Chapter 14 Ivy
IVY
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.”
Teddy only chuckles. My cheeks redden as I fiddle with the dimmer switch. “Clothes off. I’ll help steady you if needed.”
He pushes off the frame. I step back to give him space, my eyes carefully fixed on the wall—anywhere but him—as he begins undressing. He’s cautious with each movement, dropping his clothes on the floor when he’s done.
Turning to face where he is, I do my best to stay clinical about the situation. All professional and focused. But when he steps under the stream, I can’t unsee his backside.
What an amazing, firm ass it is. The man in front of me could be a sculpture with those muscles and fine lines. I catch myself staring for far too long and whip my gaze away, focusing on the safety instruction poster on the door like it's the new Mona Lisa.
Don’t be weird, Ivy. You’re a nurse. This is normal. You’ve seen what must be hundreds of people naked, so one more shouldn’t be such a big deal.
Teddy groans softly as the warm water hits him. “God, that feels amazing.”
“Give me your hand for shampoo,” I wait and squeeze the liquid into his offered palm. “You’re lucky your nurse is awesome, helping you shower.”
“Next time I’ll do it myself.”
The only sounds in the bathroom are falling water and low sighs escaping him as he washes himself. When he’s done, I grab one of the standard hospital towels and hold it out. “Here.”
Steam curls off his skin as he turns toward the sound of my voice. His hand fumbles through the air until it lands on my wrist again. The touch is warm and damp. It lingers a moment longer than it needs to before he coughs.
“I got it,” he mumbles.
That’s when I realize he’s facing me, uncovered, and my brain short circuits. Don’t look down, Ivy. Don’t fucking look down. On my nonna, I swear I try my best, keeping my gaze locked on his face for exactly 3.8 seconds before it happens.
When my gaze drops, my vision is nothing but abs. Each line is taut and glistening with water, adding contrast to the ink of his tattoos that cover his arms fully and some other areas. My eyes wander lower, beyond my control. And then—oh.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Not even a full medical vocabulary could prepare me for what I’m seeing.
His cock is long, thick and veiny. Heavy where it hangs, soft yet undeniably impressive.
It makes me question every past experience I’ve ever had.
When he moves, a glint of metal catches the overhead light.
Oh, shit. Theodore Bancroft Seaborn IV has a pierced dick.
Let me repeat that: Teddy has a freaking Prince Albert.
I freeze in place; not because it’s intimidating, but because I can imagine how amazing it would feel touching my inner walls.
Stop right now. He’s your patient!
I snap my head up so fast I nearly get whiplash.
Heat climbs my neck and blooms in my cheeks, moving all the way to the tops of my ears.
Turning quickly, I grab the second towel from the shelf and force myself to breathe evenly.
Teddy is toweling off, blissfully unaware of the internal meltdown he caused.
By the time I hand him another towel, I’ve gathered enough chill to function. “Here,” I manage, my voice higher than usual. “Dry your hair.”
He smiles faintly as he takes it. “Thanks. Everything okay?”
Totally. Just saw the most perfect dick of my entire life and now I have to help you get dressed while pretending I’m not dying inside.
“Yup,” I squeak. “All good.”
He nods and rubs the towel over his head carefully.
I stand there, breathing deep through my nose, trying not to imagine things I absolutely shouldn’t be about a man who’s currently recovering from a brain injury.
Too late. God help me. This man is going to kill me.
Not literally, but in all the other ways.
Teddy’s towel sits low on his hips as we step out of the bathroom, and I let myself take in ink curling over his skin.
His tattoos tell stories that are tied to hard-earned victories.
The one that catches my eye is on his upper right arm.
It's a simple design that shows the Cup every hockey player dreams of winning even once.
Beneath it, the years—2014, 2019, 2022—are etched in script.
“Nice ink,” I comment, my voice too high to sound casual. “What’s your favorite?”
He doesn’t seem to notice the slight tension in my voice and touches the tattoo I was admiring. “I got this one after winning my first Cup with the Woodpeckers.” Nostalgia is clear in his voice and evident pride in his expression.
“You were on fire that year—the whole team was. I’ll never forget your overtime goal in the final game. That was a work of art,” I comment and pass him clean underwear.
Teddy chuckles, the sound tinged with agreement. “Yeah, we were. It was such a good season. I remember thinking I’m finally where I belong.”
Turning sideways as he starts to pull on the briefs, I try not to notice how the motion causes him pain. His grunts prove my observation, the discomfort evident in every sound. He takes the pants when I hand them over, gritting his teeth as he pulls them over his long, muscular legs.
