12. Derek’s Destiny

DESTINY

Destiny Boseman

My father shook his head, the lines on his face deepening as he sprinkled the last pieces of chicken with his special blend of seasoning. The smell of spices filled the kitchen, but it couldn’t mask the heaviness that hung in the air.

“Ain’t never seen nothing like this in Juniper,” he muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief. “A little scandal in City Hall, maybe…but one of our own hurting women and children like this, dying in such a way…this is just downright crazy.”

Mama, standing by the stove, her hands busy checking on the mac and cheese, nodded solemnly. “I’m just so glad Little Derek is gonna make a full recovery,” she said, the relief in her voice unmistakable, but there was a tremor there too, the kind that only comes when you’ve been holding your breath for too long.

Eden’s mom, Miss Helen, who had been quietly wiping down the counters, paused for a moment, her brow furrowing. “Jenny hasn’t stepped foot outside that house. She feels like everyone’s blaming her,” she added, her voice soft, as if saying it any louder might make it even more true. Concern was etched deep in her features, the kind of worry that only a mother could understand.

“Meanwhile, Derek’s blaming himself,” I mumbled, my fingers flying across the keyboard as I typed away on my laptop, the words spilling out faster than I could think. The weight of it all pressed down on me, and for a second, the room seemed to grow quieter, everyone’s eyes turning to me with concern.

They didn’t say anything, but the look in their eyes was enough. Just as quickly, they returned to their tasks—Mama pulling the mac and cheese out of the oven, the golden crust bubbling invitingly, while Miss Helen continued wiping down the counters, her movements slow and deliberate. There was something comforting about their rhythm, the way they moved through the kitchen with the ease of years spent caring for others.

I’d taken over my parents' dining table, turning it into a makeshift office. The hospital was just a short drive away, and that proximity felt essential with all the trips I made there.

The air outside was thick with the weight of tragedy that had settled over Juniper like an unwelcome fog. Going downtown to my usual office felt impossible, suffocating even. But here, in the warmth of my parents' kitchen, it was different. The familiar walls, steeped in memories, offered a comforting embrace, shielding me from the storm outside.

With most of the injured on the mend and leaving the hospital within hours or a couple of days of the accident, the Mayor made the bold choice to keep the Jubilee on schedule. He pitched it as the perfect way to celebrate Juniper’s resilience in the face of tragedy, and to rally the community around those affected by the crash.

Juniper had never seen so much attention—media trucks lined the streets, cameras capturing every angle of the small town now thrust into the national spotlight. The accident at Derek’s toy drive had become a defining moment, and the media latched onto it, crafting a narrative that painted Derek as the hometown hero—a man who, despite everything, continued to give back and connect with the children who looked up to him.

Photos and videos of Derek, his expression soft as he handed out toys, his focus unwavering as he listened to Little Derek rap, played on a loop. It was the kind of footage that tugged at heartstrings, that made people believe in the goodness of others. The fact that these moments were captured just minutes before everything went wrong only added to the poignancy.

When reporters reached out to the families affected by the crash, their interviews only solidified Derek’s status. They spoke of how he’d taken care of everything—the hospital bills, the daily check-ins, the meals delivered to their doors like clockwork. He’d even gone as far as hiring a local cleaning service to keep their homes in order, so they wouldn’t have to lift a finger. Derek wasn’t just a public figure doing damage control; he was a man who genuinely cared, who was willing to go the extra mile for his community.

But behind closed doors, Derek was a man unraveling. The guilt gnawed at him, consuming him from the inside out. Every smile he forced, every reassuring word he offered to the families, was another layer of weight on his already burdened shoulders. Night after night, that guilt drove him to drink, something he hadn’t done in years—not like this, anyway. The bottle became a crutch, something to dull the edges of the pain that threatened to overwhelm him every time he closed his eyes.

During the day, Derek tried to keep it together. If he wasn’t visiting one of the families, showing up at their homes with food and a quiet presence, he was at the hospital, offering Ant a brief respite from his vigil over Angel and Little Derek. And when he wasn’t doing that, he was at rehearsals for the Jubilee.

But the real escape came when he was in his portable studio—a massive RV he’d had delivered to Ant’s backyard. Inside those four walls, Derek could lose himself. The music was his refuge, the one place where he could pour out his pain, his guilt, his anger, and make something out of it. The beats, the lyrics—they were the only things that made sense anymore. In that studio, he wasn’t the hero, the public figure, the man with the weight of a town’s expectations on his shoulders. He was just Derek.

Eden and I sat across from each other, knee-deep in the kind of last-minute chaos that sneaks up on you when you think everything’s finally under control. The dining table looked like a battlefield—laptops open, papers strewn everywhere, sticky notes clinging to every available surface like desperate reminders of all the things we couldn’t afford to forget. My phone buzzed incessantly, each new notification pulling at the frayed edges of my already stretched-thin nerves.

“We’ve got to double-check the vendor list,” I muttered, more to myself than to Eden, my eyes glued to the spreadsheet on my screen. “The last thing we need is someone showing up without the right permits or missing tables. That could be a disaster.”

Eden nodded, her gaze locked on her own screen, her fingers flying across the keyboard. “I’m on it. But we also need to make sure the families of the injured are taken care of first. Derek said VIP treatment all the way, even if it means reshuffling things at the last minute. They need to feel like they’re the priority.”

