The comment annoys me as I thought he, of all people, would understand the thrill. “You did the same thing every time you stepped on ice, so what makes my choice any different?”
“The difference is, I signed a contract knowing I’d get slammed into the boards for a living. It was the job. Doesn’t make it smart, but it made sense.”
I bristle at his words. “Oh, so getting paid a lot makes the difference then? Wonderful.”
“That’s not what I meant, Ivy.Fuck.” He runs a hand through his hair, agitated. “I’m trying my best to process the information you just dropped, and it freaks me out a little, okay?”
“Why?” I ask, point-blank.
“I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
My pulse jumps, part irritation, part something stupidly hopeful. I’ve been spiraling over my thoughts of him, and now he says that?
“When I started training for Ice Cross, everyone said I was out of my mind. They warned me of the risks, and called it reckless like you just did. But you have to understand, I’m more myself on the ice than anywhere else. Even more than at the hospital.”
“Why’d you start?”
No one has asked me that before. How to put into words everything downhill racing means to me?
“Because…” I trail off. “Because I needed control and something completely different from my normal life. Being a nurse means you’re constantly on alert. You give your everything, and some days it’s not enough. You go home and all you can think about is who didn’t make it, or who’s barely hanging on.”
“When I’m racing, I’m not helpless or watching someone slip away with too little time and too few answers. I feelfree.” My eyes flick toward him, but I don’t hold the look. My fingers twist the edge of my hoodie, like I could wring the truth out of the fabric instead of admitting it out loud. “On the track, it’s only me and the ice. If I win, it’s because I worked hard for the results. If I crash, I stand up and try again. That’s the clarity that sharpens everything. The track is the one place I can breathe without second-guessing.”
His face is unreadable, but his head is tilted. He’s really listening,seeingme more clearly than most people ever try to.
“I also needed a reminder that I’m not just the girl who holds hands through goodbyes and bad scans,” I add, softer now. “That I’m alive.”
“Do you ever get scared?”
“All the time.” The confession tugs a wry smile across my lips. ”The fear first creeps in right before I launch. My pulse hammers in my throat, and for a split second, I ask myself why the hell I chose to be here.”
Even now, talking about it, my palms grow damp, and I can picture the ice under me. The phantom rush prickles at my skin like static, heat rising in my face as if my body doesn’t know the difference between memory and reality. I take a deep breath, enjoying the rush I normally only get when racing.
“The fear never vanishes, but it transforms. Every nerve in my body wakes up and every thought narrows to the turn in front of me. I’m terrified and liberated in the same breath. It’s the only place where fear doesn’t crush me under its weight. It fuels me instead,” I explain, putting my feelings in words. “That’s pretty much why I love it so much.”
“Damn,” he murmurs, awe in his voice. “You’re such a badass, Ivy Campbell.”
“It takes one to know one,” I reply with giddiness.
He polishes off the last bite of pancakes. “Once I can see better, I’m coming to one of your races.”
Hope clings to every word, like he believes his vision is coming back. I want to match his confidence and let it wash over me the way it seems to steady him. But a part of me aches with the fear ofwhat if. What if it doesn’t?
“Are you sure you’re ready for that much adrenaline?” I joke to lighten my mood.
“Only if you’re racing.”
It’s all too much—the closeness and the way he says things that shouldn’t make my stomach flip but absolutely do. My mind has been spinning all day, and suddenly I can’t hold any of it in. The words tumble out before I can stop them.
“I saw you fully naked when I helped you shower a few days ago. I didn’t mean to, I swear!”
His brows lift in surprise. There’s no panic or discomfort on his face—only curiosity and the faintest clue of amusement tugging at his lips. Mortification hits me like a slap. “I’m sorry, but I just thought you should know,” I rush on, words tripping over each other.
There’s another pause, long enough for me to want to melt through the floor. I swallow hard, wishing I could rewind the last ten seconds. Why did I say anything? Whynow?
“Ivy,” he says calmly, a smile spreading over his face. “Take a deep breath for me.”
I obey without thinking. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. My shoulders relax a notch, even as warmth creeps all the way up my neck.
