“Love you too, sweetheart. Good luck tomorrow. We’ll be watching you bright and early, cheering so loud the neighbors start filing noise complaints,” she says and hangs up.
I tuck my phone back into my coat pocket and breathe out slowly, watching the cloud of air drift away. The cold doesn’t bite quite as sharply now. Mom always has a special way of settling the parts of me I can’t reach myself. And for the first time tonight, I feel like I can walk back inside without crying.
The beautiful Levi course gleams under the pale winter sun, winding down the hill in silver curves. Max meets my gaze as we join the lineup of racers and I feel his worry. It sits heavy on my shoulders. He knows I’m off. I know I’m off. And knowing that he sees it twists the knife deeper.
My stomach rolls, a sour reminder of the zero sleep I got. Sure, the call with my mom helped a lot in the moment, but it didn’t chase away my sad mood. My chest feels tight, my head foggy despite the water and electrolytes I’ve been forcing down all morning. Even my gloves feel heavier, like the weight of last night’s spiraling thoughts somehow seeped into my gear.
Every heartbeat is too loud in my ears, thudding like a warning. Like every part of me knows I’m not fully here. Max starts his turn, his movements perfection. I watch him carve downhill like an instructional video made by the gods of Ice Cross. It’s no surprise he places first in the men’s category.
The announcer’s voice booms over the speakers, calling my turn next. I step forward, knees slightly shaky. Tipping my chin toward the track, I tell myself to focus. I don’t have a good feeling about this.
At the whistle, I launch forward, blades biting into the ice. The first turns are smooth—more muscle memory than actual clarity. My temples throb with each stride, but I push harder, closing on the first jump.
I miscalculate.Completely.My right skate hits the ice at the wrong angle. I go down hard, the impact rattling my bones. For a heartbeat, there’s nothing but ice in my vision, cold burning through my gear.
There’s no time to think or curse once my body stops, all sprawled on the track. I’m back on my feet within seconds. I force myself forward, fighting for every inch. Each push feels like dragging myself through wet cement, but I refuse to slow.
Crossing the finish line, the nineteenth place blinks on the board. It’s far from what I came for, but it’s still a finish.
Max is waiting at the barrier, concern written all over him. I manage a weak nod in his direction, but the moment I step off the track, my vision blurs. The tears aren’t from the wind. They’re hot and humiliating instead. I swipe at them before anyone can notice.
My body will bruise by tomorrow morning, but the real ache sits deeper. It’s the part of me that knows I didn’t do anything reckless last night—I just couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t shut my brain up long enough to rest. I let the heartache mess with my focus. And I can’t keep doing that if I want a shot at the top three. But saying goodbye to Teddy isn’t an option, so I have to suck it up for another month and some days.
Slinging my helmet under my arm, I walk away from the finish area, the scoreboard glowing behind me. It screams that I screwed up another thing in my life. And damn if the thought doesn’t hurt.
40
TEDDY’S VOICE MEMOS
January 13
My therapist, Mel, suggested voice memos and showed me how to record them with the help from Siri.
You two would get along. Mel’s a lot like you, not letting me feel sorry for myself…she was also the one who reminded me how being disabled is the only minority group anyone can become a member of at any time. It stuck with me, because that’s what happened to me.
Anyway, she said it might help to get things out of my head, to say them out loud. But I don’t want to talk to myself. That feels pointless. Instead, I want to talk to you, Ivy. So I’m recording these like I’m updating you on my life.
[A long sigh] Because I miss you. Fuck, I really do. You’re never hearing these, but pretending you're on the other end helps me breathe easier. The way I used to before the hit.
It’s wild to think that without the hit, I probably never would have met you. So in a way, when I lost the world I knew, Ifound you. And even if I hate every other part of my injury, I can’t ever hate meeting you.
[Voice thickens] Not in a million years.
January 14
It was my third morning here when I met Aaron. He’s twenty and a former skateboarder who fell on his head during a trick gone wrong. He was in a coma for three weeks and spent months in the hospital relearning every single thing you can imagine.
He’s such a ray of sunshine. I don’t have any other words to describe him. The way he sees life and the future is inspiring on so many levels. He can still play piano, even without reading music. How cool is that?
I don’t know why I’m telling you all that, but Aaron is a good guy. You would like him, too. He loves rock music and many of the songs on my MP3 player. I let him borrow it for a few days until the girl he’s sort of dating came to visit and brought him his own. The kid is that young, he had never used one before. That’s wild.
[Slow inhale and exhale] I honestly don’t know how he manages to stay so positive after everything he’s been through. His injuries were brutal, his brain left irreparably damaged. Yet, he still lives his life to the fullest…at least a version of it until he gets out of this place.
Well, shit, now that I think of it, you must have seen something similar with at least one of your patients. Damn, Ivy, I’m impressed by your job every single day. You’re making the world a better place.
January 17
You know, I love that you met both Em and Jasper. They both mean a lot to me. Always have.
