The Lake Placid event medals are awarded first. I’m up on the podium with the other winners, our breaths clouding in the cold air. My sponsor jacket is unzipped halfway to reveal the red-and-white thermal beneath.
Bronze goes to Mira Rautakorpi from Finland, who lifts her arms with a beaming smile, bouncing lightly in place as theannouncer calls her name. Silver is awarded to Leni Vogel of Austria. Her precision in today’s run was terrifyingly beautiful.
“Put your hands together for the Lake Placid winner and the new track record holder for women’s category: Ivy Campbell from the United States!”
The crowd erupts, my parents cheering like maniacs while Kayla’s scream of “that’s my girl!” cuts through the rest as I’m given the medal. It’s so goddamn earned around my neck. I lift the gold high for a photo, flashing a grin, the American flag raised behind me.
After group photos and lingering hugs, the crew changes the stage setup for the final circuit standings. Soon they’ll announce the overall results, though most of us already know the math. Still, this moment carries weight. Every skater here understands it’s the culmination of a grueling season, pulled muscles, long nights of international travel, and near misses that could’ve ended it all. And through every second, we pushed forward, driven by love for the sport and an unwillingness to settle for less than our best.
The announcer’s voice booms over the speakers: “In third place overall for the women’s category in the Ice Cross World Circuit 2026—give it up for Ivy Campbell from New York!”
They lift a bronze medal over my head, letting it rest beside the gold and I’m on cloud nine. Dad whistles loud enough to startle the poor woman standing next to him. He pumps a fist in the air, face flushed with pride. Mom is crying, one gloved hand over her mouth, the other clutching her thermos.
Kayla’s jumping up and down next to them, holding a new sign readingCAMPBELL SIBLING DOMINATIONwith doodles of both me and Max in full gear. She screams, “THIRD IN THE WORLD, BABY!” Dean points at me, mouthing, “Go Bubbles.”
My friends are right beside them. Ezra has his phone out and Nevaeh has tears in her eyes, mouthing “I knew it” over and over. She looks proud enough to burst. Rio has one arm slung casually around both her and Amber’s shoulders. The latter is waving a tiny American flag and shouting my name.
Laughing, I fight the sting of my own tears. They’re all here. Every last one of them. I hold my medals tightly to my chest. This is for them. For every text, pep talk and dumb meme at two in the morning that made me laugh when I wanted to cry. For believing in me, especially when I couldn’t. I may be standing on the podium without them, but I didn’t get here by myself.
I only wish he was here, too. Maybe he’ll be one day.
Shaking the thought away, I watch as Coralie Marchand is announced second overall and Leni Vogel as the winner. No surprise there. Next comes the men's series. Dean is standing with the others near the stage, cheeks red from the cold. He grins and shrugs when they call his name; fifth overall, not bad for his second season.
Then there’s my other brother. Max Campbell, first overall in the men’s ICWC standings. He doesn’t even try to look cool when they announce his name. My brother whoops so loud, throwing a triumphant fist in the air. The crowd loves it. Kayla is screaming. Mom is crying harder. Dad is shouting something like “Campbells rule the ice!”
The national anthem plays for Max. I close my eyes, breathing it all in. The snow, the music, the weight of achievement that’s somehow both grounding and dizzying. I’m so proud ofus.
I turn to hug my parents after the ceremony and freeze in place. Past the edge of the crowd, near the VIP section, stands someone I swear I’ve conjured up. I blink hard to make sureI’m not imagining it, but he doesn’t disappear. Teddy’s leaning slightly on his white cane and wearing sunglasses. His hair is longer than I remember and he’s bundled in a heavy coat. Beside him is an older man who must be Jake.
Teddy ishere.
My heart skids, then takes off like it’s racing downhill at full speed. My breath catches with it. He’s still recovering and healing. He shouldn’t be here. And yet, he came. His presence means more than the promises we made before our goodbyes—it means I matter enough for him to fight his way to me.
I stride toward him, my body answering a call it’s been waiting for all season. The closer I get to him, the more I hear the whispers about him.
“Is that Teddy Seaborn?”
“Oh my god, it is.”
“What is he doing here? I thought he was seriously injured!”
“Do you think he could sign my phone case?”
When I’m close enough, I whisper his name carefully, “Teddy?”
That same crooked smile I’ve missed more than I let myself admit fills his face. I still can’t believe he showed up today!
“You were stellar out there,” he shouts over the racket around us. “I’m so proud of you. Third place overall and a new Lake Placid record holder.”
My eyes sting. The kind of burn that comes when everything you’ve held back suddenly breaks open. It’s relief, joy and love all colliding at once. “What are you doing here?”
“No way was I going to miss your final race. Jake drove us here this morning.”
My throat is too tight for words, so I reach out for his hand. The familiar feel of his palm against mine steadies me in a way nothing else can. “You came all this way for me.”
“I had no other choice.”
“Why not?”
