27. Derek’s Destiny

EDEN

Hakeem killed the engine as we reached the peak of Juniper Lookout, the car falling into a heavy silence that matched the thick anxiousness between us. The view of the city below, all twinkling lights and quiet streets, didn’t calm the storm raging in my chest. My heart had been racing the entire drive, my mind caught on that kiss—the heat of it, the pull. I wanted him to kiss me again, wanted to lose myself in it, but there was so much left unsaid between us, words we couldn’t keep dodging anymore.

“I still don’t know why you came to my house tonight,” I said, my voice finally breaking the silence, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid.

Hakeem let out a deep breath, the sound rough, frustrated. He ran a hand over his face, his jaw tight like he was holding something back.

“I wanted to see you, Eden. Straight up, aight?” His words were clipped, like he was trying to keep it simple, but the undercurrent of something deeper was there, just beneath the surface.

“Why?” I pushed, my gaze fixed on him, unwilling to let him off the hook that easily. I needed more.

“Fuck, because…” He paused, exasperation clear in every tense line of his body. His hands gripped the steering wheel like he was wrestling with himself. “Because I know I said and did some foul shit I didn’t mean, and I wanted to say sorry and—”

“And?” I pressed, leaning in, not giving him the room to skate past it.

Hakeem shot me a look, his eyes narrowing like he wanted to strangle me, but I didn’t flinch. I didn’t care how mad he got—he was going to learn how to say what he meant, to identify those emotions he kept shoving down. I had a psych degree hanging on my wall, and I was about to use it.

“And I can’t stop thinking about you, alright?” he snapped, the words rough and raw, like they cost him something just to say. “I didn’t come here to bullshit, Eden. I came here because you’re in my head. You’ve been in my head since the day I got here, and I’m tired of pretending like you’re not.”

My breath caught in my throat, the heat of his words crashing into me like a wave, but beneath the warmth, there was still a sharp edge—a reminder of why I couldn’t let go so easily. I was still pissed.

I thought back to that morning, how I stood in front of the mirror, getting ready for the Jubilee, but all I could see was the hurt reflected back at me. When Mama had said good morning, it felt like a punch to the chest, breaking the fragile calm I tried to build up just to make it through the day. I had crumbled right there, spilling everything to her—the shame of crying over someone who could hurt me so easily.

It wasn’t just the tears. It was the vulnerability of it all, the way he’d gotten under my skin and left me feeling raw and exposed. I hated that he had that power over me.

“You sent me home crying, Hakeem,” I finally said, my voice tight, every word laced with the anger I’d been holding onto. “Do you have any idea how that felt?”

He didn’t say anything at first, just stared ahead, his jaw tightening, like he was taking the hit. The silence between us stretched, thick and charged, until finally, he turned to look at me.

“I didn’t mean for it to go down like that,” he said quietly, his voice rough. “I fucked up. I know that.”

His admission hung in the air, and for a moment, the anger inside me wavered, softening just a little. But the hurt was still there, simmering beneath the surface, and I wasn’t ready to let it go just because he was owning up to it now.

“I know you did,” I said, my voice steady but low. “But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

Hakeem exhaled, running a hand through his curls, his frustration evident, but he didn’t try to excuse himself. And for the first time, I could see the regret in his eyes, real and heavy, like he’d been carrying it all this time.

“I’m sorry, Eden,” he said, and there was something raw in the way he said it, like it cost him to speak the words. “I don’t know how to do this right. But I’m trying.”

“You gaslit me, Hakeem” I challenged, my voice lower now, steady despite the rush of emotions crashing inside me. “You think bringing me some gas station flowers is enough for me to act like that didn’t happen?”

He shook his head, his expression softening, the anger fading into something that looked like regret. “Nah, Eden. I know it’s not enough. Matter of fact, I don’t even really know what gaslight means but I’m here, trying.”

The honesty in his voice, the vulnerability he tried so hard to hide, cracked something open in me. I could see the struggle in his eyes, the fight between what he was used to and what he was feeling now. It wasn’t perfect, but damn if it wasn’t real.

I swallowed, my fingers unconsciously gripping the seat, my mind racing, trying to process everything.

“Then say it. Say what you mean, Hakeem,” I whispered, daring him to give me the words I needed.

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low rumble that vibrated through me. “I’m here ‘cause I can’t stay away from you, Eden. And I don’t want to. That’s the truth. I like you.”

We just stared at each other for a beat, the weight of his words hanging between us, the air thick with something neither of us could fully name. My heart was pounding in my chest, but I couldn’t look away, couldn’t break the connection that felt so raw and fragile.

“I like you too, and I don’t want you to stay away from me either,” I finally admitted, my voice soft but steady, like I was peeling back another layer of myself, offering it up to him.

