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“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’sshit 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 somethingreckless, 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.”