CHAPTER 12 Delia
Delia
I was mid-correction with my student Elsa, guiding her arm into proper fifth position, when I felt it. That prickle at the back of my neck — the one that meant someone was watching.
I looked up.
Jake stood in the studio doorway.
My hands froze on Elsa’s shoulder. The music kept playing, but I couldn’t hear it over the sudden rush of blood in my ears. Jake in his expensive wool coat, leaning against the doorframe like he’d done a hundred times before—like he still had every right to be there.
Elsa noticed my distraction, her small body twisting to see what had stolen my attention. “Miss Delia? Is that your boyfriend?”
Seven years old and already too observant for anyone’s good.
“No,” I said, forcing my fingers to release Elsa’s shoulder. I kept my eyes on her even though I could still see Jake in my peripheral vision. “Remember—shoulders down. Yes, just like that. Perfect.”
But my concentration was gone. For the remaining five minutes, I went through the motions—correcting posture, counting beats, offering encouragement—while fully aware of Jake’s presence. He didn’t come in. Didn’t interrupt. Just watched through the glass.
When I finally dismissed the kids, my voice came out higher than usual—too bright. The children scattered to collect their bags and find their parents, their chatter filling the studio while my stomach twisted itself into knots.
“Hey.” He dipped his hands into his pockets, casual in a way that felt practiced. “I know I should have called first.”
“Then why didn’t you?” My hands found my water bottle just to have something to hold onto.
“Because you might not have answered.”
Fair point. I took a long drink, the cold water doing nothing to loosen the tightness in my throat.
“I needed to see you,” he said, stepping closer. “To talk without Axel hovering in the background.”
Irritation hit sharp and immediate. “He’s not hovering.”
“No?” Jake’s voice carried an edge now, something harder beneath the casual tone. “He’s living with you. Drives you everywhere. Cooks your meals. Shows up to family dinners.” He paused, watching my face. “That’s pretty involved for someone who’s supposedly just helping out.”
“He is helping. That’s literally what he’s doing.” But even as I said it, the memory of him seeing me in nothing but lingerie flashed hot across my face.
Mortifying. All because of a stupid roach.
Jake studied me, something in my expression clearly prompting the question. “Is something happening between you two?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“It became my business the moment I realized I want you back.” He took another step, close enough now that I could smell his cologne. The same one he’d always worn. “When I realized I’m willing to fight for you.”
“I’m not a prize, Jake. There’s nothing to fight for.”
He ran a hand through his hair—that familiar gesture of frustration I’d seen a thousand times. “I keep messing up, don’t I? I keep saying the wrong thing when all I want is to fix this. To fix us.”
I set down my water bottle before I crushed it. “There is no us to fix.”
“But there could be.” Another step. Close enough to touch now. “Don’t you remember how good we were together? Before everything went wrong?”
I did remember. Jake making me coffee early in the morning before work.
Him talking about my art like I was already famous, like my success was inevitable.
The way he’d look at me across a restaurant table like I was the only person in the room.
The feeling of being someone’s first choice, their priority, their everything.
But I also remembered three hundred people watching me fall apart. My mother asking about a honeymoon that never happened. Standing in a wedding dress reading text messages that ended my future in two sentences.
My chest tightened. “I remember a lot of things. Not all of them good.”
“I know. God, Delia, I know I hurt you.” His eyes were getting red, his voice rough. “People make mistakes. They get scared, do stupid things, and spend every day after wishing they could take it back.”
My phone buzzed in my bag.
“Jake—”
“Just think about it. That’s all I’m asking.” He backed toward the door, hands raised like he was surrendering. “Think about the future we planned. The life we could still have if you’re willing to forgive me.”
I opened my mouth to respond—to say what, I didn’t know.
“Don’t answer now,” he said quickly. “I don’t want you to rush. Just think about it. About whether what we had is worth a second chance.”
He left before I could tell him I’d already been thinking about it.
The studio felt too quiet after he left. The mirrors reflected back multiple versions of me standing there alone, looking lost.