Hakeem’s eyes flickered with something I couldn’t quite read—relief, maybe, or something deeper, something he wasn’t ready to name either. He sat back in his seat, exhaling like he was mad at himself for being this open, this vulnerable. It was like he was uncomfortable in his own skin, but too far in to pull back now.

“Sounds like we on the same page then,” he said, his voice rough, like it cost him something just to be this honest.

He ran a hand over his head, looking out the window for a moment before turning back to me.

“Eden, real talk… I ain’t never had a girlfriend before. Never took chicks on dates, none of that shit.” He let out a low, frustrated laugh, almost embarrassed. “The fact that I even care about your feelings is new to me. This is my first time even buying flowers.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking my head. “Yeah, I could tell,” I teased, a small smile pulling at my lips, trying to lighten the intensity, even though my heart was still racing from how real this conversation had gotten. “They were kinda bent up.”

Hakeem rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Aight, damn. No need to rub it in,” he muttered, but I could see the tension easing from his shoulders just a little, like he was starting to let himself breathe again. “But I’m tryin’, though.”

“I know you are,” I said, my voice softer now, the humor fading into something warmer. “That’s what matters.”

He nodded, looking at me with those eyes that always seemed to see more than I was ready to show. “I just don’t want to mess this up,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, but the weight of it hit me hard.

I could see it in the way he sat there, tense but trying—rough around the edges, sure, but doing his best to meet me where I needed him to. It was more than I expected, and that alone did something to me.

But there was something else gnawing at the back of my mind, something I couldn’t ignore. I leaned back, staring out at the night for a moment before I finally asked the question that had been burning in my chest. “Were you really with a stripper before you came and got me away from that man?”

Hakeem didn’t meet my eyes. “Yeah,” he admitted.

I felt like I had been punched in the gut—grateful for the truth, but the truth hurt all the same.

“I called your name by mistake,” he said, his words almost drowned out by the weight between us.

I blinked, turning to him, confused. “What?”

Hakeem shifted in his seat, finally looking at me, his eyes dark and filled with something I couldn’t quite place.

“I was with her, but all I could think about was you, Eden. Wishing she was you. Your face, your laugh, everything. I called her your name while we were…you know…in the middle of it…because in that moment, all I wanted was you.”

He looked away again, like he couldn’t stand to see my reaction, like he was bracing for whatever I’d throw at him next. But, I didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to respond to something like that.

I cleared my throat, trying to steady myself, to tame the whirlwind of emotions spinning inside me. “If you wanted me... then why didn’t you—”

“You a virgin, huh, Eden?” Hakeem cut me off.

His question knocked the wind out of me, and suddenly, I felt exposed, vulnerable in a way I hadn’t expected. I couldn’t look away from him, even though my cheeks burned with embarrassment. I hated that he had me feeling this way—so raw, so uncertain.

“Jesus Christ,” Hakeem muttered under his breath, running his hands through his curls like he didn’t know what to do with himself or me.

I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice. “Is that a bad thing? I take pride in being a virgin.”

He let out a deep, frustrated sigh, shaking his head. “It’s not that, Eden. It’s just…” His voice trailed off, and for a second, I saw something like regret flash across his face. “I’m not good for you.”

My chest tightened at his words, anger bubbling up to the surface. “Please stop saying that,” I snapped, my voice shaking. “You don’t get to decide what’s good for me.”

Hakeem looked at me, his expression tight, like he was caught between wanting to stay and wanting to throw himself off this cliff. His voice was low, pained. “I ain’t trying to hurt you, Eden. I’m just being real.”

I folded my arms across my chest, trying to protect myself from the sting of his words. But his honesty cut deeper than I wanted to admit.

“How old are you?” he asked, his tone gruff but quieter, like he was bracing himself for whatever came next.

“Twenty-three,” I answered, my voice steady but thin.

“So you’re waiting for marriage?” He looked at me with something close to resignation, like he already knew my answer and was disappointed in it. “I’m not the marrying type of nigga, Eden.”

His words hit me like a slap, frustration rising in my chest. “You’re so frustrating,” I shot back, shaking my head, trying to wrap my mind around what he was really saying.

He sighed, running a hand through his curls, his jaw clenched tight. “I’m just trying to be realistic. Look, yeah, we’re both feeling each other. Fair enough.” He paused, his eyes searching mine, like he was looking for something he couldn’t name. “But where can this shit really go, Eden? I’m fucked up in the head, and you been waiting on Prince Charming your whole life. That ain’t me.”

I wanted to scream at him, shake him, make him see that I wasn’t some naive girl with fairy tale dreams. But at the same time, his honesty made my chest tighten, because there was truth in what he said.

