35. Derek’s Destiny

EDEN

“I swear, I thought they’d cancel the carnival after the fires,” I murmured, tearing off a piece of cotton candy, the sweet sugar melting on my tongue as the neon lights flickered in the humid night air. The buzz of the crowd, the 80s music blaring from every direction, should have felt normal, but there was this heaviness in the air, like we were all waiting for something else to go wrong. “But the Mayor said he had to do something to keep our spirits up. I feel like that’s been happening a lot around here lately.”

I glanced at Hakeem as we walked through the carnival, my steps in sync with his. His silence was heavy, his eyes scanning the crowd like he didn’t trust the joy around us. And honestly? I couldn’t blame him.

The fires had changed everything, casting a dark shadow over Juniper. Mr. House’s car crash had shaken us, but this? This was different. Deliberate. The ash still hung in the air, smoke choking the streets for days, leaving everyone on edge.

People were scared. I was scared. My parents—usually steady—were terrified, their eyes heavy with worry that the fires would spread, that whoever did this wasn’t finished.

An arsonist. In Juniper.

It felt surreal, like a nightmare from some big city, not our quiet town. But this wasn’t random. It was targeted. And now everyone was whispering, wondering who’d gone after Johnathon’s father—and how he had tricked us all into thinking he was a pillar of this community.

“Can you believe all that stuff about Pastor Lyman?” I continued, shaking my head in disbelief. “A drug trafficker, right under our noses, running his business out of his church, no less. And now his enemies burned everything up, and he’s sitting in jail now that Juniper PD found out what he was up to.” My voice trailed off, my eyes scanning the neon-lit carnival rides, the smell of fried dough mixing with the scent of nostalgia. “Crazy, right?”

But Hakeem didn’t say a word. Not even a grunt of acknowledgment. He kept walking beside me, his hands buried deep in his pockets, his eyes fixed on something ahead, like he was seeing through the crowd, like the words I’d just thrown out weren’t the biggest scandal this town had ever seen.

“You not gonna say anything?” I asked, my voice softer now, curiosity tinged with concern.

He finally looked at me, his expression unreadable, but there was something simmering in his eyes—anger, maybe, or something even heavier, something I couldn’t name.

“What’s there to say, Eden?” he murmured, his voice low, almost drowned out by the carnival noise. “The world’s full of crooked men doing dirt. Lyman’s just another one who got caught.”

His words hit me harder than I expected, the coldness of them cutting through the warm night air. I stopped in my tracks, the colorful blur of the carnival spinning around us, feeling like I’d been dropped into some twisted dream where nothing made sense.

“I know you’re not from Juniper but, you’re not even surprised?” I asked, incredulous.

Hakeem shrugged, the movement so slight I barely caught it.

“Surprised?” He shook his head, finally pulling his hands out of his pockets, his fingers flexing like he was ready for a fight. “I stopped being surprised by the way this world works a long time ago. Juniper’s no different.”

We stood there for a beat, the carnival spinning on around us, the music, the laughter, the bright lights casting long shadows across our faces. And in that moment, I realized—Hakeem didn’t just see the world for what it was. He’d already made peace with it, the ugliness of it all, in a way I hadn’t.

I tilted my head up, searching his face.

“You know there’s good in the world, right?” I asked.

Hakeem stopped, turning to face me. For a moment, his expression was unreadable, his usual guardedness slipping into something softer. He didn’t speak right away, just looked at me like he was seeing something he hadn’t noticed before. Slowly, the corner of his mouth lifted into a smile—gentle, almost shy, a crack in the armor he always carried.

“I know,” he said, his voice low, like a secret he was sharing only with me. “I’m looking at it.”

The warmth of his words hit me before I could brace for it, and a blush bloomed across my cheeks. My heart fluttered in my chest, and I suddenly felt too seen, too exposed, standing there under his gaze.

Without thinking, I looked away, biting my lip as I fought to keep the grin off my face. My fingers dug into the sticky cotton candy, pulling at the sugary strands, grateful for the distraction, anything to keep my hands busy while my mind raced. I started walking again, letting the music and the sound of the crowd wash over me, hoping he didn’t notice how flustered I was.

Hakeem cleared his throat. “If, umm… you want us to meet up with your parents after church again, I’m aight with that,” he said, his voice carrying a rare hint of nervousness that made me smile.

I raised an eyebrow, teasing him with a playful smirk. “Yeah? I’m sure they’d like that. I was pretty nervous about last week when my Dad suggested lunch, but you handled yourself...they actually like you.”