She didn’t have to say it, but we both knew why it mattered so much. This Jubilee wasn’t just another event—it had become a way for the town to start healing, and we couldn’t afford any missteps.

As Eden typed away, she glanced up at me, her expression thoughtful. “And I’m thinking we should add a few more volunteers to the welcome crew. With the press still hovering like vultures, we need to keep the mood light, make sure everyone feels the love the second they walk in.”

“Good idea,” I agreed, jotting it down on my never-ending list. “I’ll reach out to the youth group, see if they can spare a few more hands. And we should double-check the sound system setup. The last thing we need is a mic cutting out in the middle of Derek’s speech.”

Eden looked up, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You think he’s ready for it?”

I paused, the image of Derek holed up in that RV flashing through my mind—his face etched with the kind of pain that doesn’t go away easily, the kind that lingers in the dark corners of your soul. “I hope so,” I said softly, my voice tinged with worry. “But whether he is or isn’t, we’ll make sure everything else is perfect. He doesn’t need anything else weighing on him right now. This is his chance to show the town, and maybe himself, that he’s still standing.”

We both returned to our screens, the weight of the Jubilee pressing down on us, but in a way, it was also what was holding us up.

"Alright now, got the last batch of this chicken hot and ready for you to take up to the hospital for Ant and Angel,” my father said, his voice steady as he closed up two to-go boxes with the ease of a man who’s done this a thousand times before. “Hurry up and get this up there before it gets cold.”

“Yes, sir,” Eden replied, moving quickly. She grabbed the boxes, carefully placing them into a shopping bag, her movements brisk but precise.

When we reached Little Derek’s room, I hesitated for a moment, my hand hovering over the door. I knocked gently, and Angel’s soft voice answered, a welcome sound amidst the sterile beeps and hums of the machines.

“Hey! We brought lunch,” I said, pushing the door open with a smile that I hoped would hide the worry gnawing at the edges of my heart. My eyes immediately sought out Little Derek, lying still in his bed wrapped in bandages, before finding Angel sitting next to him, her face filled with exhaustion.

“He was actually up for a little bit earlier,” she said, her voice tinged with relief as she glanced over at Ant. He sat on the couch, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert, always watching. His smile mirrored hers, a quiet reassurance that things were looking up, even if just for a moment.

“The doctors say he needs as much rest as possible to make sure his brain heals right. They’re confident he’s going to be just fine though,” Angel continued, her words a balm to the anxiety that had been building inside me.

“He’ll be back to kicking freestyles in no time,” Ant added, his voice warm, carrying a certainty that I wanted so desperately to believe in.

“This is amazing news,” I said, feeling a swell of relief that made it easier to breathe. “I can’t wait to tell Derek.”

“He should be here in a little bit, actually,” Ant mentioned as he looked at his phone, his tone casual.

“Oh yeah?” I tried to sound nonchalant, but the truth was, I hadn’t heard much from Derek since he kissed me goodbye that morning.

Once he disappeared into his music, it was like he vanished into another world, one where I couldn’t quite reach him. I knew he was wrestling with more than he let on, his emotions buried deep beneath layers of distraction and duty. And as much as I wanted to be the one to pull him back, I could feel the distance growing between us, like an invisible thread stretching tighter with each passing day.

But I pushed those thoughts aside, forcing myself to focus on the moment.

“My Daddy fried some chicken, and my Mama made dirty rice, mac and cheese, and a salad,” I said, my voice softer now as Eden placed the bag on the small table in the corner of the room.

The smell of home-cooked food filled the space, a small but powerful reminder of the life waiting just outside these hospital walls, of the community that still held us all together.

“Y’all are too kind,” Angel said, shaking her head in disbelief. Her voice was soft, almost fragile, the kind of voice that carried the weight of too many burdens for too long. “The way all of you have shown up for me…I…” Her words trailed off, her face clouded with a sadness that seemed to pull her down, like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. “It’s just been me and my baby for so long. Even when Ant said he had us, I don’t think I really understood what that meant until now, until I started experiencing it. Thank y’all so much.” Her eyes welled up with tears, her grip tightening on Little Derek’s small hand as if it was the only thing holding her to this moment.

“We meant every word, Angel,” Ant said, his voice steady. There was no hesitation, no doubt—just conviction.

“I see that now.” Angel’s lips curved into a small, grateful smile, and for a moment, something shifted between her and Ant—a connection, a spark that hadn’t been there before. It was subtle, but it was real, a glimmer of something deeper than just shared concern.

But before I could fully grasp what I was seeing, a sudden commotion in the hallway shattered the fragile peace.

“Where the fuck is my son?” The voice boomed, sharp and angry, slicing through the quiet of the hospital like a blade. It was a voice that demanded attention, a voice that brought with it the promise of trouble.

There was a brief scuffle, the sound of hurried footsteps and hushed voices, and then the door to the room flew open with a force that made all of us—me, Angel, and Eden—flinch. The air shifted, heavy with tension, as Ant’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, his body tensing like a spring about to snap. He stood up, his posture radiating protectiveness, ready to confront whoever had just barged into this fragile space we’d carved out for ourselves.