“You think you’re the only one with issues?” I asked, my voice steady but trembling underneath. “You’re not the only one who’s been through shit, Hakeem. You don’t get to decide what I’m waiting for or who I’m waiting on.”

He looked at me, his eyes narrowing, but he didn’t interrupt. I pressed on, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

“Yeah, I’m not out here looking for some fairytale, but that doesn’t mean I’m just gonna settle for nothing either. And you…” I paused, taking a breath, steadying myself. “You’re sitting here telling me what we can’t be before we’ve even had a chance to figure it out. That’s not being real, that’s being scared.”

His eyes flickered with something, maybe surprise, maybe anger. I couldn’t tell. But he didn’t look away, and for the first time, it felt like he was actually hearing me.

“I don’t need perfect,” I said, my voice softening, but my eyes stayed locked on his. “I just need real. And you—right now, sitting here, being honest with me? That’s as real as it gets.”

Hakeem let out a breath, his shoulders sagging just a little, like the weight of his own walls was starting to get too heavy to carry. He stared at the steering wheel for a moment, then back at me, his gaze softer now, the tension between us shifting.

“I know why I like you—you’re smart, you’re beautiful, people love being around you. You got the best laugh, the kind that makes everybody around you feel lighter. You got everything a man would want, Eden.” His voice was steady at first, but then it faltered, and I could see it—how hard it was for him to admit the truth sitting heavy on his heart. “But I don’t get it,” he continued, his voice lowering, softer now, almost like he was asking himself the question more than me. “What would you want with me?”

His eyes dropped, and in that moment, he looked smaller, like a little boy, that younger version of himself he’d told me about—the one who didn’t feel loved by anyone, the one who had to toughen up just to survive. That armor he carried around, the one he wore so well, was cracking right in front of me, and I could see the hurt beneath it, the uncertainty.

Hearing him like that, tugged at something deep in my chest. I wanted to say something, to tell him exactly why, but I also knew this wasn’t just about what I thought of him. This was about him learning to believe it for himself.

I reached for his hand, my fingers slipping into his, warm and steady. “Hakeem, you think you’re not worth it? That you don’t have anything to offer?” I said, my voice quiet, but firm. “But you do. You don’t see what I see.”

He still wouldn’t look at me, and I squeezed his hand a little tighter. “You’ve got strength, Hakeem. You’ve got loyalty that runs deep. You’ve been through some things, but that doesn’t make you less. It makes you more.”

I paused, letting the words settle between us. “I want you because I see you—the real you. The one who tries, who cares, even when he doesn’t know how. And maybe you don’t see it yet, but you’re worth more than you think. Maybe you’re not Prince Charming but, you said you’re here to save me. Were you lying to me?”

He finally lifted his eyes to mine, and there it was, that vulnerability again, peeking through the cracks in his armor. For a second, he didn’t say anything, just stared at me like he was trying to figure out how to take it all in.

“I don’t know, Eden,” he murmured, shaking his head like he was battling with himself, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just… I don’t wanna hurt you again. I’m scared I’ll mess this up.” I could see the conflict in his eyes—the push and pull of wanting to be close, but terrified of the damage he could cause.

I leaned in, closing the space between us just a little, offering a soft smile. “Hakeem,” I said, my voice gentle but steady, “don’t let fear be the thing that makes you miss out on something beautiful. Faith and fear both ask you to believe in something you can’t see yet, something you haven’t experienced. So what’s it gonna be? Are you gonna let fear keep you from this—keep you from us? Or will you have faith that maybe, just maybe, something good can come out of this, even if it’s just friendship?”

The silence between us thickened, but this time it wasn’t tense—it felt like a moment suspended in air, like everything hinged on his next breath. Then, slowly, a grin crept across his face, soft but full of warmth.

“You wise as hell, Lil Mama, you know that?” he said, his voice lighter, like he was finally exhaling.

I shrugged, but there was a warmth spreading in my chest. “So I’ve heard.”

And in that moment, with his hand in mine, I could feel it—the shift between us. The wall he kept up so high, starting to crumble, piece by fragile piece. He stayed in the car, talking to me—honest, raw, and open. Time slipped away, the night stretching out into something quieter, more intimate. The moon gave way to soft streaks of dawn, and still, he didn’t pull away.

We talked about everything—his childhood and mine, the weight of things we never let anyone else see, the things that kept us up at night. And for the first time, I felt like I was seeing the real Hakeem, the man behind the armor. He spoke with a vulnerability that made my heart ache, like he was peeling back all the layers, trusting me with the pieces he usually kept hidden.

The city began to stir with the first signs of morning, the sky turning shades of purple and gold, but neither of us moved. And as the sun rose, its warm light spilling into the car, I knew—this wasn’t just another night. It was the start of something neither of us had expected, but both of us needed.