Chapter 23 Ivy
IVY
When I walk in hours later, Teddy doesn’t look up. He’s upright, but his mind is elsewhere. Dark circles paint the skin beneath his eyes, hair sticking up like he’s been dragging fingers through it all day. His shoulders slope forward, carrying a weight he can’t seem to set down.
“Hey.”
"Hey, Ivy." His voice is low and rough, like it hasn’t been used all day. “I didn’t mean for that to happen,” he says, the words barely above a whisper.
The memory of him falling apart flashes in my mind—his trembling body, the panic in his voice, the way I held on and prayed my presence was enough. I should feel only compassion as his nurse, but there’s more, a pull I’m trying hard not to follow.
Taking the chair beside him, I tell him, “It’s okay.”
“Last night was the worst I’ve ever felt. I thought I was doing better after Christmas and then—bam.”
It hurts to hear his confession, but it also binds me closer to him, tugging at feelings I’ve been trying to keep contained. My heart beats faster, not from pity, but from the dangerous truth that I’m starting to care about him in a way that has nothing to do with duty.
“You don’t have to explain,” I reply.
“I need to do it for me. Fuck, I was so scared. I couldn’t move or see past the pain. My mind snapped open and the hit kept replaying,” he swallows. “Then you pulled me out. I don’t know how you did it.”
“I didn’t do anything magical. Can I check your vitals or do you need a few?”
“What if we get out of here instead?” His voice is edged with a restless energy that makes it clear he’s desperate for escape.
“You mean out of the room or the hospital?”
“The room. I’m crawling out of my skin.”
“I have a place in mind. It’s not glamorous, but it’s better than nothing. I’ll get you a wheelchair.”
His jaw sets, hands braced on the mattress. “I can walk.”
“Yes you can, but you won’t.” I steady my tone, gentle but firm. Damn, this man is stubborn to the bone. “It’s safer in case you get tired or feel nauseous.”
He wants to push back, I see it in his face, but instead, he accepts my suggestion with a reluctant sigh. “Fine, but only because you’re taking me away from this hellhole.”
The tension in Teddy eases as I wheel him down the hall, the usual buzz of voices and machines around us.
The recreation room is empty this time of the day.
It’s usually for families and friends visiting patients, but visiting hours ended a while ago.
There's a well-worn couch pushed up against one wall, mismatched chairs stacked in the corner, and an old foosball table.
A slightly dusty puzzle sits half-finished on one of the tables in the middle.
I ease Teddy onto the couch carefully. His hands search for the armrest, adjusting until he’s settled.
“Thanks,” he mutters.
“Anytime. You’re allowed to need air, even if it’s recycled and smells faintly of antiseptic hand soap and sadness.”
That earns me a small smile, but it quickly disappears. He’s fidgety, fingers curling into fists. “Sometimes I wonder if I deserved what happened to me.”
I hate that he even thinks that, the doubt having found its way deep. I play with my lip ring, while my eyes flick to his face. He looks so breakable in this moment. My instinct is to shut down that line of thought, but I don’t.
“I was ungrateful and reckless for so damn long, not caring who I hurt, least of all myself.” He picks at his cuticles, his right leg bouncing.
“I treated people like they were props in my own drama. Women, especially. I wasn’t violent, but I was selfish and careless with their feelings.
I’d use the right words to get what I wanted, then walk away, like none of it had ever mattered. ”
I don’t interrupt, because the courage it’s taking for him to share all this is bigger than any reassurance I could offer.
Part of me aches at the harsh way he frames himself—I’ve seen enough to know he’s not the selfish man he once was.
Still, I can’t dismiss what he’s saying outright.
Maybe he’s right about who he used to be, but sitting here now, it’s hard to see that image.
“I was born into privilege and spent most of my life resenting the world I came from. Think yacht clubs, sprawling estates, and my last name etched on public buildings—that kind of old money from Newport. Most of my actions were to piss off my parents. It worked, mostly. But in the end, what do I have? Nothing but bad memories and a mountain of regrets.”