“What the—” The man’s words caught in his throat as his gaze landed on Little Derek, his eyes widening in shock at the sight of the child. The resemblance between them was undeniable, like looking at two versions of the same person separated by time and circumstance. Little Derek’s cocoa-brown skin, a perfect mirror of Angel’s, stood in stark contrast to this man’s pale, almost ghostly complexion. But the eyes—the eyes were the same.

“Carlos!” Angel’s voice trembled, barely masking the fear that rippled through her. It was the kind of fear that comes from too many broken promises, too many nights spent wondering if the next knock on the door would bring trouble.

“What the fuck happened to my son, Angelina?” Carlos barked, his voice harsh and demanding, slicing through the room like a whip as his eyes zero’d in on hers. There was no warmth in his words, no concern—just anger, raw and unfiltered, as if he was more concerned with asserting control than understanding what had truly happened.

"Aye, man! You’re not gonna come up in here with all that yelling when Derek is trying to rest," Ant’s voice was low, a quiet thunder that rumbled through the room, commanding attention. Ant wasn’t a man who needed to raise his voice to make his presence known—his size, his muscle, and the intensity in his eyes did all the talking for him.

As he moved closer to Carlos, each step was deliberate, measured, like a predator stalking its prey. Carlos shot Ant a quick glance, his eyes narrowing as if trying to size him up. But whatever calculation he made, he dismissed it just as quickly, turning back to Angel with a sneer.

“What happened to my boy?!?” he boomed, his voice echoing off the sterile hospital walls, the sound bouncing back at us like an accusation as his hands began balling up into fists.

“I told you days ago he was in an accident,” Angel’s voice wavered, the cracks in her composure showing as tears streamed down her face. She was trying so hard to hold it together, but the strain was evident in every word.

“You didn’t say it was this bad! I had to see the shit on the fucking news!” Carlos’s anger flared, his face twisting with frustration. His words were sharp, cutting through the room with a vicious edge.

“Maybe if you’d stop ignoring my calls and texts—” Angel started, her voice gaining strength, but Carlos cut her off, his tone laced with venom.

“Maybe if you’d be a fucking mother, your son wouldn’t be up in the hospital like this. Where the fuck were you when this happened?”

Angel’s face flushed with anger, the blood rising to her cheeks as she shot back, “I was right there with him, trying to protect him!” Her voice trembled with the weight of her words, her body tense as she tried to lift her hand, only to be held back by the sling that cradled her injured arm. It was a painful reminder of everything she’d been through, and the exhaustion mixed with raw pain in her eyes made my heart ache for her. She was standing her ground, but I could see how much it was costing her, and I wished I could do more than just stand there, helpless, watching it all unfold.

“She’s been calling you and texting you for days,” Ant’s voice cut in, sharp and furious, his tone vibrating with barely controlled rage. He looked and sounded so much like Derek in that moment, right on the edge of losing his temper, that raw, dangerous energy simmering just beneath the surface.

Carlos sneered at Ant, his eyes filled with contempt. “I don’t know who the fuck you are,” he said, waving his hand dismissively, as if Ant were nothing more than an inconvenience. “But this conversation is between me and my ex-wife about our son. This doesn’t concern you.”

Carlos made a move toward Angel, but Ant was faster, stepping in front of her like a shield, his body a protective barrier that Carlos would have to go through if he wanted to get any closer.

"She is my concern, and I don’t give a fuck who you are. You better speak to her like you’ve got some fucking sense,” Ant’s voice was low and dangerous, each word laced with a quiet fury that vibrated through the room. The threat wasn’t just in what he said—it was in how he said it, with a calm intensity that made it clear he wasn’t playing around.

Carlos took an involuntary step back, his bravado faltering for just a moment before a bitter laugh slipped past his lips. He quickly tried to mask his unease, sneering as he shook his head like he’d just uncovered some twisted secret.

“Oh, you fucking her?” he spat out, the words dripping with contempt as his eyes darted between Ant and Angel. He sneered, as if he’d cracked some hidden code. “I see what this is. Angel, you better tell your little boyfriend to step the fuck off before I make you regret it.”

His voice held a dangerous edge, but it was laced with desperation, as if he was trying to claw back control of a situation that had already slipped through his fingers.

Ant’s expression remained stone-cold, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits as he fired back, “I’m her friend. I don’t have to be fucking somebody to treat them with respect.” His words were razor-sharp, slicing through the tension in the room with a precision that hinted at a history neither Eden nor I fully understood. There was something deeper behind those words, something heavy and unspoken that lingered in the air between them, a past we could only begin to imagine.

Ant took a step closer, his gaze locked on Carlos as he sized him up. “Now, if you wanna see about your son, you better calm the fuck down and talk to Angel like she’s the woman who’s been raising your boy day in and day out since the day he was born, who’s been here with him every single night since the accident.” His voice dropped lower, more menacing, as he leaned in slightly. “Or me and you? We’re gonna have a problem that you’re gonna regret. You don’t run shit here.”

Carlos swallowed hard, his bravado visibly crumbling under the weight of Ant’s words. The swagger he’d walked in with seemed to evaporate, leaving behind a man suddenly unsure of himself, his arrogance replaced with a flicker of doubt.

“Now…lower your tone and ask her what you wanna know about Derek,” Ant continued, his voice steady as he stepped aside, revealing Angel standing behind him.

