“No fucking way—that is huge!” I jerk my head toward him, surprised but grinning wide. “Tell me more.”
“His name is Robin. A sculptor who teaches ceramics and printmaking at the community college,” my uncle shares, an admiration evident in his tone.
“You’re dating an art professor?” I ask with a snort.
“Why is that so hard to believe?”
“I mean, you’ve worn the same flannel every holiday for the past sixteen or so years, if you don’t count the awful sweater this Christmas,” I point out. “I bet his wardrobe is way more sophisticated than yours.”
Jake chuckles at my assessment. “Guilty.”
“So how’d you meet him?”
“We attended an event at the community center in late January. He volunteers with the shelter dogs and I was there to take photos. He has an old mutt named Napoleon with one eye andstomach issues. First it was about dogs. Then we had coffee. Then he invited me to dinner. The usual.”
I nod slowly, the grin fading into a softer expression. “Youlikelike him.”
“I do,” he says simply and I feel the weight in those two words. “I didn’t think I would fall in love again. After Arthur died, I figured that part of my life was over. However, Robin doesn’t try to fill the space in my heart. He’s not a replacement. He’s himself, this gentle and steady presence in my life. I didn’t even realize how much I missed being with someone romantically until it happened again.”
“I’m glad, Jake,” I manage, wiping a tear from my cheek. The world has finally given my uncle a piece of happiness he’s always deserved. “So damn glad.”
“Me too.” Jake taps my arm lightly as the truck stops. “Now, let’s get your love.”
44
IVY
MARCH 22
The Ice Cross World Circuit 2026 has been every bit the wild ride I predicted. Ten cities, nine races down, one left to go. The European leg carried us across the continent, then we were back on American soil for a race in Minnesota followed by a few Canadian stops.
And now we’re here, in my home state. New York. I wouldn’t normally call myself patriotic, but there’s nothing like standing in front of a home crowd, American flags waving in the chilled air. It makes me proud to be here, representing my country.
When I climbed to the top of the track, I saw my people. My parents were near the finish line, bundled in their coats and cheering loud enough to rival the announcer. Dean, Max and Kayla, were fresh off their runs, their cheeks flushed and smiles wide as they laughed about something. My four closest high school friends—Nevaeh, Amber, Rio and Ezra—had planted themselves near the halfway gate, glittered signs waving overhead.
God, I love them. And the fact that they all took time off from their busy lives to be here for me.
Now, as I stare down the glittering track calling my name, a mix of emotions swell in my chest. I’m elated, ready to carve through every turn, but there’s also a pang of sadness knowing this season ends with just one more run. Adjusting my helmet with the GoPro strapped on top, I flex my fingers inside my gloves and roll my shoulders loose. The cheers of the crowd far below rise like a distant tide, muffled by space and focus.
The ghost of the race in Finland lingers on the edges of my thoughts. The fall—hard and humiliating—left a bruise deeper than the ones on my body. It taught me how quickly everything can go wrong. But it also pushes me to fight harder and I refuse to let fear write my ending.
The track crew gives me a thumbs up, signaling that it’s my turn soon. Simultaneously, a voice crackles through the comms. “Competitor thirty-eight, Ivy Campbell from New York, USA. Are you ready?”
Nodding, I crouch into position, my eyes locked on the course below. I’ve done this track hundreds of times in my head and know every twist and turn. The buzzer sounds and I launch forward, my pink skates slicing into the ice with a satisfying sound.
Landing clean after the first jump, I keep going, shifting my weight into the next curve with precision. My legs burn, but it’s a good type of burn. Months of training and hours of repetition pays off in real time. I hit each step with confidence, my pulse spiking.
I streamline my form, rocketing down. The final stretch opens wide, leading me to the finish line. I grit my teeth and pushharder, ignoring the fire in my quads, shooting forward with everything I have left.
The endpoint rushes toward me and when I cross it, the announcer’s voice cuts through the loud crowd: “New track record for the women’s category in Lake Placid: 33.7 seconds. Beating the old record by 0.2 seconds, Ivy Campbell takes the lead!”
I skid to a stop. My chest rises and falls in shallow gasps. My visor fogs, so I pull the helmet off, gulping down the cold air. I fucking did it! A new recordanda new personal best. The best run of my life.
My knees nearly buckle. Not from exhaustion, but from the rush of emotion. For a heartbeat, all I can do is stand there, steam rising from my body, mouth parted in shock as the crowd roars.
Holy fucking shit!I’m third overall in the women’s category. The realization slams into me, and tears spill freely. Now I get to return to Teddy’s arms not just as a racer, but as a winner.
The snow falls in delicate flakes as the medal ceremony begins, dusting shoulders and the ground of the outdoor podium. Music plays low over the speakers but it’s drowned out by the buzz of the crowd lining the barriers.
