“I’m glad you can acknowledge the reasons behind your shitty actions.”
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, because she’s right. “It’s hard to let anyone see me like this.”
“Then don’t think of it as me seeing you, but rather as me showing up.”
She finishes the rest of the checks in silence, her movements professional, yet distant. A clear line has been drawn, and I know I’m on the wrong side of it.
When she walks out, I feel smaller than I did five minutes ago, shrunk down by the weight of the words I said instead of everything I should have.Well, shit. I fucked upagain.
12
IVY
DECEMBER 13
After the eventful week I’ve had, the practice facility is where I go to burn away the frustration. The second I launch down the start ramp, everything quiets in my head. My body moves on autopilot, all my focus on the Ice Cross practice. The blades of my pink skates hit the ice with a satisfying bite, and the first turn comes fast. I lean into it, one shoulder nearly grazing the padded boards, reminding me to be careful.
Adrenaline flares through me, making my heart pound and my skin tingle. For a peaceful moment, I forget about everything else, welcoming the break from my running thoughts. I glide through the different sections and check my smartwatch about every ten seconds. My timing is off, but not by much.
I land heavy with my next jump, but don’t fall. My balance adjusts, and I go up the short incline, gunning toward the last stretch. A few more meters and I’m done with another lap.
Max, my older brother, stands at the edge of the rink, stopwatch in hand as I skate to a slow stop.
“You’re faster than last season,” he says, squinting at the time. “But you’re also muscling through the track in some spots instead of letting it carry you. That’s a waste of energy.”
“Maybe I have extra energy to burn today,” I mutter.
My brother raises an eyebrow. “So it’s one of those days when you skate angry. Got it.”
“Better than skating like an emotionless robot.”
He doesn’t reply right away, which is totally him. He usually takes time to ponder over his words. Dean, on the other hand, favors our dad and has a comeback ready at any time. I take a long drink from my emotional support water bottle.
“Are you thinking about a patient?” Max asks finally.
I nearly choke. “What makes you think that?”
“Because you get this look when something is bothering you. You’ve been working extra shifts lately, so I figured it was work-related.”
I didn’t realize I was that transparent. I’ve spent years perfecting the art of hiding my feelings, especially on the job, but clearly my foul mood is written all over my face today. I must’ve been chewing on my lip ring earlier too. My brother assesses me in a way that only older siblings do. It’s half concern, half trying to see into your soul without prying too hard.
“Wanna talk about it? Even though I might not understand everything that goes into your job, I’m a pretty good listener.”
Sweat clings to my brows as I shake my head, and I wipe it away with my palm. “Not really. Thanks anyway.”
He doesn’t press, nodding like he gets it. We’ve always been close, all three of us; our little pack. It helps that we were born within three years of each other. My brothers have always had my back, even when I went rogue and switched from construction to nursing, then doubled down and added Ice Cross racing to my already stacked schedule. They joined me because they thought it would be a cool hobby to share.
Crouching to tighten the laces on my skates, I suggest, “We should run another few laps before heading home.”
“Ivy—” Max’s voice has a warning edge. “You’re pushing yourself too hard.”
I lift my eyes to meet his. “I can’t afford to lose focus before the first race.”
“I get it, but you won’t get there if you burn out. So let’s go home.”
The words hang between us, but I don’t dare examine them too closely. He’s right. He always is. I usually do about eight laps when I drive up here, but today I hit twelve. I’m pushing my body too hard.
“I’ll dial it back next time,” I lie, scratching at the inside of my wrist, another nervous habit I don’t catch in time.
