Page 49 of Deliah

“Stay here,” he said firmly, grabbing a pair of joggers off the floor.

“Who is it?” I mumbled, eyes blinking against the early light creeping in through the curtains.

“Just stay here, Deliah.”

That tone made my stomach twist. The way he said it.

Quiet, urgent, like he was ready to fight whatever was on the other side of that door.

But I couldn’t just lie there. My pulse quickened, and despite the ache between my thighs and the exhaustion still dragging me down, I slipped out of bed and followed him, tiptoeing onto the landing.

That’s when I heard it—the crying. Not just crying.

Sobbing. My heart dropped. I didn’t even have to see her face.

“Cherry?” I called, already racing down the stairs.

She was at the front door, collapsed into Damion’s arms. Her makeup was smeared, hair tangled from the wind, and her dress, last night’s, hung off her like it didn’t belong to her anymore. She looked broken.

“Cherry, what the fuck—are you okay?” I pulled her straight into my chest. She didn’t answer, just buried her face into my neck and sobbed harder, her whole body shaking. “What happened?” I whispered, holding her tighter.

“It’s Tommy,” she gasped between sobs. “We had this massive fight. I left.”

I pulled back just enough to look at her. “Babe—how the hell did you even get here?”

“I walked,” she whispered.

“You walked?” I blinked. “Cherry, it’s five in the morning. You walked here alone? In the dark?”

She just nodded, clinging to me like I was the only solid thing in her world.

Damion stood frozen in the doorway, rubbing his jaw with a frown that softened into something almost apologetic.

“I’ll make her a drink,” he said quietly and disappeared into the kitchen.

I led her to the sofa, guiding her slowly.

The second she sat down, she crumpled. Arms wrapped around herself, legs curled under her like a little girl, she looked nothing like the confident, magnetic Cherry everyone saw on nights out. She broke. Completely.

“We argued all night,” she said through sobs. “I told him I loved him… and he just looked at me. Like I’d said something wrong. He said he didn’t know what he wanted.” Her voice cracked. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

I reached for her hand. “Oh, babe…”

“One whole year, Del. A fucking year of my life—and for what? For him to sit there and not know?”

I didn’t know what to say. I’d been there. Hell, I’d lived it. That aching silence after putting your heart on the line and watching it fall flat. There was no way to sugarcoat it. No quick fix. It was agony. And watching her feel it made me want to punch something.

“Maybe he’s just confused,” I said gently, trying. “I know that doesn’t help, but… sometimes guys are fucking cowards.”

“Confused?” She scoffed, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “No. Confused is forgetting what to order at Starbucks. This? This is something else. This is him knowing I love him and still choosing not to say it back.”

I swallowed hard, heart twisting for her.

“Why can’t he just love me?” she whispered.

“I don’t know, babe,” I said honestly. “But it’s not you. You’re not the problem. He is.”

She shook her head, tears streaming again. “I gave him everything. And he still made me feel like I was too much. Or not enough. Or both.”

“Cherry, listen to me,” I said, gripping her hand tighter. “This isn’t you. Don’t let him make you feel like this. You are smart, beautiful, and strong as hell. You’ve been through worse than this and come out shining. Don’t let some emotionally constipated man break you.”

She laughed through a sob. “Emotionally constipated. Jesus.”

Damion reappeared with a glass of water, placing it down quietly on the coffee table. His eyes lingered on Cherry for a second—concern flickering behind them. They’d had their differences, sure. But he’d known her almost as long as I had. And despite the bickering, I knew he cared.

Cherry sniffed. “Thanks.”

He nodded. “You want anything stronger?”

She paused. Then turned to me with a slow, shaky smile. “You know what, Del? You’re right.” She looked up at Damion. “Where’s the strong stuff?”

He gave me a look. I gave him one back, half warning, half just roll with it.

“Top shelf,” he said finally, turning back towards the kitchen.

“Oh god,” I muttered under my breath, reaching for a blanket to throw around her. “Here we fucking go.”

She laughed again, the sound raw but real this time. “If I’m going to cry, I might as well cry drunk.”

I sat beside her, tucking her in, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into me again.

“I’m sorry I ruined your morning,” she said softly.

“Don’t be stupid. You could bang down my door at 3 a.m. in a thunderstorm and I’d still let you in. You’re my girl.”