The subway ride home felt endless. I sat wedged between a guy with headphones bleeding bass and a woman with shopping bags that kept hitting my leg, staring at my phone’s dark screen. My reflection stared back—distorted, unfamiliar.
Jake’s words kept replaying. Whether what we had is worth a second chance.
Was it? Five years of history couldn’t just evaporate.
But then I thought about Axel. The way he’d held me on the balcony while I cried.
How he’d pretended to be my dead father on the phone without hesitation.
The tea that appeared without asking, dinners from my favorite restaurant.
His quiet, steady presence—essential now, without me noticing when it happened.
My stop came too soon and not soon enough.
The first sight that greeted me as I pushed open my apartment door was Axel standing in my living room with a duffel bag open on the couch.
Packing.
My keys slipped from my fingers, clattering against the floor. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t look up from folding a shirt—the grey one that made his eyes look darker. His movements were rigid. “I think it’s time I go back to my place.”
“Why?” The word came out barely more than a whisper.
“You’re doing better. Your ankle’s healed. You don’t need me here anymore.” He placed the shirt in the duffel, smoothing out wrinkles that didn’t exist.
“Is this because of Jake?” My throat tightened, making it hard to breathe.
“This is because you need space to figure out what you want.” Another shirt. More careful folding. “Me being here is making that harder.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” He finally looked at me, and something in his expression made my chest ache. “You can’t make a clear decision with me here.”
“You’re not stopping me from deciding anything!” I moved closer, my hands curling into fists at my sides.
“Delia.” His voice was patient. Too patient—the kind of patience that felt like giving up. “I’m living in your apartment. Cooking your meals. Sleeping on your couch. Jake’s not entirely wrong about how that looks and as you said, I’m just helping out. But it looks like you’re already fine.”
My stomach dropped, cold and sudden. “You heard.”
“I was nearby. I thought to drive you home.” He went back to packing, pulling his laptop charger from the wall. The cord made a soft scraping sound. “Doesn’t matter. He has a point.”
“So what, you’re just leaving?” My voice was rising, getting sharp with something that felt like panic.
“I’m giving you space.”
“I don’t want space!”
“Then what do you want?” He froze, hands still on the duffel’s zipper. “Tell me. Right now. What do you want?”
The question hung there. Heavy. Demanding an answer I didn’t have. I opened my mouth but nothing came out. My mind was racing but my words were stuck, trapped somewhere between my brain and my tongue.
“I want…” I started, then stopped. My hands were shaking.
I pressed them against my thighs to make it stop.
What did I want? For everything to go back to before?
For Axel to stay even though I couldn’t explain why it mattered?
For someone to just tell me what the right choice was so I didn’t have to make it myself?
“That’s the problem.” Axel zipped the duffel with enough force that the sound cracked through the apartment. “You can’t tell me why you want me to stay, you can’t tell Jake to leave either. You’re keeping us both waiting while you decide, and I’m done with it.”
The words landed like slaps. “Done? What does that mean?”
“It means I’ve been watching you consider going back to Jake for days and I can’t do it anymore.” His jaw was tight, a muscle jumping in his cheek. “I can’t sit here wondering if you’re going to choose the man who destroyed you.”
My brain was spiraling, trying to understand where his anger was stemming from. There was only one conclusion, I dismissed it from my mind because it was impossible. I asked to confirm anyway, “Are you jealous?”
“Yes.” His gaze held mine, it was dark. Honest.
The admission knocked the air from my lungs.
“I’m jealous,” he continued, and something in his voice was breaking, “I’m jealous that Jake gets to walk back into your life after destroying you and you actually consider forgiving him.
I’m jealous that he had five years with you and threw it away and might still get you back.
I’m jealous that when you think about your future, he’s apparently still in the picture while I’m—” He stopped.
Swallowed hard. “While I’m… whatever this is. ”
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. My heart was slamming against my ribs so hard it hurt. “When did you start feeling this way?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes!” The word came out too loud, too desperate.