Her eyes were wide, filled with awe as she stared at Ant like he was a knight in shining armor, someone who’d just done what she thought was impossible—standing up to Carlos.

“Speak, nigga!” Ant barked, his voice slicing through the room with the finality of a judge’s gavel that caused Carlos to flinch.

Carlos cleared his throat, the last vestiges of arrogance draining from his posture as he addressed Angel.

“Angelina, I’d like to know what happened to my son, and I want to know everything about what his recovery is gonna look like,” he said, his tone calm, almost respectful, as if he’d finally realized who was really in control here.

“Good boy,” Ant muttered, giving Carlos a condescending pat on the shoulder, the gesture dripping with disdain. He stepped back to the couch, his eyes never leaving Carlos, making it clear that whatever authority Carlos thought he had, it was gone now—Ant was the one calling the shots.

Eden and I exchanged a quick glance, both of us struggling to suppress the urge to burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all. The shock, the way Ant had completely flipped the power dynamic—it was almost too much to process.

“Angelina, can we speak in private?” Carlos asked, his voice barely masking the desperation creeping in.

“No,” Ant replied, his voice dry and final, slicing through Carlos’s plea like a knife. He dropped onto the couch, his posture a picture of dominance—legs spread wide, arms stretched across the back like he owned the place. The casual ease of his stance contrasted sharply with the tension in the room, but his tone left no room for negotiation, effectively shutting down any hope Carlos might have clung to.

The finality in his tone made it clear—whatever Carlos had to say, he was going to say it right here, in front of all of us.

"The fuck is going on in here?" Derek’s voice cut through the tension like a blade, sharp and unyielding. My head snapped toward the door, instinctively drawn to the other commanding presence filling the room.

There he stood, a force of nature in a crisp white tee and red basketball shorts, heavy chains draped around his neck catching the harsh fluorescent light with each subtle movement. A watch that probably cost more than my parents’ home gleamed on his wrist, its weight adding to the air of authority he carried effortlessly. His locs were tied up on top of his head, giving him a regal, almost untouchable aura, while his two security guards flanked him like silent sentinels, their postures rigid, eyes scanning the room for any sign of trouble.

“The nurses said we had a problem,” Derek stated, his voice steady, but there was an underlying edge that suggested he wasn’t here for explanations—he was here to eliminate an issue.

“No problem here,” Ant replied, his voice as calm as a still river, but with an undercurrent of danger that hinted at something far more powerful lurking beneath. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he locked eyes with Carlos, his gaze unwavering and intense. “Right, Carlos?” The smirk widened into a smile, but it was the kind of smile that held no warmth—only a warning.

“Right,” Carlos muttered, the defiance draining out of him like air from a punctured tire. The bravado that had fueled him moments ago vanished, leaving him looking smaller, almost diminished, as if the sheer weight of the room’s energy had knocked the fight out of him.

“Carlos here came to see about his son,” Ant continued, his tone almost conversational, but the tension beneath it was palpable, like a taut wire ready to snap. “And he learned real quick that if he wants to do that, he needs to speak to his son’s mother with some act right. We got that under control.”

Derek’s expression remained stone cold as he shifted his gaze to Carlos, his eyes narrowing slightly as he assessed him, sizing him up like a predator deciding whether the prey was worth the effort.

“Oh, ‘cause if you can’t play nice, Damien and Bernard can show you the way out,” Derek said, nodding toward his security guards. The casualness of his tone was at odds with the menace lurking just beneath it, the kind of threat that didn’t need to be spelled out to be understood.

Derek noticed the flicker of realization in Carlos’s eyes, the moment when it finally clicked who he was talking to.

“D-Truth!” Carlos blurted out, his voice suddenly high-pitched and shaky, the forced smile plastered on his face doing little to hide the desperation behind it. He extended his hand with the eagerness of a star-struck fan, the tension in the room momentarily forgotten as he tried to latch onto anything familiar, anything that might save him. “Man, I love your music! Got all your albums. You here to see my son?”

The shift in Carlos’s demeanor was almost jarring—one moment he was all bluster and bravado, and the next, he was reduced to a fumbling fan, grasping for a connection that was clearly out of reach. His sudden attempt at flattery felt hollow, like a last-ditch effort to regain some kind of footing, but it only made him seem smaller, more desperate, as if he thought a few compliments could erase the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

Derek didn’t even blink, his eyes narrowing further as he took in Carlos’s desperate attempt at connection.

“I visit your son every day,” Derek said, his voice cold as ice, each word landing with the force of a sledgehammer. He didn’t bother to take Carlos’s outstretched hand, his gaze slicing right through him. “Never seen you here.”

Derek let the silence hang for a moment, then added, his tone razor-sharp, “But if you’re here to cause problems, our security can make sure you won’t be making any return visits.”

The silence that followed was deafening, a testament to the power dynamics that had shifted so dramatically in just a few short minutes. Carlos’s hand slowly dropped back to his side, his smile faltering as the reality of the situation sank in. Derek wasn’t just dismissing him—he was making it clear that Carlos’s absence hadn’t gone unnoticed, and it wouldn’t be forgotten.

"Look, man," Carlos began, his voice softening as he tried to navigate the shifting dynamics in the room. "I just want to know what’s going on with my son. I may not have been here before, but I’m here now."