He let out a breath, relief flashing across his face as he grinned. “And I like them. Straight shooters, no BS.” He flexed his hand, chuckling. “But your pops got a mean grip. Almost broke my damn hand.”

We both laughed, the sound easy and familiar.

I glanced down, the humor fading as I thought about my parents, their protectiveness. “I’m their only child, so they’re just... really protective,” I said softly, the words carrying more weight than I intended.

Hakeem nodded, his gaze steady on me. “That’s why your mom always had you up under Destiny, huh? Making her your big sister.”

“Yeah,” I said, a small smile tugging at my lips as I thought about it. “Her and Destiny’s mom are practically sisters. But…” I trailed off, the weight of my thoughts settling in. “Like I told you in the office, I gotta start figuring out what my life looks like without Destiny at the center. Just in case.” The words felt heavier than I expected, like I was admitting something I hadn’t even fully accepted myself.

Hakeem glanced at me, his brow furrowed. “You really think she’s just gonna bounce on you? Leave you hanging?”

I let out a breath, glancing at the lights of the carnival spinning in the distance. “I mean, Derek hired me for her surprise party, and we’ll probably have some events leading up to the wedding, but after that? She’s gonna be the wife of a superstar. Who knows if she’ll even want to keep working. I wouldn’t.”

He looked at me, one eyebrow raised. “No?”

“If I’m married to someone who’s practically a billionaire?” I shrugged, trying to make it sound like it didn’t matter, but there was something vulnerable in the admission. “I’d do what I really want to do.”

His curiosity piqued, Hakeem turned his body toward me, his gaze steady. “What’s that?”

I hesitated, biting my lip as I glanced down, the words feeling too soft for the world around us. “I don’t wanna say,” I muttered, half-laughing, half-serious. “It’s gonna make me sound weak, and besides, I went to college. My parents want me to be—”

He interrupted me gently, his voice cutting through my uncertainty. “What you wanna be, Eden?”

The directness of the question made me pause. I could feel his eyes on me, waiting, listening. I let out a deep sigh, the words spilling out before I could stop them. “I wanna be a homemaker. Take care of my house, husband, my kids... and myself. You know, bake cookies, be on the PTA, have dinner ready when everyone gets home and we sit at the table and talk about our day.”

I could feel the tension lift as soon as I said it, like I was releasing a secret I’d been holding onto for too long. But Hakeem’s expression caught me off guard—there was no judgment, no surprise, just understanding.

“What’s wrong with that?” he asked, his tone soft, like he couldn’t see the issue I was wrestling with.

I shrugged, my eyes dropping to the ground, feeling a mix of relief and self-doubt swirling inside me. “Nothing, I guess... It’s just—sometimes people make me feel like I should want more like, that’s not enough. They tell me I’m wasting my degree if all I’m doing is popping out babies and keeping house. Like I should be more ambitious, get a hustle, something big. But I just want a simple life, here.” I paused, glancing at him. “Maybe in Westonberry. They’ve got a little more going on over there.”

Hakeem nodded slowly, taking it all in. “That’s your dream, huh?” There wasn’t an ounce of judgment in his voice, just genuine curiosity, like he wanted to know the part of me I didn’t often show.

“Yeah,” I admitted, my voice quieter now, more reflective. “My dad, he was talking to you about having a plan, right? Well, that’s mine. But sometimes… sometimes it doesn’t feel like a real one. Or a smart one.”

“Yeah,” he finally murmured, his voice quieter now. “I’ve been thinking a lot about that conversation too.”

I glanced at him, curious. “What about?”

“The stuff your Pops said... about having my own dreams. It’s been sitting with me, you know? I’ve been at the crib by myself for a couple days, just thinking. And then it hit me—it’s not even my crib. I don’t have a place of my own. Shit, I don’t even have a real title with D’s company besides holding shit down.” He shook his head, frustration creeping into his voice. “I’m about to be 30 in two years, and ain’t got shit to show for it.”

The vulnerability in his voice surprised me. This was Hakeem—always sure of himself, always steady. But here he was, his guard slipping, showing me a part of him I hadn’t seen before.

“I gotta figure some shit out, Eden,” he said, his voice low but firm. “And just like you’re realizing you might have to let go of Destiny, I might need to make some moves, too.”

“You’re thinking about quitting working for Derek?” I asked, the surprise clear in my voice, my steps faltering as I turned to face him.

Hakeem didn’t answer right away, just shook his head, looking like he regretted bringing it up at all.

“I’m not saying that... I’m just...” He trailed off, frustration etched in the tight line of his jaw, his hand running through his curls like he was searching for words he couldn’t quite find.

