Page 5

He hung up and stared at the screen for a second longer. He’d been hearing about Tyree spiraling for months. Maybe years. Watching Taylor pretend everything was fine at cookouts and birthday parties, her smile never quite reaching her eyes.

Still, nothing pissed him off more than men who didn’t take care of their woman. Ungrateful niggas were the worst in his book. He couldn’t understand it. If you had love, trust, and softness, and you squandered that? You deserved whatever came next.

Brooks wasn’t some sucker for love, but he was raised by a man who taught him early, women were God’s gift to men. You took care of them. Period. That standard started with his sister and extended to any woman in his orbit.

That included her.

It hadn’t taken him long to get to her, he’d had a head start—and still pushed it, flying through the slick streets to get to her.

Brooks sent the text, pulling up, but he never planned to wait outside.

The rain had slowed to a drizzle. He parked, killed the engine, and stepped out with ease. Heavy footfalls hit the pavement, a match for the weight he carried. It didn’t take him long to cross the lot and enter Coupeville City Memorial.

He didn’t ask for her at the front desk. He scanned the room until he found her.

She was slumped in a chair near the window, arms wrapped around herself, phone in her lap, eyes fixed on nothing.

Brooks paused a few steps away, letting the moment stretch. He didn’t speak right away. Just watched her, quietly, giving her a second to notice him.

When her eyes lifted and met his, he saw it.

The flicker.

The silent “thank God” that passed over her face, even if her lips didn’t move.

“Let's go,” he said, calm and final.

Taylor stood without a word. She grabbed her things, her body moving on its own. And when she reached him, something about the way she moved closer, easier, told him she wasn’t pretending tonight.He’d done the right thing.

They walked out together, but he stopped and grabbed her bags. She was already carrying enough.

“You good?” He asked, looking at her for a second too long before opening the passenger door. His eyes swept over her carefully, cataloging everything. The distance in her eyes. The way she held herself like she might break if someone asked her that question one more time.

“I’m fine.”

It was a lie. One she told so often, it barely registered anymore. Brooks knew better, but he let her have it for now. He’d seen her fine before, and this? This wasn’t that. The urge to pull her close, to shoulder whatever weight had her so lost, confused him.

That wasn’t who they were to each other.

“Let me get you home. Come on.”

Taylor slid into the passenger seat and slammed the door harder than necessary.

Brooks didn’t flinch. Just shook his head and inhaled deep. He was going to ignore it, but he couldn’t. He popped the door open again, leaning in just enough. His voice was calm, but his eyes weren’t.

“Don’t tear my shit up just ‘cause you mad at that nigga.”

He shut the door, and through the window, he caught her rolling her eyes. He smirked, but didn’t say another word. He understood she was frustrated but he wasn’t the reason for it.

“Sorry about your door,” she said as he climbed in. “I’m a little frustrated.”

“It’s all good.”

The first few minutes of the ride passed insilence. Taylor kept her eyes on the painted lines in the road, willing herself not to cry. Not here. Not in front of him. Or anybody.

The radio played lowly in the background. She took in how nice his vehicle was, but she didn’t expect anything less with him.

Brooks kept his focus on the road, but he was locked in. Every breath she took, every shift in her seat, every tap of her finger, he noticed.