I couldn’t leave Rach hanging though, not after a year of silence, so I responded before my world shifted.
Hey, Rach?—
You were right about most of it. About me pushing too hard. About pretending I was fine when I wasn’t. I didn’t want you to see me like that, because I hated the idea of you worrying or being disappointed in me. I thought staying quiet made me stronger, braver somehow. Turns out, it made me lonely.
I’m still figuring things out. The truth is, I’m not okay all the time. But I’m trying to be better about saying that out loud instead of hiding and acting like I’m fine.
You didn’t fail me, Rach. You never did. If anything, you were the only one who said what everyone else was too afraid to. I wasn’t ready to hear it yet. Still struggling with it if I’m honest with you.
I miss you too. A ton. And yeah, I kept the shoes. Always will.
—O
I staredat the screen until the words stopped blurring. My chest didn’t feel so tight this time. For the first time in months, hittingsenddidn’t feel like a loss. It felt like a start.
I got out of the car, adjusted my hoodie, and walked toward the entrance. The parking lot was half-full. Early for a Thursday. Early enough that most of the guys weren’t in yet.
I swiped my badge and stepped inside. The air hit differently. Cooler than usual. Or maybe it was me.
The hallway that led toward diagnostics was quiet. Too quiet. The usual chatter in the locker room hadn’t reached this far yet. Everything about it felt sterile. Monitored.
I pulled my hoodie tighter, shifting my gym bag higher on my shoulder as I turned the corner.
Ivy was already there.
She stood outside recovery, tablet in hand, her face pulled into something unreadable. She looked up when she saw me. Her expression didn’t shift.
No smile. No raised eyebrow. Nothing familiar.
“I thought you had the morning off,” she said, her voice flatter than normal.
“I did,” I replied. “Figured I’d come in early. Clear my head.”
She gave a tight nod. “You’re on light protocol today. No treadmill. No drills. No weight room.”
I frowned, the fragile restraint I had on my control slipping. “That wasn’t on the sheet yesterday.”
“Things change.”
There was no teasing in her tone. No sarcasm. No Ivy. Just the staff version of her—the one who didn’t break character. The one I’d rarely seen directed at me.
“Ivy,” I said, my voice on the edge of cracking.
She didn’t look at me and tapped something into her tablet.
“What’s going on?” I asked again, quieter now. “Seriously.”
“You have neuro at noon.”
“I know that. I’m asking about the part no one’s telling me.” I gritted my teeth, my breath catching my throat.
She hesitated.
For half a second, I saw it. The flicker of discomfort. The way her shoulders shifted as she gazed down the hallway.
“Talk to Sloane,” she said eventually, her voice more clipped than before.
“I tried.” I ran a hand through my hair, a tremor in my fingers. “What changed, Ivy? Please. Just… tell me.”