"You should’ve been here," Ant said, his tone low and menacing, the kind of voice that brooked no argument. "Right now, the best thing you can do is sit down, shut up, and let Angel tell you what’s going on."

Carlos hesitated, his eyes flickering between Derek, Ant, and Angel, searching for something—understanding, maybe, or forgiveness. But the room was filled with a silence that offered neither. Finally, he nodded, the fight draining out of him as he moved to one of the chairs, lowering himself into it with a heavy sigh.

Angel took a deep breath, steadying herself as her eyes briefly met Ant’s. There was a flicker of reassurance in his gaze, a silent promise that he was right there with her. Then she turned her attention to Carlos, the weight of her words pressing down on the room like a heavy blanket.

“Derek’s going to be okay,” she began, her voice steady but laced with the kind of calm that only comes from sheer determination. “But it’s going to take time. He’s been through a lot—more than any child should have to endure, both physically and emotionally.”

She paused, the memories of the accident flashing across her mind. “He suffered a serious head injury—a traumatic brain injury, to be exact. The impact caused a concussion, and there was some bleeding in his brain. Thankfully, they were able to control it, but he’s been in and out of consciousness, and there’s still a risk of long-term effects. His chest took a hard hit, too. He had a couple of fractured ribs and a bruised lung. Breathing was difficult for him at first, but he’s getting better every day.”

Angel’s voice wavered slightly, but she pressed on, her tone firming as she detailed the road ahead. “The doctors are hopeful, but his recovery is going to be slow. We have to monitor him closely—any stress or overexertion could set him back. He’s going to need physical therapy to help with his coordination and strength, and he’ll likely need speech therapy, too, to help with any cognitive issues that might come up as he heals.”

Derek let out a small, humorless laugh that held no warmth, only a sharp edge. “So that means helping by supporting Angel and Derek without making this about you. You’re not gonna stress the boy out by disrespecting his mother. Can you handle that?” His words weren’t just a statement—they were a command, a line drawn in the sand that Carlos had no choice but to recognize.

Carlos swallowed hard, the tension in the room pressing in on him from all sides. He nodded, the bravado he’d walked in with long gone, replaced by something closer to humility.

“Yeah, I can handle that,” Carlos said, the words coming out quietly, almost as if he was trying to convince himself as much as everyone else.

Ant, his presence still formidable, relaxed just a bit, though his eyes remained fixed on Carlos, a silent reminder that he was still being watched.

“Good. Then you’re welcome to stay, but remember—you’re a guest here, and you better act like it.” Ant’s voice carried the finality of a door closing, a boundary set firmly in place.

Carlos seemed to shrink a little further into his chair, his earlier arrogance completely drained away. He didn’t argue, didn’t try to reclaim any of the control he’d lost. Instead, he turned to Angel, his voice quieter, more tentative than before.

“Thanks for telling me what’s going on, and I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.” The apology hung in the air, a small, fragile thing, but it was enough to crack through the tension.

Angel’s face softened, just a fraction, her eyes reflecting a mix of exhaustion and cautious acceptance. She nodded, her silence speaking volumes. The room settled into a tentative calm, the kind that feels like the eye of a storm—peaceful, but with the knowledge that the winds could pick up again at any moment. There was still so much left unsaid, so many wounds that hadn’t fully healed, but for now, it was enough to hold everything in place.

Derek crossed the room to Angel, his hand brushing gently against her arm in a comforting gesture that was both protective and reassuring. “You good?” he asked, his voice softer now, the edge gone, replaced by something tender.

She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, I’m good,” she replied, her voice steadying as she met his gaze.

“Alright,” Derek said, his tone gentler, a quiet determination settling in. “Let’s focus on what matters—getting Little Derek better.”

Eden and I exchanged a quick glances of relief, the kind that said everything without needing words.

Just as the calm settled in, Hakeem’s voice cut through the quiet, casual and brazen. “Aye yo, Carlos, lemme get $5 for the vending machine,” he said, appearing in the doorway like he’d been there all along, though none of us had noticed him come in.

Carlos blinked, thrown off by the sudden request. “Excuse me?” he asked, confusion lacing his tone.

“I said,” Hakeem repeated, slower this time, with just a hint of impatience, “lemme hold $5 for the vending machine.”

Carlos frowned, clearly irritated. “I don’t even know you. Why would I give you anything?”

Hakeem sucked his teeth, turning to Ant with an exaggerated sigh. “Ant, tell this nigga gimmie $5 real quick.”

Ant barely looked up from his phone, his voice calm and unbothered as he texted. “Give him $5, Carlos.”

“Wh— I—” Carlos stammered, his words faltering as he tried to process what was happening.

Derek, leaning casually against the wall, chimed in, his tone light but with an unmistakable edge. “Run them pockets, Carlos.”

Carlos let out an exasperated sigh, rolling his eyes as he pushed himself up to grab his wallet from his back pocket. Reluctantly, he pulled out a $5 bill and handed it over to Hakeem.

“Good looking out!” Hakeem said with a grin, snatching the money and sauntering out of the room like he’d just won a small victory.

Carlos’ eyes darted around, searching for something solid to hold onto, but all he found were faces that had already dismissed him.

“Fucking hell, I could really use a milkshake right about now,” Derek muttered as he dropped onto the couch next to Ant, the weight of everything finally catching up to him. His earlier intensity had melted away, replaced by a kind of exhausted levity. “God damn ice machine’s been out of commission almost a week now,” he added with a frustrated sigh.