“It’s okay if you’re confused right now,” I said softly, watching the tension in his shoulders. “You’ve been working with him what—eight years? Never really done anything else.”

He let out a heavy sigh, his eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the carnival lights.

“Yeah, eight years,” he echoed, his voice quieter now, almost like he was talking to himself. “I don’t know how to clock in somewhere and just go through the same routine every day. That’s never been me. So maybe this is it for me, you know? Or maybe it’s not. I don’t know.”

I could feel the weight of his words, the conflict he was wrestling with.

“I feel stuck just saying it out loud,” he admitted, his voice rough, like the words were pulling something heavy from him. “It’s not like I got a real reason to bounce on him. Derek’s been the only family I’ve got... always looks out for me. Kept me off the streets, gave me a job when I didn’t have shit but a bad attitude and nowhere to go. I just showed up one day and never left, and he never asked me to.”

I watched him, my heart tightening as I took in the way he was standing there, looking like a man at a crossroads with no map. It wasn’t just about Derek—it was about everything. His whole life. Every choice that led him here, to this moment, to this conversation.

“You feel like you owe him,” I said quietly, trying to help him piece everything together.

For a moment, he just stared at me, his eyes narrowing slightly, like I’d uncovered something he hadn’t even realized about himself. Then he let out a breath, a soft laugh escaping his lips, but there was no humor in it—just the surprise of someone who’d been hit with the truth.

“I think that’s it, lil mama,” he said, his voice raw, like he was peeling back something fragile. His gaze held mine, steady but vulnerable, and for the first time, I could see the cracks beneath his tough exterior, the places he tried to keep hidden. “That’s exactly it.”

He ran a hand over his face, shaking his head, a small, almost bitter smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Damn. I never even thought of it like that,” he murmured, more to himself than to me. “But you’re right. I’ve been holding onto this... like I owe him. And maybe I do, but...”

His words trailed off, lost in the night air as the carnival’s bright lights flickered behind us. For a moment, we stood there, the noise of the crowd and the distant music fading into the background, leaving just us, standing in the middle of something unspoken but deeply understood.

“You ever hear the verse, ‘For I know the plans I have for you,’” I said quietly, breaking the silence. “Jeremiah 29:11.”

He glanced at me, brow furrowed, like he wasn’t sure where I was going with this. “Yeah...well, I think so,” he muttered, his voice uncertain.

“‘Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future,’” I finished, the words rolling off my tongue with a softness I hadn’t intended. I watched him, waiting for the weight of them to land, to see if he’d catch the meaning beneath the surface.

Hakeem looked down, the faint glow of the carnival lights casting long shadows on his face. His hands were still shoved deep in his pockets, his body tense like he was holding back something bigger than just the moment we were standing in.

“So you think that’s my situation?” he asked, his voice rough, but there was a quiet curiosity in his tone, like he wanted to believe it, even if he didn’t know how.

I nodded, stepping just a little closer, my voice steady but filled with something stronger than just conviction.

“Yeah, I do,” I said softly. “Hakeem, you’ve been moving through life like it’s always about survival. Always thinking you owe someone for pulling you out of the gutter, or like you don’t deserve more than what you’ve been handed. But maybe... maybe this is your moment for more.”

“You really believe that? You think this ain’t just... me talking out my ass?” He chuckled, but it was shaky, unsure.

I smiled gently, shaking my head. “No. I think maybe it’s time for you to trust that something better is waiting on the other side of this. That there’s a plan bigger than you can see right now.”

He let out a deep breath, the tension in his shoulders easing, even if just a little.

“I ain’t really been one for trusting in plans,” he admitted, his voice softer now, more vulnerable. “But I’m listening.”

“That verse? It’s not just about having a plan, Hakeem. It’s about faith. Faith that even when you don’t know what’s next, or why things happen the way they do... there’s still hope. Still a future worth fighting for.”

Hakeem just stared at me, his eyes soft but thoughtful as we stood in front of the shooting ducks, the bright carnival lights flickering around us. The air was filled with the sharp crack of pellet guns hitting metal targets, kids darting around us, their laughter cutting through the night. But it was like we were standing in our own quiet bubble, the noise and chaos fading into the background.

A slow grin spread across his face, the tension from earlier easing just a little. “Imma start calling your little ass Yoda,” he finally said, a teasing edge to his voice, but there was something else beneath it—something warmer, like he was letting himself breathe for the first time.

I grinned at him, eyes narrowing as I took a step back, deciding to play along. “Oh, so I’m Yoda now, huh?” I crossed my arms, tapping my chin like I was thinking, then raised a brow and deepened my voice, trying my best to mimic that gravelly Yoda tone. “Mmm, faith, young one, you must have.”