“Why piss off your parents?” I ask. Our knees brush as I settle beside him on the couch, the soft contact sparking awareness between us. Neither of us moves away. “They showed up when you were hurt.”
“Oh, it was all an act on their part. My father is a rigid CEO who believes in control above all else, whereas my mother is a poised socialite more concerned with appearances than affection. They expected me to follow the Seaborn legacy. I despised every second of it. Learning to use humor and an I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude to mask my frustration towards them started pretty young.
All they ever seemed to care about was whether I embarrassed them or not, so I strove to do so at every turn.
” He leans back, head tilted toward the ceiling, his tone resigned.
“My mother actually called before the holidays. I asked them not to visit, to avoid making a production out of it.”
“I hate that for you. At least you have your uncle, right?”
He nods, gratitude softening his features.
“Uncle Jake is the only person in my family who ever actually saw me and cared enough to listen. I admire him more than anyone and he’s the kindest person I’ve met.
Sometimes I’m scared I’ll end up in his situation.
Loving someone and then losing them, being alone for the rest of my life.
I’m not convinced I could survive it. Not after having already lost hockey. ”
“You might not be able to play, but you could coach or find another way back to hockey. This doesn’t have to be the end, Teddy. It could be a new, different path to the thing you love.”
“I know,” he sighs heavily, rubbing his face.
“Looking back, I got pretty lucky. I was just finishing up senior year at boarding school, but the Woodpeckers management saw my potential. A month later, I walked across a stage, accepted my diploma, and left everything behind. The money, prestige and all those fake people. I moved into my uncle’s place in Brooklyn the same day, prepping for my rookie season. ”
I watch him fidget—he’s never still when he talks about his past. It’s like the memories live under his skin, unsettled and restless, pushing him to move.
“One of my last fuck-yous was my nose ring,” he adds with a scoff. “I got it on the day of a big society fundraiser. My father called it vulgar, so I kept it.”
“I happen to like piercings. In fact, I’ve got a lip ring. I got it during my emo phase and never took it out.”
He smirks knowingly. “I know about it. Jasper told me after I asked how you looked. It suits you.”
Oh my god! My heart skips. He actually cared enough to bring me up when I wasn’t around. The thought leaves me warm and a little fuzzy.
“Oh? What else did he tell you?”
“About your blue hair and ivy tattoo.”
“Sneaky, getting your friend to spill every detail about me,” I say, a teasing edge to my words.
He lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head like I’ve got it all wrong.
“You know, I wasn’t even supposed to be a Teddy.”
I frown at the sudden topic change. “What were you going to be called?”
“There was another Theodore Bancroft Seaborn the Fourth.” His expression is grim, pain lacing his words. “My older brother. He died a few hours after he was born.”
Sadness swells in me, but beneath it is a need to comfort him. “Oh. I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“They gave me the same name when I was born eleven months later. It had to live on, no matter what. I sometimes wonder if I would’ve existed at all without him dying.”
I slide my hand over his twitching fingers. He lets me hold it, the restless movement stilling beneath my touch. His thumb brushes over my knuckles, deliberate or not, but the small gesture sends a rush of warmth straight to my core.
“I wonder if they ever really saw me or if I’ve been filling the hole he left behind, all my achievements and failures weighed against my parents’ expectations of what their eldest son would’ve been.”
The ache in my chest swells, thick with the unfairness of the burden he’s carried his whole life.
“There’s no outline. There’s only you. Who knows what your brother might’ve been.
” I squeeze his hand reassuringly. “Everything you’ve done and everything you’ve fought for.
That’s yours. Not his. Not theirs. Yours. ”
He turns his head toward me, the corner of his mouth lifting faintly. “Enough about me. Tell me about your family.”
The question warms me even more from the inside out. I love any chance to talk about them. Thinking of my family brings an easy, genuine smile to my face that stretches wide without me even realizing it.
“Anything?” He nods, settling back against the couch, his hand still warm in mine.
“I’ve got two brothers, we were all born within three years.
