the morning.”
“I drive like I enjoy freedom,” I returned.
For a moment, only the engine and the air filled the truck.
Brooks Hardwire Electric & Co. didn’t just have our last name on it.
It had our repentance.
Juice cleared his throat. “You still going to the gym tonight?”
“If I’ve got time,” I said.
“You never got time. You make time for everybody else, then act surprised when there ain’t none left.”
I looked over at him.
He lifted both hands. “I’m just saying. Go hit the bag before you start carrying the whole town on your shoulders again.”
“You been talking to Miss Claudette?”
“Me, Miss Claudette, your mama, the Holy Ghost. We got a group chat,” Juice said.
I laughed despite myself. “You’d get removed.”
“Probably. But the message stands.”
We rolled past the boxing gym. Heavy bags hung in the window like old friends waiting for honesty.
“Maybe I’ll go,” I said.
Juice nodded once. “Good.”
“That was very supportive.”
“Don’t get used to it. I got a brand to maintain.”
By the time the shop came into view, Juice had finished half of Miss Claudette’s plate and none of his unsolicited opinions. The bay doors were open, both vans sat angled in the lot, and Darnell was trying to unload conduit without scratching the side panel.
Juice followed my gaze. “You ’bout to fuss?”
“He’s ’bout to scratch my van.”
“He is,” Juice said.
Darnell adjusted just in time.
I nodded once and pulled into my spot.
“You be coaching people with your silence,” Juice said.
“Some folks learn faster when I don’t talk.”
“And some folks need you to say, ‘good job’ before they develop workplace trauma.”
“Go help him before I give you some.”
Juice laughed as he climbed out. “Hostile work environment.”
I lingered a moment, watching the shop come alive. Men unloading supplies. Sun on the concrete. My company name stretched across the van doors. The life I’d built after the one I almost lost.
Juice leaned back through the open passenger door.
“I’m still putting ‘must not flirt with the owner’ in bold.”
“Put ‘must not eat in the company truck’ under it.”
He looked down at the foil plate. “Too late.”
Shaking my head, I followed him inside.
The compressor hummed in the back while Darnell and Marcus moved supplies through the bay. Brooks Hardwire Electric & Co. wasn’t fancy, but it was honest. Two vans. Five employees. A front office we still couldn’t keep staffed.
Juice pointed toward Darnell, pork chop in hand.
“Watch that conduit before Siah starts breathing through his nose like a disappointed principal.”
Darnell straightened immediately. “I got it, Mr. Brooks.”
“You scared him,” I said.
“I sharpened him.”
“You harassed him with a pork chop.”
“That’s mentorship with seasoning.”
Before I could answer, a little voice rang through the shop.
“Uncle Si-Yuh!”
Both of us turned.
Lyric came flying through the office doors, auburn ponytails bouncing, freckles scattered across her cheeks, smiling like she’d found her favorite place in the world.
Juice set the foil plate down.
“Easy, baby girl.”
I was already crouching. She launched herself into my arms, and I caught her easily.
“Hey, Songbird,” I said against her cheek.
Lyric wrapped her arms around my neck and squeezed. “I missed you.”
“You saw him yesterday, Lyric Rochelle.”
Lyric didn’t loosen her hold on me. “That was a long time.”
“It was twenty-four hours,” Juice said.
“That’s long,” Lyric said.
I kissed Lyric’s forehead. “Twenty-four hours can be long when you miss somebody.”
Lyric lifted her head and pointed at me. “See, Daddy?”
Juice placed a hand over his chest. “Betrayal. In my own shop. From my own child. After I bought apple juice.”
Lyric turned toward him with wide eyes. “You got apple juice?”
Juice’s entire face melted. He tried to hold the offended expression, but his daughter had him by the soul, and everybody knew it. “In the office fridge. The little bottles you like.”
Lyric reached for him, and I passed her over without hesitation.
Juice took her like she was made of glass and glory, one large hand supporting her back, the other fixing the twist of her shirt where it had bunched near her waist. He kissed one cheek, then the other, then the tip of her nose while she giggled and pushed at his beard.
“Daddy, your face scratchy,” Lyric said.
“That’s wisdom growing out,” Juice said.
“That’s hair,” Lyric replied.
I laughed. “She got you.”
Juice rocked her gently on his hip. “She can. She pays rent in my heart.”
Melody’s voice floated from the office before she appeared. “Lyric Rochelle Brooks, did you run in this shop after I told you to walk?”
Lyric’s head popped up. Juice looked down at her. I looked at Juice.
Lyric whispered, “I walked with excitement.”
Juice stared at her, then turned toward the office. “Mel, she walked with excitement.”
“That’s not a legal defense,” Melody said.
“It’s poetic,” I said.
Melody stepped into the shop with a Mahogany Bookmarks & Brew tote over her shoulder. Warm, brown skin, auburn curls, and the smile that had been humbling Juice for years.
The second he saw her, the rest of us disappeared.
“What?” Melody asked.
Juice shook his head once. “Nothing.”
“That’s a lie,” Melody said.
“That’s my wife,” Juice said, his voice dropping just enough to make it private and public at the same time.
Melody’s dimples deepened. “Justice.”
“Melody,” Juice said.
“Behave,” she said.
“I’m looking.”
“You look loud.”
“You married me loud,” Juice said.
She smiled despite herself.
Juice slipped the tote from her shoulder and wrapped an arm around her waist with the ease of a man who never got tired of loving his wife. He kissed her cheek, then rested his forehead against hers for a brief moment before stepping back and placing his hand on her protruding belly.
Watching never made me jealous. It made me hopeful.
Lyric groaned from his hip. “Daddy, again?”
Juice didn’t move away from Melody. “Baby girl, when you get married, you gon’ want your husband to love on you in public too.”
Lyric frowned. “No.”
“Yes,” Melody said.
“No,” Lyric said. “I’m living with Uncle Siah.”
I lifted both brows.
Juice turned slowly toward his daughter. “Excuse me?”
Lyric nodded. “He has apple juice too.”
“I bought the apple juice,” Juice said.
“At Uncle Siah’s shop,” Lyric replied.
Melody laughed into Juice’s shoulder.
“What’s in the tote, Mel?” I asked.
Melody reached for it, but Juice took it first and held it open for her.
She glanced at him. “Helpful or nosy?”
“Helpful,” Juice said. Melody stared. “Nosy with helpful tendencies,” Juice corrected.
“That sounds more like you,” Melody said.
Lyric leaned over the tote. “Nana sent books.”