Hakeem raised an eyebrow, his grin widening as he crossed his arms over his chest, clearly amused. “Oh, you doing impressions now?”

I kept going, feeling the laugh bubbling up inside me but pushing through.

“For walk by faith, not by sight, you must. 2 Corinthians 5:7, hmm?” I added, trying to throw in a few extra “hmm”s, waving my hand in front of me like I had some kind of invisible force.

That did it.

Hakeem burst out laughing, the kind of laugh that starts in your chest and takes over everything. He doubled over, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Oh hell nah,” he wheezed between gasps for breath. “You really hit me with Bible verses in Yoda’s voice?! Lil mama you crazy as hell, you know that?”

I couldn’t hold it in anymore—I started laughing too, that uncontrollable, tears-in-your-eyes kind of laugh that leaves you gasping for air. We stood there, both of us leaning on each other, barely able to breathe from laughing so hard.

“Alright, alright, I give up,” Hakeem said, still laughing as he wiped at his eyes. “You win, Yoda. You win.”

I straightened up, trying to catch my breath, still grinning like a fool. “Wise you have become, hmm?” I said, going all in with the Yoda act one last time before dissolving into another fit of giggles.

Hakeem shook his head, that smile still plastered on his face, and for the first time in what felt like forever, it was pure, genuine joy. No weight, no tension—just us, standing in the middle of a carnival, laughing like the world outside didn’t even matter.

“I’m gonna regret the moment I ever called you Yoda, ain’t I?” he asked, a playful glint in his eyes.

“One hundred percent,” I replied, wiping tears from my own eyes, still catching my breath. “Yoda’s here to stay.”

We shared another look, one that lingered just a little longer, the laughter fading but leaving something softer in its place. And for the first time, I saw it in him—that spark of lightness, that ease, like maybe tonight had been a turning point for both of us.

“Eden...” His voice was low, like a rumble of thunder just before a storm, as he took a slow step toward me, closing the distance between us.

My breath hitched, heart pounding in my chest. “Yes?” I barely managed to whisper, my voice soft, shaky, as the space between us disappeared. I could feel the warmth radiating from him, the scent of his cologne mixing with the night air. His presence was magnetic, pulling me in like I couldn’t help but lean into him.

Hakeem’s hand reached up, his fingers brushing lightly against my skin before gently holding my chin, tilting my face up toward his. His eyes, dark and full of something raw, locked onto mine, searching, waiting. The sounds of the carnival faded into a distant hum—the kids laughing, the music blaring, the world spinning around us—but all I could focus on was him, right there in front of me.

“I really wanna kiss you right now,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, gravelly, intimate. His thumb traced the line of my lips, and the heat of his touch sent a shiver down my spine. “Can I?”

For a moment, the world stopped. I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Everything inside me screamed yes, but the words got lost somewhere between my racing heart and the knot tightening in my throat.

Instead, I nodded, my gaze never leaving his, my breath catching in my chest.

He leaned in slowly, like he was giving me time to change my mind, but there was no hesitation on my part. His lips brushed against mine, soft at first, testing, as if he was afraid to break the fragile moment we’d found ourselves in. But then the kiss deepened, and everything around us disappeared, like we were the only two people in the world.

His other hand slid to the small of my back, pulling me just a little closer, and I melted into him, the warmth of his body against mine sending a wave of heat through me. The electricity between us buzzed, crackling in the cool night air, and suddenly everything felt right—like all the tension, all the uncertainty between us had led to this one moment.

"Damn," he whispered once he pulled away, his voice low and rough, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. His hand still lingered on my waist, his eyes locked on mine like he was memorizing every second of this moment. "I’ve been wanting to do that for a minute."

I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. "Yeah," I breathed out, my voice barely steady. "Me too."

Hakeem let out a soft laugh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe himself. “I’ve been trying to slow this train down, but damn, Eden, you make it hard. You’re just so... perfect.”

The way he said it, with that boyish grin, made my heart flip. I could feel the warmth creeping up my neck, and I looked down for a second, trying to gather myself before meeting his gaze again. He tilted his head, his fingers brushing against mine again, more sure this time, like he was testing the waters.

“You’re so beautiful. Smart. Funny as shit. You listen to me...you’re patient with me. I ain’t never had that before. From nobody.” His voice was softer now, that vulnerability creeping in that I knew he wasn’t used to sharing.

“That’s what friends do,” I said, the words slipping out almost too quickly.

