Chapter 34 Teddy
TEDDY
Dr. Royce stands at the foot of my bed. Something in his energy is different today. There’s a lightness threading through his usual professionalism.
“Your vitals are steady. No red flags from the overnight readings. Did you sleep better last night?”
“Didn’t wake up soaked in sweat or panic, if that’s what you mean.”
He chuckles quietly, flipping through my chart.
“I’ll take it as a win. Good news is the swelling has also resolved almost entirely.
There are no signs of fluid buildup or delayed bleeding.
We’ll keep monitoring for seizure risk, but right now, it’s minimal.
” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “There’s no guarantee how far your vision might return, or if it will at all, but the acute trauma is behind us. Medically speaking, you’ve stabilized.”
I’ve been waiting for this checkpoint, counting progress in inches, not miles.
Hearing the word “stabilized” feels like a finish line and a starting gun all at once.
Relief pushes through me, but so does dread.
Stabilized still doesn’t mean healed. It means surviving and I don’t know if that’s enough.
“You’re still blind,” he points out, like it’s not the most obvious part of my diagnosis. “Based on the notes by the physiotherapist, your spatial memory and adaptation have improved. Your balance is consistent with white cane use. That means you’re going home today.”
“Home,” I echo, testing the word on my tongue. I don’t know where home is or what it feels like anymore.
“For one night only,” he clarifies. “You’ll be transferred to Harborview Recovery Center for inpatient rehab tomorrow afternoon.
” Dr. Royce’s tone softens. “I won’t pretend it’ll be easy for you.
Sensory adjustment can hit hard. Your brain has been working in a highly protected environment.
Home will feel louder. Things you’ve adapted to here, such as routine sounds, won’t be the same out there. ”
My fingers find the groove of the bedrail. I trace it with my thumb, grounding myself. I want to believe I’m ready to leave the hospital and face the real world. But what if I’m not? Part of me is terrified that I’ll crash the second I try to stand on my own.
“You’ll need someone to go with you,” he adds. “That part isn’t optional—not with the risk of potential disorientation. Even if you know your home layout by heart, your brain is still adjusting. You’re not fully independent until then.”
My grip on the bed rail tightens as I consider my options. Em would show up in seconds, but would also hover like I might break. Jasper is busy with hockey. Same with my teammates. My uncle is in Paraguay on another work trip. That leaves one person. Ivy’s the perfect choice.
“I won’t be alone,” I finally tell Dr. Royce.
“Good. The discharge team will bring the paperwork and pain meds soon. You’re free to leave after.
Take the pills when needed. Trust me, you don’t want to spend your first night home without the help.
And try not to be a hero taking risks, Seaborn.
” His voice holds a flicker of dry humor at the end.
I huff out a breath. “Tell that to every coach I’ve ever had.”
“Recovery isn’t a game you win by pushing harder. It’s one you get through by pacing yourself and taking it easy day by day.”
The idea of going home, even for a night, sounds like both freedom and fear wrapped up in the same package. I miss my bed, but haven’t walked through the front door since my world shattered on the ice.
Dr. Royce’s footsteps draw closer. “This place isn’t meant to be permanent, Teddy. You’ve done the work and are ready to leave.” He pauses, his voice softening with warmth. “Let’s shake on that.”
I extend my hand into the space between us, a little uncertain, until his firm grip closes around mine. “Thank you, Dr. Royce, for all you have done.”
“No thanks needed.”
He leaves a moment later. The thought of calling Ivy here tugs at the edges of my mind.
She must have a million things to do before she leaves for Japan, but I want her there when I go home.
Not just because I need help. I want her to see my place and the version of my life I’m trying to piece back together.
“Hey Siri, text Ivy,” I mutter. The voice prompt beeps, and I let the words spill.
Teddy
Discharge papers are in. Royce says I get one night at home before rehab. They won’t let me go alone. Will you come with me?
Ivy
Of course I will. You don’t even have to ask. Today’s my last shift.
What time do I need to be there?
Relief crashes through me so fast it’s dizzying. She said yes without hesitation.
Teddy
Around six. I’ll ask about transportation, so you don’t have to drive us
Ivy
Sounds good. Anything else?
Teddy
Just…I’m so grateful to have you in my life. It means a lot
Ivy
Always, Theodore
A small smile tugs at my mouth. One word, and I feel ready to go home.
The cab rolls to a stop, and Ivy’s hand lands on my shaking knee. “We’re here.”
Here. The word sinks in slowly, not quite processing right away.
Not until my boot meets the pavement and the sounds around me come into focus.