“Maybe we could get you one from Ruby’s—” Eden began, her voice hesitant, clearly not catching the inside joke. She glanced between us, her confusion apparent.

But Derek’s smirk was already directed squarely at me, that familiar, playful glint dancing in his eyes. I knew exactly where his mind was at.

“Girl, no,” I quickly cut in, shaking my head with a grin.

Derek chuckled, the sound low and rich, clearly pleased with himself for getting the reaction he wanted out of me. “You know you make the milkshakes, Des. Ain’t no point in pretending otherwise.”

I rolled my eyes playfully, but deep down, I felt a rush of relief—or maybe something more. In the midst of all the pain and uncertainty, Derek had found a sliver of humor to hold onto. It was a small victory, but it felt like a sign—a sign that maybe, just maybe, he’d be alright.

That night, I found Derek on my back porch again, a bottle of Hennessy pressed to his lips, just like he had been for the past few nights. He sat there alone, staring into the darkness, lost in thoughts he refused to share. I eased down beside him on the step, cuddling close, resting my head on his shoulder, trying to close the distance that seemed to grow wider with each passing day.

“You know better than to come out here in that ugly ass nightgown and bonnet,” Derek mumbled, casting a quick glance my way before cutting his eyes back to the night.

I chuckled, trying to keep the mood light. “What’s your problem? I’m just dressed for bed,” I said, settling in more comfortably next to him.

“You’re trying to get me all hot and bothered, knowing you don’t want me to touch you right now. Teasing me and shit.”

I shook my head, half amused, half exasperated. “I’ve never seen someone get so worked up over a $5 nightgown and a damn bonnet. There is truly something wrong with you.”

Derek took another sip, his gaze still fixed on the dark horizon. “I think you’re the problem, Des,” he murmured, the words slipping out with a kind of resigned affection. “Doesn’t matter what you put on, as long as you’re in it, I’m gonna want to take it off you.”

I let out a deep breath, my heart heavy because I knew there was so much more weighing on his mind that he wasn’t letting me in on. The banter was just a distraction, a way to keep the real conversation at bay.

“Talk to me, Derek,” I pleaded softly, hoping that maybe this time he would let me in.

“I’m good, Princess,” he replied, the words hollow, avoiding my eyes as he took another swig from the bottle.

“That’s not true, Derek,” I pushed gently, refusing to let him retreat into his silence, into the dark place where I couldn’t reach him.

He ran a hand over his face, the roughness of his palm dragging across skin that seemed to carry the weight of the world. His eyes, still fixed on the dark woods before us, searched the shadows as if they held the answers he couldn’t find within himself. The night seemed to draw him in, the darkness pressing down on him like a burden too heavy to bear. I could feel it, the unspoken pain, the weight of everything he wasn’t saying pressing down on both of us.

“How you feeling today? Back still hurting?” he asked, his voice breaking the silence, but his words were miles away from what really mattered. He was sidestepping my question, choosing to focus on my period symptoms instead of the storm brewing inside him. “I can give you a massage before we go to bed,” he offered, his tone gentle, but distant, like he was trying to care for me while keeping his own pain at arm’s length.

I sighed, recognizing the deflection for what it was. This was his way—caring for me, avoiding himself. “I’m alright,” I replied, my voice soft but unwavering. “But that’s not what this is about, and you know it.”

The silence that followed was thick, heavy with the unsaid things that lingered between us. I could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tightened as he held back, trying to keep everything inside.

“Derek,” I whispered, lifting my head to meet his gaze, to pull him back from whatever dark place he was retreating to. “You don’t have to carry this alone. Whatever it is, we can get through it together.”

He finally turned to face me, and the sight of him took my breath away. His eyes, dark and weary, were windows to a soul burdened by sleepless nights and relentless guilt.

“I don’t want you to feel any of this,” he murmured, the pain in his voice was unmistakable, raw and unfiltered. “I just… I can’t get it out of my head, Princess. What happened…it’s all my fault.”

My heart twisted at the agony in his words. I reached up, gently cupping his face in my hands, forcing him to meet my gaze.

“It’s not your fault, Derek. None of this is your fault.” My voice was steady but soft, trying to break through the fortress he’d built around his heart, trying to reach the part of him that needed to hear it most.

But I could see the doubt swirling in his eyes, the way he wrestled with the guilt that had burrowed deep inside him. It was a battle, one he wasn’t ready to let go of, and I knew that no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t fight it for him.

He closed his eyes, leaning into my touch, his breath shaky. “If you say so,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his pain. “But it sure as hell feels like it.”

“There was no way you could have known—”

“The toy drive was my event, Des,” he cut me off, his voice rough and unsteady. “Those kids and their parents were there because of me. The whole thing started because of what Johnathon’s daddy said, and he only said that because me and his son got into it. Me and Johnathon got into it because of how stupid I was as a kid about you. You follow the trail, it all comes back to me, my choices.” His voice broke as he looked at me, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “I know every action has a reaction, but God damn…”

I squeezed his free hand, trying to ground both of us in the moment. This wasn’t about me—it was about him, about the crushing weight of guilt he was carrying. I had to be strong, even as my heart ached seeing him like this, unraveling under the burden of his own thoughts.