But Hakeem chuckled again, a nervous edge in his laughter that told me he was feeling just as off-balance as I was. His eyes flicked to the ground for a second, then back to me, a quiet storm brewing in them.

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep up this ‘friend’ stuff, to be honest,” he admitted, his voice low, rougher now.

His eyes searched mine, like he was measuring how far he could go. Vulnerability wasn’t easy for him—but here we were, standing in the middle of a crowded carnival, out in the open, hearts on the line.

The weight of what he was saying started sinking in. "You wanna be more than friends?" I asked.

His hand found mine, fingers intertwining like he was making a decision in real time. He didn’t look away, didn’t hide behind the jokes or the walls I’d seen him put up before.

“I want this... I want us,” he said, his words slow, deliberate, each one feeling heavier than the last. “But I need you to know... I’m still figuring shit out. Still figuring me out. You alright with that?”

I squeezed his hand. “I’m not asking you to have it all figured out, Hakeem,” I whispered, my voice as sure as I could make it. “I just need you to be honest with me along the way. We’ll figure it out together, one step at a time.”

He let out a breath, the tension easing from his shoulders just a little, like my words had given him permission to let go of something heavy.

“You mean that?” he asked, his voice soft, but there was a glimmer of hope behind his eyes, something I hadn’t seen before.

I nodded, the warmth in my chest spreading like a slow bloom, my smile widening as I looked up at him. “Yeah, I do,” I said, my voice soft but steady. Then I let out a quiet laugh, something lighter, playful. “And just so you know…although this might come as a shock, I’m not actually perfect.” I giggled, teasing as I gently nudged him. “You’re gonna have to be patient with me too.”

Hakeem’s grin stretched wide, the kind that made the world around us fade, like sunlight breaking through after the darkest of storms. His eyes softened, catching mine, and for a moment, everything between us felt... easy. Real. He shook his head slowly, still grinning, his hands resting at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with all the emotion swimming between us.

“Damn,” he muttered, his voice low, almost like he was talking to himself, trying to wrap his mind around it. “You really make a man wanna do better, you know that?”

I smiled softly, leaning in to kiss him again, this time slower, letting the moment linger as his hand slid into mine, his grip steady but gentle. When I finally pulled back, my breath a little unsteady, I found him staring at me, his gaze locked on mine like he was seeing something new, something he hadn’t allowed himself to see before.

For a beat, neither of us said anything. The silence felt full, charged, like it held all the things we were too scared to say. But then Hakeem broke it, his voice low, filled with something heavy.

“I just have to say this again…I’m real sorry,” he murmured, his eyes dark with regret, the weight of his words settling between us. “For how I talked to you that night you brought me food at Destiny’s. For making you cry.” His grip on my hand tightened slightly, like he was holding onto the moment, like letting go meant losing something important. “I’m real sorry, Eden.”

I could hear it in his voice—the pain of it, the way the past was clinging to him like a bruise that hadn’t quite healed. His eyes searched mine, desperate for something, maybe forgiveness, maybe understanding, but definitely a way to make the weight of his words mean something.

“I was tryna push you away ‘cause I didn’t wanna hurt you, but in doing that, I was hurting you even more,” Hakeem admitted, his voice rough, like each word was scraping out pieces of him he wasn’t ready to face. “All that shit I said, the way I talked to you…I swear on everything, I’ll never make you cry again. I won’t disrespect you, I won’t raise my voice at you, none of that.”

Eden started to speak, her voice soft, “It’s ok, Hakeem—”

He shook his head, cutting her off, jaw clenched tight, the weight of his regret heavy in the air between them. It was all written there—etched deep in the hard lines of his face, in the tightness around his mouth, like he was holding back something he couldn’t let go of.

“Nah, it ain’t,” he muttered, his voice raw and low, barely above a whisper. “I promise on my life, Eden,” he rasped, his eyes locked on hers. “I’ll never talk to you like that again. That was outta line, and I don’t want you tolerating that from anybody. Not even me.”

There was something raw in the way he said it, something so vulnerable it almost hurt to hear. He wasn’t just saying the words—he was laying himself bare, showing me all the jagged pieces he usually kept hidden behind that tough exterior.

I swallowed hard, my fingers gently squeezing his, grounding him, grounding us. “I understand,” I whispered, my voice soft but steady.

His eyes softened, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little, like my words had given him permission to let go of some of the guilt. He nodded slowly, his thumb tracing the line of my hand, his gaze never leaving mine. “I’m gonna do better, Eden. I swear.”

And in that moment, with the carnival lights flickering in the distance and the cool night air swirling around us, it felt like something between us shifted. Like we were stepping into something new, something fragile but real, something worth holding on to.