“You’ve been through a lot to get to where you are,” I remark, trying to focus on the conversation instead of his every movement.
His expression grows thoughtful as he adjusts his pants to fit better. He doesn’t answer immediately.
“Yeah,” he says finally. “Being an athlete is not just about the wins and good moments. It’s about the years of training to get better, the pain and everything else people don’t see. It’s about pushing yourself when everything feels stacked against you.”
I know what he means, but I’m not ready to talk about Ice Cross yet.
It isn’t the right moment to share my other passion in addition to nursing.
Instead, I ask if he wants help with his socks.
At his nod, I crouch carefully as he sits on the edge of the bed.
He lifts one leg with visible effort, favoring his right side.
I catch a glimpse of another tattoo; a small, simple lightning bolt on his left ankle.
It’s almost tucked away, like an afterthought, and it seems out of place among the bolder designs climbing up his calves.
The contrast throws me for a second, but that’s not the only thing strange about the ink.
I have the exact same tattoo on my body.
Mine’s on my ribs on the left side, hidden and private. What are the odds?
“And the one on your ankle?” I ask, unable to keep the curiosity or the tremor in my voice out of the question.
Teddy glances down like he forgot it was there, his brows knitting briefly before smoothing out. “I wanted something to remind me that even in the hardest stretches, one spark can turn the whole game around.”
“It’s a reminder to keep fighting.” I manage, even if I’m stunned.
He smiles. “Exactly.”
“This might sound insane,” I blurt before I can stop myself, “but I have an almost identical design on my left side. I got it for a similar reason when I turned twenty-one. My mom has a matching one.”
His eyebrows shoot up, genuine surprise marking his face. “No way.”
“Way,” I breathe out, feeling dazed. “I’m freaking out.”
“Good freakout or bad freakout?”
“It remains to be seen,” I admit, pressing a hand to my ribs as if I can feel the ink burning beneath the skin. “But it certainly feels important.”
“It surely does.”
I hand him a shirt next, my attention on his naked upper body. The remaining bruises are faint and stand out more, sobering proof of what he’s endured. The Cup tattoo looks almost unreal against the mottled skin. And yet, despite the damage, Teddy stands tall.
“I admire your strength,” I say with care.
Teddy pulls the shirt over his head with a faint grunt. “Thanks,” he mutters, giving me a small smile. “I’m still trying to figure out how to handle this whole not-being-able-to-see thing, if I’m being honest.”
There’s a vulnerability in his voice, showing he’s no longer the confident hockey star, but a man struggling to make sense of a world he can’t fully perceive.
“I’m here to help for as long as you need.”
Teddy nods, his expression softening. Maybe, just maybe, he’s starting to let down his guard.
“Let’s move you to the chair while I change the sheets,” I suggest.
He doesn’t argue and I offer him my support.
His hand finds my wrist again, gripping tight as we shuffle the short distance.
When he lowers himself into the chair, the faint grunt tells me it still costs him more than he’ll admit.
I ball the used sheets into the hamper in the corner.
The sound of fresh linen snapping open fills the room as I shake out the clean set, tucking in corners with practiced motions.
“Alright,” I say over my shoulder, “now that you’re comfortable—how did you end up playing hockey in the first place?”
The dimple on his right side makes its appearance.
“Oh, we can blame uncle Jake, my mom’s younger brother.
He played in college and introduced me to the sport when I was three.
He promised to pay for everything, so my parents didn’t exactly say no.
They secretly hoped I’d choose tennis, water polo, or piano. Something showing class, you know?”
I make a sound of acknowledgement, thanking my stars that my parents are nothing like his.
“To their disappointment, hockey became my thing. I didn’t need my family name or bought connections to get to the level where I am at—was,” he corrects himself, the smile disappearing from his face. “It took sweat, grit, talent, and a dash of luck. Not every great player makes it to the League.”
I admire his resilience and the way he carved out his place in the world. “That’s incredible. You didn’t let anything stop you.”
Teddy meets my gaze unseen, and for a brief moment, something deeper flickers in his eyes. Maybe gratitude. Maybe something else. Whatever it is, it feels like it comes from a place he rarely lets anyone see.
“That’s what hockey taught me; never give up and always keep fighting. Too bad I’m struggling to remember that in my current state and can’t see the reminder tattooed on my body.”
“You have more fight left in you. I’m sure of it, Theodore.”
He offers another dimpled smile following the use of his full first name, though the heaviness of what he’s facing still hangs between us. I want to reach out, but all I can do is keep showing up, hoping he’ll start to believe it himself.