“The last time I drank this much…” He hesitated, swallowing hard as if trying to choke down the words, “it was because I was trying to drown out the sound of you crying. I hurt you so bad, and the way you cried… It tore me apart, Des. I heard it all the time, like a ghost that wouldn’t let me be. The only way I could make it stop was to drink myself stupid.”

“And now?” I asked gently, knowing there was more he needed to unburden.

“Now I’m trying to drown out the memory of those kids screaming, of their parents screaming, ‘cause they couldn’t do anything, didn’t know what to do ‘cause everything was happening so fast. What I saw, what I heard…” Derek shook his head, as if trying to shake the memory free from his mind. “I can’t get it out of my head. I can’t stop thinking about how it felt for them, what they went through…”

“Everyone is making a full recovery—”

“Physically, yeah,” he interrupted, his voice thick with emotion. “But emotionally? Mentally? I messed those kids up, Des. You heard Angel earlier—physical healing is one thing, but these kids are gonna have PTSD or something because of me. Their parents, too. That’s on me.”

“No, Derek,” I insisted, my voice firm, unwavering. “You didn’t cause that. You gave those kids a day they’re never gonna forget.”

“Exactly,” he scoffed, bitterness dripping from every word as he took another swig from the bottle.

“You showed them love, Derek. You showed them they matter. You talked to them, encouraged them. You gave them something real, something good, something they can hold onto.”

Tears began to spill down his cheeks, silent and steady, even as he tried to keep his face emotionless, as if holding it all in could somehow protect him from the pain. But the tears betrayed him, revealing the depth of his anguish, the heartbreak he couldn’t hide.

“Mr. House… He’s the one who made the choice that led to this tragedy. He knew he shouldn’t have been driving. Yeah, he didn’t know he was gonna have a heart attack, but every time he got behind that wheel, knowing he wasn’t supposed to… he put himself and others at risk.” Derek’s voice wavered as he spoke, the weight of everything finally crashing down on him.

I could see the weight of that realization bearing down on Derek, as if the truth of it was too heavy to hold. But I held onto him, both physically and emotionally, refusing to let him spiral into the dark place he was teetering on the edge of.

“Derek,” I whispered, my voice carrying all the love I had for him, every ounce of strength I could offer. “You’re carrying a burden that isn’t yours to bear. You didn’t cause this. You did everything in your power to help, to make it right. And you’re still doing that, even now. You’ve gone above and beyond to support these families, and they’re so grateful for you.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, the silence stretching between us like a tightrope. But then I felt it—a subtle shift as he leaned into me, just a little, as if he was finally allowing himself to be held, to be comforted.

“I can’t do this without you, Destiny,” he admitted, wiping his face with one swift motion, his voice stripped down to its rawest form, vulnerable and exposed.

“You don’t have to,” I replied softly, but with a steadiness that left no room for doubt. “I’m right here.” I offered him a small smile, hoping he could see the truth in it, hoping he could feel how much I meant it.

For the first time in what felt like forever, he turned to me, really looked at me, his eyes searching mine as if trying to find something solid to hold onto. Slowly, deliberately, he set the bottle down beside him, the gesture heavy with meaning.

“I’m gonna need some extra help,” he said, a small, tentative smile tugging at his lips. The weight of his struggle was still there, etched into his features, but it felt lighter now, less suffocating, like he was finally allowing himself to breathe.

“I’ll find you someone, Derek,” I assured him, a playful grin creeping onto my face as I added, “To be honest, baby, you’ve been needing to go lay down on somebody’s couch.”

He chuckled, the sound low and a little rough, but real. It was the first sign of lightness I’d seen in him in days, and it sent a warmth through me, like we were finally stepping out of the shadows, even if just for a moment.

“Plus, I gotta get right for when my son gets out the hospital,” he said casually, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

I pulled back slightly, looking at him with raised eyebrows. “Your son?” I asked, not sure if I’d heard him right.

“Yeah, Little Derek,” he replied, meeting my gaze with a look of genuine surprise, as if he couldn’t believe I didn’t see it the way he did.

“Derek, that’s not your son… unless there’s something you wanna tell me.”

“He is my son,” he insisted, his voice taking on a firm, almost defiant edge. “His name’s Derek, and he raps. That’s all the proof I need. I don’t need Maury pulling out some envelope to tell me what I already know deep down.”

I tilted my head, studying him. “Were you ever with Angel?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I didn’t even know her name till the day of the accident.”

“And Little Derek looks exactly like Carlos.”

“Man, fuck Carlos. Derek is my son.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, the ridiculousness of the conversation bubbling up inside me. “Stupid… that’s not how it works.”

But Derek’s expression didn’t waver, and I realized he wasn’t just joking—he was serious, in that way only Derek could be, claiming a bond that ran deeper than blood, something forged in the chaos of that day.

“Yes, it is,” he shot back, his voice laced with a hint of defiance. “We connected at the toy drive, and now we’re getting to know Angel, spending time with them. We’re bonded for life. That’s my son, and I don’t wanna hear a damn thing when I file for joint custody and officially change his name to Derrick Harris Jr.” His words hung in the air, bold and unapologetic, as if he’d already made up his mind and nothing could change it.

It was classic Derek, turning pain into something he could hold onto, something he could build on, and in that moment, I saw the strength in him—the man who would do whatever it took to protect the people he cared about, even if it meant adopting a whole new family along the way.

