Looks like you’re out there being the kickass racer I adore. Call me when you can. Miss you
Missed call from Teddy
Voicemail from Teddy:
I’m guessing you’re already on the ice or something. Call me when you have a moment. Even if it’s just to breathe into the phone. I’ll take anything…fuck, I miss you so much, my light.
Missedcall from Ivy
Voicemail from Ivy:
Hey, it’s me. You’re probably in the middle of PT or sleeping, I can’t tell anymore…I just wanted to hear you. Your voice makes everything feel lighter. Um…call me when you wake up? Even if it’s the middle of my night. I don’t care anymore…I hate being so far from you.
Missed call from Teddy
Teddy
Fuck this sucks
Missed call from Ivy
Ivy
I realized it’s probably breakfast time for you over there
Ivy
I miss you…way too much
Missed call from Teddy
Voicemail from Teddy:
Sorry I missed you, Ivy. I fell asleep waiting for your call. I swear I wasn’t ignoring you…I fucking hate this time difference. You being hours ahead spins my already useless math brain, which is exactly why I never became an engineer or something else expected from me. Thank fuck I was good at hockey. Anyway, I just…I wish you were here.
There are way too many voicemails from the past month, all filled with quick apologies and promises of talking soon. I listen to the most recent one again, even though I shouldn’t. His voice fills my headphones, warm and familiar, and a low ache blooms under my ribs.
I swear I wasn’t ignoring you.
I know he’s not. He’s working his ass off to stay on track with his rehab. But it still hurts, this constant loop of almost connections and missed chats. The time difference feels like another ocean between us. And I hate it. I hate that every missed call steals a moment I was counting on. I hate that the only way I hear him is through a saved voicemail.
Pulling off my headphones, I fight the urge to throw them across the room. There’s fourteen hours left before the start of the next race here in Finland, and I’m sitting at the hotel bar with a half-finished Finnish Long Drink in front of me. The bracelet Teddy gave me for Christmas is on my wrist, reminding of him with every sparkle.
For the past month, the Circuit has been my main focus. Mornings in the gym, afternoons on the track, and evenings running drills until my muscles scream. I’ve sunk into ice baths and drowned my senses in music. Rinse, repeat, pretend I’m fine.Except I’m not fine.
Max slides into the seat beside me. “So are you gonna tell me what’s going on or should I start guessing? Better yet, I might call Mom.”
“I need you to mind your own damn business,” I snap, twisting the paper straw.
“Not my job as your big brother.”
Dean appears, his hair damp and cheeks still reddened from the sauna. “If you’re gonna unravel,” he mutters, flopping into the barstool next to us, “can you at least wait until the North American leg of the Circuit starts?”
“Not the time for your jokes, Dean,” I say between clenched teeth.
He raises both hands in mock surrender. “Just saying. You’ve been super quiet and distant lately. You didn’t even insult my playlist this morning, even when I blasted one of your least favorite songs.”
“I do hate that song you like.”