“Why?” He set down the duffel, his hands curling into fists before relaxing. “Would it change anything? You didn’t know. Fine. Now you know. What difference does it make?”
“I don’t… I didn’t…” Words were failing me. My mouth was opening and closing but nothing coherent was coming out.
“Exactly.” His jaw clenched. “You don’t know what you want. And that’s fine. That’s your right. But I can’t stay here watching you figure it out.”
“Don’t go. Just—don’t go.” I said, almost pleading now.
“Tell me why I should stay.” His eyes were doing something—brightening, filling with tears. “Give me one reason that isn’t just that you’re scared to be alone.”
“Because I’m asking you to!”
“That’s not enough.”
I wanted to say it. That I might have developed feelings for him in these past weeks. But the words were stuck in my throat, bleeding with confusion.
Was this real, or just gratitude? Love, or proximity? Was I falling for Axel—or just terrified of being alone again?
“I need time,” I said finally, the words scraping out of my throat like they hurt to speak.
Something in his expression shut down completely—like a door slamming, like lights going out all at once. “Right.”
“Axel—”
“I’ll be around. Not gone, just—” He opened the door, cold air rushing in from the hallway. “When you figure out what you want, I’ll be there.”
He paused in the doorway. For a second I thought he might turn around, give me one more chance to find the words that were stuck somewhere between my heart and my mouth.
Instead he said, “I’ve waited this long. I can wait a little longer.”
Then he was gone.
The door closed with a soft click that felt louder than if he’d slammed it. Final. Absolute.
I stood there, frozen, my arms wrapped around myself. Five seconds. Ten. Breathing hurt. My chest felt like something was crushing it from the inside.
Then I moved.
Grabbed my keys from where they’d fallen. Ran for the door. The elevators were not working.
I took the stairs, taking them two at a time, my ankle screaming in protest—that same ankle he’d worried over, that he’d made sure I elevated, that he’d brought ice for without being asked.
Through the building door, the metal handle cold against my palm.
Out onto the sidewalk just as his car pulled away from the curb.
The brake lights glowed red in the afternoon light.
My arm was raised, I opened my mouth to call his name. Instead, I watched his car reach the corner. Then it disappeared.
The street swallowed him—buildings and traffic and the ordinary chaos of a Brooklyn afternoon. Like he’d never been there at all.
I lowered my arm slowly. My hand felt heavy. Everything felt heavy.
A woman walking a small terrier gave me a strange look as she passed. I probably looked unhinged—standing on the sidewalk, hand raised to nothing, staring at empty space where a car had been.
The street was quiet now. Just regular Brooklyn traffic. Cars passing without stopping. People walking without seeing. The world continuing like nothing had just happened.
Like Axel Irving hadn’t just told me he had feelings for me and then driven away because I couldn’t give him a reason to stay.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled it out with numb fingers. Jake’s name lit up the screen. He texted saying he’s thinking about me and that he was hoping that I was giving “us” a thought.
I stared at the message. Then at the empty corner. Then back at the message.
The woman with the terrier had crossed to the other side of the street, the dog’s leash pulled taut. Probably thought I was dangerous. Unstable.
She wasn’t wrong.
I turned and walked back inside. Each step felt like moving through water. I unlocked my apartment door with hands that wouldn’t quite steady.
The apartment was exactly the same as it had been ten minutes ago.
Same late afternoon light. Same quiet.
Except.
Axel’s laptop wasn’t on the kitchen table anymore. The space where it usually sat looked too clean. Too empty.
His coat wasn’t hanging by the door. Just the empty hook, brass catching the light.
His coffee mug wasn’t in the sink.
All the small ways he’d taken up space in my life had vanished. Carefully removed, like he’d never been here at all.
I sat on the couch. The couch that was too short for his frame. But he had managed it all because of me.
The apartment was too quiet.
Just me.
I pulled my knees up to my chest. Wrapped my arms around them. Thinking of the fact that I’d let the wrong person leave.