“You Harris boys are something special,” I said, shaking my head with admiration and disbelief. There was a teasing lilt in my voice as I added, “I think I caught a glimpse of Ant’s crazy side today.”

Derek chuckled, the sound low and rich, as he shook his head. “Don’t let Ant fool you. He’s more methodical than me, but he ain’t wrapped too tight either. We came from the same people at the end of the day.”

“He handled the hell out of Carlos,” I mused, the memory of Ant’s unflinching demeanor flashing through my mind. The way he’d controlled the situation with an iron will, leaving no doubt about who was in charge—it was impressive, to say the least.

“Carlos is a bitch,” Derek said, the disdain in his voice unmistakable. “He doesn’t deserve Angel…or my son.” The possessiveness in his words was as clear as the night sky above us, laced with a fierce protectiveness that was as much a part of him as the air he breathed.

Then, as if the universe had a twisted sense of humor, Hakeem’s voice shattered the quiet like a blunt instrument.

“Mrs. Truth!” he hollered, yanking us out of our bubble. We turned to see him standing in the sliding door, holding up an empty box of ice cream sandwiches like it was the smoking gun in a courtroom drama. “Y’all outta these. When you getting more? You got grocery stores in this X-Files-looking ass town or what?”

Derek groaned, shaking his head in exasperation.

“One thing about you, Keem—you gon’ ruin a moment,” he muttered, the annoyance in his voice doing little to hide the thread of affection underneath.

“I’m hungry, the fuck?” Hakeem shot back, completely unfazed. “You been talking about milkshakes and an ice cream machine since I got here, and I ain’t seen Destiny pull out that machine one time. This box was the only thing that could satisfy my craving. Y’all hiding the ice cream machine when sharing is caring!”

“You always fucking hungry!”

“Well, stop talking about ice cream and milkshakes then—in the studio, at rehearsal, in the car, all you do is talk about this ice cream machine that I’ve never even seen! It’s starting to piss me off!”

“Fuck you, Keem!” Derek yelled, clearly mad that his friend had unintentionally blew up his spot.

His outburst had me laughing, partly because Hakeem had no idea what the ice cream machine actually was, and partly because I couldn’t believe Derek had been talking about it so much.

“Why you talking to me like this in front of Destiny?” Hakeem asked, feigning indignation as if he hadn’t just bulldozed right through our moment of calm.

“Keem, you’re supposed to be back in New York, first of all,” Derek replied, his voice thick with exasperation. “How’d I end up stuck with you here at my girl’s house? Take your ass to Motel Juniper.”

“I’m supposed to be watching you,” Hakeem shot back, pointing two fingers from his eyes to Derek’s like he was conducting a full-on security sweep. “They saying you on suicide watch.”

“Who said?” Derek asked, irritation lacing his tone as he tried to keep up with Hakeem’s wild logic.

“They said!” Hakeem responded with dramatic flair, his voice full of conviction like he was testifying in court.

“Who is they?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout that,” Hakeem replied, waving off Derek’s question like it was a pesky fly. His tone was casual, almost dismissive, but beneath the bravado was a layer of genuine concern that only someone who really knew Hakeem—and Derek—would catch. It wasn’t in what he said, but in how he said it, in the way he showed up, ready to deflect just enough to keep Derek from spiraling while still lightening the mood.

“Ain’t nobody about to kill they self,” Derek shot back, his voice rough but laced with that dry humor he used like armor. “I just got back with Destiny, and we’ve got things to handle down here. Ain’t that right, Princess?” he added, winking at me, making me blush.

“And besides,” Hakeem chimed in, his tone so matter-of-fact it took a beat for the absurdity to sink in, “ain’t no pussy in Heaven, from what I heard.”

Derek and I both turned to him, exchanging a look of mutual confusion. “You heard from who?” Derek asked, skepticism thick in his voice.

“Niggas,” Hakeem replied with a shrug, as if that explained everything.

“What?” Derek and I asked in unison, our voices a mix of disbelief and amusement.

“They seen the light and everything, said ain’t no pussy up there,” Hakeem continued, completely unfazed. “I mean, think about it—are you really gonna have sex in front of the Lord? That’s crazy.”

“What’s crazy is everything you’re saying right now,” Derek shot back, shaking his head. “You ain’t making no sense.”

Hakeem held up his hands in mock surrender, like he was pleading his case. “Look, they don’t pay me to know all about that. I get paid to do something else around here.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “And what exactly is your job description?”

“Chief of Holding Derek Down!” Hakeem declared, puffing out his chest with a proud grin, as if he’d just been crowned king of something important. The pride in his voice was unmistakable, as if he truly believed he was fulfilling some sacred duty.

Derek just shook his head, but there was a hint of a smile now, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. Hakeem’s chaotic energy, disruptive as it was, seemed to pull Derek back from the edge, reminding him that he wasn’t alone in this. He had people in his corner, whether he wanted them there or not.

The two of them dapped each other up, the simple gesture carrying the weight of unspoken loyalty and understanding. I couldn’t help but smile, watching them. It was in these small, seemingly insignificant moments that the real healing began—the laughter, the banter, the comfort of knowing that no matter how dark things got, they had each other’s backs. And that, more than anything, gave me hope.