“You’re Theodore fucking Seaborn. You still have more to give. Hockey or no hockey, sight or no sight—you’re still you.”
The line clicks dead before I can respond, but his words keep circling in my head long after. I lie there, clutching the phone like it’s the last tether I have to the life I knew, until exhaustion drags me under.
14
IVY
DECEMBER 16
Balancing my takeaway coffee in one hand, the clipboard on another, I skim through patient notes by the assignment board. It’s seven in the morning, and I’m living on caffeine. Having three months off for the Ice Cross season means I’m taking extra shifts to save up for the costs my sponsor doesn't cover.
One line on Teddy’s chart jumps out:No assisted hygiene since Saturday.It’s a Tuesday morning. I have a gut feeling he hasn’t tried taking a shower alone either.Great. I’ve been trying to avoid seeing him naked, but I guess today is my lucky day.How the fuck did I miss this yesterday?
When I step into his room, the overhead lights are down low. He prefers to keep them dim now that he’s started noticing a difference in shades.
Teddy sits upright, shirtless for some reason. “Ivy.”
Hearing my name from his lips will never get old.
“Morning,” I greet him, frowning at the direction my thoughts went. “Got it right on the first try.”
“I knew it was you,” he declares, his grin boyish as he turns his head toward the sound of my voice. “You walk differently.”
“I walk differently? Do tell.”
“Your steps are lighter,” he taps a pointer finger on his full lips. “Like you walk on the clouds.”
“That’s oddly specific. Is this your way of telling me you’ve been studying me?”
“It’s my way of saying that I prefer it when it’s you.”
My stomach flips. I should deflect and say something neutral or professional, but all I manage is a quiet thanks before asking, “You sleep okay?”
“As well as any guy stuck in a hospital bed can.”
My fingers move automatically to check the monitor. His vitals look normal, which is always a plus. I steal a glance at him. His hair is a mess, scruffy beard growing in. The cuts from hitting the ice and the surgeries that followed have healed enough that washing his hair is no longer off-limits.
“Why didn’t you shower in the past few days?”
His fingers drum restlessly on the blanket. "Didn’t want to be a bother. I thought someone might offer, or I’d manage on my own if I had the need.”
“You’ve been sitting in your own sweat for three days because asking for help was too much?”
“I’m not proud of it,” he mutters.
I exhale through my nose and approach the side of his bed. “Alright. Let’s get you cleaned up. I should’ve helped yesterday, but totally missed it.”
“You serious?”
“Deadass. I’m not about to let a three-time Cup winner rot in his own body odor.”
That earns me a small laugh, hoarse and surprised. “Guess that’s one way to motivate me.”
I guide him to sit up fully. His hand finds my wrist, the touch light but searching. The trust in that small contact makes my heart beat faster. Nurses are supposed to be steady, but moments like this remind me just how fragile people feel when their independence is gone.
“I expect you not to let me fall,” he speaks under his breath. The words shouldn’t affect me the way they do, but they do.Oh, how they do.
We make our way to the bathroom slowly, his grip tight on my arm for balance. I flip on the harsh fluorescent light and wince at the sudden glare. “Let me fix the brightness before you come in.”