It’s all wrong, the city sounds. Another door clicks shut, followed by the faint swish of the revolving door.
My building. The place I’ve called home since the day Jasper told me he was moving in with Vivian.
Letting out a shaky breath, I straighten my spine. Ivy walks around to my side and gently rests her hand on the bend of my arm. “You ready?” she asks.
I nod, and my hand tightens slightly around the handle of my white cane. I’ve been learning to use it at the hospital, but it still feels unfamiliar. We take a few steps together toward the entrance, and the doorman speaks.
“Mr. Seaborn. Welcome home.”
If I can’t name the guy after living here for a few years, what does that say about me?
“Thank you,” I murmur.
We reach the elevator bank, and I reach out instinctively.
My fingers skim smooth tiles near the corner of the wall, finding the call button.
Faint classical music floats overhead; I used to ignore it too.
I can picture my old self here, walking fast, earbuds in, juggling a green smoothie and my phone in another hand.
The elevator dings and doors open. We step inside. “Which floor?” Ivy asks.
“Twenty-four.”
After some of the longest seconds of my life, the elevator slows and settles. The swish of the doors marks our arrival. I step outside and take the right turn to my place.
Ivy slips the key into my hand as we walk to my front door. “You do the honors.”
I trail the wall until I find the doorframe, slide the key into the lock, and twist. The door unlocks with a click that echoes in my chest. Pushing it open, I step inside.
My cane taps gently ahead as I walk forward. I reach out with my free hand and run my fingers along the wall. Four steps forward, my shin grazes the hallway bench I had put there only a week before the accident.
Ivy closes the door softly behind us. “You okay, Theodore?”
"I will be.”
Walking toward the open plan kitchen, I let my fingers glide along the cool edge of the marble island. Pausing at the stool I always pull out, I trace the line of the leather backrest with my knuckles.
“I had no idea what I would remember, but it’s all coming back to me.”
I drift toward the living room and my knee brushes the couch. Circling it, I trace the edge of the coffee table with my hand instead of the cane, wanting to feel it under my touch. Sitting down, I pat the cushions and Ivy joins me.
“What’s the view like today?”
“Cloudy. Bare trees covered in snow. The lake in Central Park is still, kind of silvery.”
I nod, trying to see it in my mind, but I can’t.
Her voice is enough to fill in the outlines, but some details have disappeared even if I’ve spent days looking out of the same windows.
The harder I try to picture it, the more it slips away, like chasing something in a dream.
I hate that part—losing pieces of a world I used to know.
We sit shoulder-to-shoulder. My hand drifts down to the stitching in the cushion, and I let the silence settle.
“I thought coming home might feel like stepping into someone else’s life,” I finally say.
“Well, does it?”
“It doesn’t. Not completely. I still belong within these walls, even if I’m not the same man who left them.”
“Of course you do.”
I turn my head slightly toward her, the words thick in my throat. “Ivy…thank you for being here. For not letting me walk back into this place alone. I’m grateful for you.”
She squeezes my hand. “You don’t have to thank me, Teddy. I wouldn’t have spent these last hours in New York any other way. Tomorrow I'll fly off to another city, but tonight? Tonight I’m exactly where I want to be.”
Her words should comfort me, but all I can think about is how tomorrow will come too soon.
We have hours, not days, left together. It’s maddening, loving the nearness of her while dreading the space between us that’s coming.
I hate the idea of temporary goodbyes, even if I know they’re just that—temporary.
She’ll be back in my arms in no time, but the thought of letting her go to get to that point already stings.
I don’t want to waste another second on what I can’t control. Pushing aside every negative thought, I lift my free hand tentatively to find the soft line of her cheek. She lets out a soft breath. I lean in and kiss her.
She answers to the touch of our mouths with a whimper.
A hand curls around my neck, drawing me closer and deepening the kiss.
The need between us flares, until I can’t tell where my lips end and hers begin.
Our passion is spreading like wildfire through my chest and down my spine, igniting every nerve ending it touches.
It’s an all consuming kind of want that makes the rest of the world fall away until there’s only her.
I rest my hands on her hips and murmur, “I wish I could pick you up and carry you to bed.”
She laughs breathlessly. “I’m sure I can walk there myself if you show me the way. We’re finally all alone and don’t have to worry about getting caught.”
Alone.
I’ve been craving that—her—without the constant reminder that we only exist in borrowed moments. I reach for her hand and thread our fingers together. She rises first and tugs me gently to my feet. My body remembers every step as I lead her to my bedroom up the stairs.