Max is the oldest, I’m the classic middle child, and Dean is the youngest. They’re also Ice Cross racers.
They work for our dad and uncle’s construction company during the off-season, building houses and whatnot.
We’ve always been a package deal, so when I chose nursing instead of sticking with the family business, it surprised everyone. ”
“Why nursing?”
No one outside my family and close friends has ever asked me that before. Most see the scrubs and go on with their lives. My fingers toy with the edge of my sleeve as I think it over, surprised at how foreign it feels to put the reasons into words.
“At first, it was to prove I could. Everyone assumed I’d stay on the same track as Max and Dean, but construction work wasn’t for me. I needed a bigger challenge.”
“Is that the reason you landed at Easton General?”
“Yes and no. You don’t get into a job like mine unless you’re willing to hold someone's worst day in your hands. I needed to know I could be that person. The one who stays calm in the chaos and doesn’t look away.”
“You fit the rebel type. The emo phase and tattoos included.”
“Oh, I’m the worst kind.” I let out a knowing chuckle.
“No dramatic rebellion, just quiet defiance. One day I showed up to family dinner with a nursing textbook the size of my head. They stared at me and went, ‘Bubbles, what are you doing with that book?’ And I told them, ‘I’m going to be a nurse.’”
“Bubbles?”
Heat crawls up my cheeks. I shouldn’t feel this exposed over something so silly, but I do. And stupidly, I also like that he knows it now.
“It’s a childhood thing…I was obsessed with bubble baths, and one day I drank almost an entire bottle of bubble solution because I thought it was potion from a fairytale.
My parents freaked out, rushed me to the ER.
I don’t think it was actually dangerous, but they made me drink this disgusting activated charcoal stuff and dark bubbles came out of my mouth.
That’s how the nickname Bubbles was born. ”
“How adorable. I mean, slightly disturbing, but still adorable,” he teases.
A wistful smile tugs at my lips. The memory is a window into a simpler time.
“My extended family is huge, especially on my mom’s Italian American side.
They loved the nickname and would use it constantly.
My dad also told the bubble story at every family gathering for years.
Weddings, christenings, graduations—you name it. ”
“As he should. The story is comedy gold.”
“Hey!” I flick his ear playfully. “No more teasing.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Bubbles.”
“Ugh, I regret telling you,” I protest, dragging out the words for dramatic effect.
“Too late,” he points out, the heaviness in his eyes now gone. “Have you ever been to Italy?”
“We visited our relatives near Verona when I was a teen. I’ve never eaten so much pasta or been hugged that aggressively in my life.”
His smile softens. “What were you like in high school?”
“Oh God. You don’t want to know,” I groan, earning a nudge from him.
“Fine. I was the overachiever with thick eyeliner, band T-shirts and lots of accessories from Hot Topic. To be fair, I still wear a lot of graphic tees. I was a class president one year and made the honor roll, even if I was once suspended for painting the snowplow pink with glitter.”
A snort slips out before I can stop it, the memory bubbling into a fit of giggles. Teddy’s head tips back against the couch, his brows lifting as he stares my way in disbelief, a slow grin spreading across his face. “You did not.”
“It was a feminist protest. The school was only clearing the boys’ practice field and leaving the girls’ track buried under six inches after a snowstorm. I took matters into my own hands.”
Teddy laughs—really laughs—and it’s the best sound I’ve heard all week. The unrestrained sound fills the empty recreation room until the place feels less like a hospital and more like a safe space.
“It doesn’t surprise me that you’d do something like that. You’re a menace.”
“I prefer the term spirited.”
“Of course you do,” he quips.
The longer I stay here, the harder it is to pretend my feelings are only professional.
Sitting beside Teddy, I don’t feel like his nurse anymore.
I should pull back, remind myself of the lines we’re not supposed to cross.
But instead, I let myself lean into the connection, half-accepting the truth I can’t deny anymore: I truly am falling for him.
This time, it’s not a passing spark or a harmless teen crush. The feeling is deeper, threaded through every heartbeat and every breath I take beside him.
I’m totally, irrevocably fucked.