Making a face at her, I quip, “Maybe I’ll just shave my head next time.”
"You do, and I’ll disown you. You don’t waste that glorious Italian hair you got from your ancestors.”
“Fine.” I roll my eyes, a smile pulling at my lips. “I’ll keep the hair for now.”
“Damn right you will.” She gives my arm a playful nudge and turns to tidy up the counter.
I sink back into the chair, the warmth of the salon wrapping around me like a weighted blanket, filled with years of love and hairspray. When I’m here, my worries can wait for another hour or two.
13
TEDDY
DECEMBER 15
Three days. That’s how long it’s been since her voice filled this room. Since I made everything worse with my sharp tongue and all the bitterness I can’t seem to swallow. Since I reminded her I’m capable of being a complete asshole.
Now she’s gone. Not in the literal sense, but she hasn’t been in to check up on me. Not once. Not even when I hit the call button for something trivial. It’s always another nurse, polite and professional. Someone who doesn’t know how much of a mess I’ve become.
I deserve her silence. I do. I know how I fucking messed up. Three days of not hearing her voice has a way of making a man sit with his shit. She was right. Ivy wasn’t the one who blindsided me on the ice. She didn’t take my vision or my future. She didn’t create the weight currently crushing my chest. All she ever did was try to help. Yet, I treated her poorly because she was an easy target. Lashing out was easier than facing what’s actually happening to me.
I've been going over our last interaction, replaying my mean words. I keep wishing I could take it all back and tell her the truth—that I’m terrified of what’s happening in my life and hate asking for help. That I’m ashamed of the shitty way I’ve handled everything. Maybe if I admit all those things aloud, she’ll believe me when I say I’m sorry.
There’s no knock this time, only the soft creak of the door and a shift in the air. I recognize her scent instantly—a hint of coconut and sunshine beneath the antiseptic tang of the hospital.
“Ivy?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” she confirms, her tone measured. “I’m here to check on how your head wounds are healing.”
She walks to the other side of the room where they keep supplies. I only know that after one of the other nurses mentioned it yesterday, pointing out where the carts are kept. Back then it felt like meaningless chatter. Now, I cling to scraps of information. I track Ivy by the shuffle of her shoes and the faint rattle of items in the drawer she pulls out. Sounds I never paid attention to before now paint the outline of the room for me.
The sheets drag against my bare legs, the sound loud in the quiet, as I inch upright. “Hey. Could you sit for a sec?”
My hands are clammy, and I hate the unsettled feeling deep in my stomach.
“I owe you more than a half-assed sorry.” I scratch my stubble nervously. “The other day, I was a dick. You were right.”
No response.
“I was scared,” I admit, the words jagged. “I’m so fucking scared, Ivy. That’s not your fault, but I took it out on you because I didn’t know how else to cope. I hate that you’re seeing me as less than I used to be."
Still nothing. This might be the part where she walks out. I wouldn’t blame her. I would do so if I was her.
“I heard two people outside the room talking about my hockey career. They made me into some sob story of whatcouldhave been. I’ve played thirteen seasons of professional hockey and they ignored it. I let the words get into my head, twisting me up until they turned into poison. And then I spilled that poison onto the person who’s only been trying to help."
Ivy blows out a breath. “You’re not a sad story. You’re in an uncertain chapter, that’s all. One chapter doesn’t define the whole story.”
“It doesn’t excuse what I said or how I acted toward you. I never should’ve spoken the way I did.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” she confirms. “But grief doesn’t always make sense. You lost something big, Teddy. You’re allowed to grieve it, just not at the expense of someone else’s dignity.”
“You’re right.”
“I usually am,” she deadpans. “Get used to it.”
Her sass pulls a dry chuckle from me. “I don’t expect you to forgive and forget easily. However, I’ll do my best to earn your trust.”
“Like you, all I want is honesty. Even when it’s messy.” She places something plastic in my hand. “You should know yourlips look awful. I figured I'd stop punishing them because you were an idiot.”