“I just… I really thought he was the one.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know what to do now.”

“You don’t have to know,” I whispered. “Just breathe. Just cry. Just be here.”

Damion returned with a bottle and two glasses, setting them down gently. “No offence,” he said, “but if you’re gonna get drunk before sunrise, at least have the decency to do it with tequila.”

Cherry let out a genuine laugh this time—small, but real. And for the first time since she walked through the door, I saw a flicker of the girl I knew. Hurt, heartbroken, but still standing. And I’d be damned if I let her fall.

The next few hours were absolute wildness.

Cherry got smashed—no, beyond smashed. Full tilt.

And honestly, I couldn’t blame her. She’d walked through our door at 5 a.m. with mascara down her cheeks, heart in pieces, and no plan except to cry, drink, and combust. I didn’t have the head to start necking alcohol before sunrise, but I poured a few glasses of tequila to keep her company.

For every one I sipped, she had five. And then some.

She was spiralling fast. One minute laughing, the next crying so hard she could barely breathe.

There was no middle ground, just extremes. Full Cherry mode.

“I swear to God, Deliah,” she slurred, waving her glass. “He’s not even that fit. Like, what the fuck was I thinking? He looks like an egg with eyebrows!”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “He’s not an egg, babe.”

She leaned into me, wide-eyed. “An emotionally unavailable egg!”

That made me lose it. But ten seconds later, the mood flipped like a switch. She stared down into her drink, eyes glassy, and whispered, “I love him, though. I fucking love him, Del. I didn’t even want to, but I do.”

I pulled her into me, one arm wrapped around her waist. “I know you do. But you also deserve someone who says it back.”

She sniffled hard, mascara transferring onto my shoulder. “Why doesn’t he love me?”

I didn’t know how to answer that. I’d asked myself the same question too many times over the years, about the wrong men and at the wrong moments.

All I could do was hold her and let her feel it.

Then came the next gear shift. She suddenly stood up, swaying, eyes wild and hair half stuck to her face.

“Right!” she shouted. “Come on, Deliah. We’re off t’beach! ”

“What?”

She pointed towards the front door like she was a general leading troops into battle. “The sun’s up, and I need a tan and a bloody mojito.”

I blinked at her. “It’s half seven in the morning.”

“So?” She shrugged, then giggled. “We’ll be the first ones there. Claim the sand like pirates.”

“No. Cherry, absolutely not.”

She burst into laughter, doubling over and clutching her stomach. “God, I love you. You’re the only thing stopping me from getting arrested on the daily.”

“I try my best.”

Somewhere between pouring another drink and attempting to talk her into toast instead of tequila, I turned around and found her sprinting—sprinting—towards the pool.

“Cherry, don’t you dare!”

Too late. She cannonballed in, fully clothed. Screamed as she hit the water, then came up laughing hysterically, arms flailing. “Fuck him!” she shouted to the sky. “This is for every time he made me cry!”

I panicked. For a second, I genuinely thought she was going to drown; she was so drunk, she couldn’t keep her head above water properly.

I ran across the patio and hauled her out, dripping wet, her dress clinging to her like a second skin.

She collapsed onto the sun lounger, still laughing.

I wrapped a towel around her. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

She shivered and shrugged. “Would be a bit iconic, wouldn’t it?”

Damion stood just inside the sliding doors, arms folded, watching it all unfold with a look that sat somewhere between concerned and amused.

He hadn’t said much all morning—just quietly kept his distance.

But I knew he was ready to step in if she took things too far.

But also, I think he knew better than to try to manage Cherry in that state.

She’d eat him alive. Once I got her inside again, I stripped her out of the wet clothes, threw one of my oversized hoodies on her, and sat her down on a stool in the kitchen.

She was shivering, laughing again. “He’s such an idiot, Del. I gave him everything.”

I grabbed a towel and started drying her hair, my chest aching for her.

“You don’t do this shit to someone you care about,” she mumbled, eyes closing for a second.

“No, you don’t,” I said quietly. “But he’s a coward. And you’re not.”

She opened one eye. “You’re being very soft this morning.”

“Because you’re absolutely wrecked and I can’t handle another pool incident.”

She smiled weakly, then burst into tears again. “I miss him already.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to miss him.”

“I know, babe.”

Her head dropped onto the counter. “Why do men make us feel like we’re too much when we’re just asking to be loved properly?”

I didn’t have the answer to that one either.

But I stayed with her, held her hand, rubbed her back, whispered the kind of things that helped me once upon a time.

That she was worthy. That she was enough.

That one day, this wouldn’t hurt so much.

Eventually, after hours of her bouncing between heartbreak and rage, she slumped sideways on the sofa and passed out mid-rant—something about how she hoped Tommy fell down the stairs in socks.

Damion came over silently and lifted her like she was weightless, carrying her to the guest room with the kind of quiet respect that said he understood.

He tucked her in while I stood in the doorway, watching.

He didn’t say anything, just gave me a small nod before heading back out.

I sat on the edge of the bed for a few minutes, brushing Cherry’s hair back from her face.

Even asleep, she looked broken. “You’re going to be okay,” I whispered.

“You’re too much of a force not to be.” And I meant it.

Because Cherry was wild, no doubt, but underneath it all, she had a heart that just wanted to be chosen.

And for now, I’d be the one to remind her of that.

I headed downstairs to find Damion, my chest still heavy from watching Cherry fall apart like that.

I was heartbroken for her and furious at him.

What the fuck was he even doing? Damion was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a glass of water in hand, quiet and thoughtful.

“Damion,” I said gently, “you need to call Tommy.”

He looked up, brow furrowed. “Deliah… come on. It’s not really my place to get involved.”

“I know. I do. But she’s here, a complete mess, and he owes her the truth at the very least. He’s messing her around, and it’s killing her.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I get it, but I can’t control what he does. You know what Tommy’s like. He shuts down.”

“She’s spiralling, Damion. She walked here at five in the morning, got pissed out of her head, crying, and saying she loved him. I’m not saying fix it—but just let him know she’s here. That she’s safe. He might even be worried and just too much of a dick to say it.”

Damion looked at me for a long moment. I could see the battle behind his eyes, loyalty to his mate, but something else, too. Compassion. Maybe even guilt.

“Please,” I said softly. “For me?”

That was all it took. He let out a reluctant breath and reached for his phone. “Alright, but I’m only calling to tell him she’s here and alive. That’s it.”

I nodded, watching as he stepped away and dialled the number. He put the call on speaker.

“Yo,” Tommy answered, his voice rough.

“Rough night, mate?” Damion asked, forcing a small laugh.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“You know she’s here, right?”

“Yeah, figured she would be.” There was a pause, then Tommy added, “She’s a fucking nightmare, Damion. Absolute nightmare.”

Damion let out a quiet chuckle. “Yeah, she is, mate. I get it.”

I rolled my eyes from across the room, biting my tongue.

“But,” Damion continued, “she’s also in bits. She’s not just pissed off, she’s proper heartbroken. She got absolutely smashed and passed out on our sofa. She’s in the guest room now.”

There was silence on the line. Then, quietly: “Shit. Alright. I’ll sort it.”

Damion hesitated, then added, “Look, I’m not trying to get involved, but… maybe if you just told her how you actually feel, she wouldn’t be such a nightmare, yeah?”

I smiled. It was subtle. But in his own Damion way, he was sticking up for her. He was walking that impossible line, calling out his mate without throwing him under the bus.

Tommy sighed. “You want me to come get her?”

“She’s out cold right now. Probably best to let her sleep it off. Come in the morning if you want.”

“Yeah. Alright. Call me if she kicks off again.”

“Will do.”

Damion hung up and placed the phone down.

I walked over and wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing a soft kiss to his chest. “Thank you.”

He looked down at me, resting his hands gently on my hips. “I’m not trying to play peacekeeper. But I know she matters to you. And whether he deserves her or not... he needs to stop messing her around.”

“I know,” I whispered. “But just you calling him? That meant a lot.”

He kissed the top of my head. “She’ll be alright. She’s a tough one.”

I nodded against his chest. “Yeah. But even the toughest ones fall apart sometimes.”

And that was the truth of it. She might’ve been fire and loud opinions.

But she had a heart that loved big. And right now, that heart was broken.

And for all our faults, Damion and I were the kind of people who showed up—for each other and for her.

It’s what real love looks like. Messy. Complicated.

Fiercely loyal. And in that moment, I loved him more than ever.