Chapter 39 Ivy
IVY
Missed call from Ivy
Ivy
Hey…I just needed to hear your voice.
Missed call from Teddy
Teddy
Looks like you’re out there being the kickass racer I adore. Call me when you can. Miss you
Missed call from Teddy
Voicemail from Teddy:
I’m guessing you’re already on the ice or something. Call me when you have a moment. Even if it’s just to breathe into the phone. I’ll take anything…fuck, I miss you so much, my light.
Missed call from Ivy
Voicemail from Ivy:
Hey, it’s me. You’re probably in the middle of PT or sleeping, I can’t tell anymore…I just wanted to hear you. Your voice makes everything feel lighter. Um…call me when you wake up? Even if it’s the middle of my night. I don’t care anymore…I hate being so far from you.
Missed call from Teddy
Teddy
Fuck this sucks
Missed call from Ivy
Ivy
I realized it’s probably breakfast time for you over there
Ivy
I miss you…way too much
Missed call from Teddy
Voicemail from Teddy:
Sorry I missed you, Ivy. I fell asleep waiting for your call.
I swear I wasn’t ignoring you…I fucking hate this time difference.
You being hours ahead spins my already useless math brain, which is exactly why I never became an engineer or something else expected from me.
Thank fuck I was good at hockey. Anyway, I just… I wish you were here.
There are way too many voicemails from the past month, all filled with quick apologies and promises of talking soon. I listen to the most recent one again, even though I shouldn’t. His voice fills my headphones, warm and familiar, and a low ache blooms under my ribs.
I swear I wasn’t ignoring you.
I know he’s not. He’s working his ass off to stay on track with his rehab.
But it still hurts, this constant loop of almost connections and missed chats.
The time difference feels like another ocean between us.
And I hate it. I hate that every missed call steals a moment I was counting on.
I hate that the only way I hear him is through a saved voicemail.
Pulling off my headphones, I fight the urge to throw them across the room.
There’s fourteen hours left before the start of the next race here in Finland, and I’m sitting at the hotel bar with a half-finished Finnish Long Drink in front of me.
The bracelet Teddy gave me for Christmas is on my wrist, reminding of him with every sparkle.
For the past month, the Circuit has been my main focus. Mornings in the gym, afternoons on the track, and evenings running drills until my muscles scream. I’ve sunk into ice baths and drowned my senses in music. Rinse, repeat, pretend I’m fine. Except I’m not fine.
Max slides into the seat beside me. “So are you gonna tell me what’s going on or should I start guessing? Better yet, I might call Mom.”
“I need you to mind your own damn business,” I snap, twisting the paper straw.
“Not my job as your big brother.”
Dean appears, his hair damp and cheeks still reddened from the sauna. “If you’re gonna unravel,” he mutters, flopping into the barstool next to us, “can you at least wait until the North American leg of the Circuit starts?”
“Not the time for your jokes, Dean,” I say between clenched teeth.
He raises both hands in mock surrender. “Just saying. You’ve been super quiet and distant lately. You didn’t even insult my playlist this morning, even when I blasted one of your least favorite songs.”
“I do hate that song you like.”
“You can be honest with us. What’s really going on?” Max asks.
“We keep missing each other,” I tell them, my fingertip tracing the rim of my glass. “Nothing feels right. And I miss him more than I can handle most days.”
Dean gives me a soft look he’d deny if I ever mentioned it. “Why don’t you call him again later?”
“I have tried. It’s like we’re on different planets or something.”
Max nudges my elbow. “Missing someone isn’t a weakness, Ivy.”
“I know.” Swallowing the lump rising in my throat, I shove back my chair and grab my coat. “I need air.”
“But don’t you—” Max starts, Dean’s eyes moving between us.
“Don’t follow me. I mean it.”
To my surprise, my brothers listen and don’t stop me.
Outside, the chill hits instantly. Fresh snow crunches under my winter boots as I wander the nearly empty streets of the holiday village. I pull my coat tighter over my upper body and breathe in the cold until it hurts a little—a good kind of hurt that reminds you you’re alive.
“I miss you, Theodore,” I whisper in the winter evening, my voice barely audible. “I really do.”
I take my phone out, thumb hovering over his name in my recent calls.
I don’t press it. Not because I don’t want to, but because I want to so much it scares me.
I don’t trust myself to sound steady, and I don’t want to put that additional weight on him.
He needs to focus on his recovery instead of my stupid tears.
Before I can overthink it, I scroll to Mamma Campbell in my contacts and press call. She picks up on the second ring. “Ivy, everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I say automatically, even though the word comes out too thin to fool anyone. “I just…wanted to hear your voice.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Mom mutters softly, like she already knows. “Tell me what’s going on.”
My breath fogs in the air. “I miss him so damn much,” I admit, because there’s no point trying to be tough with her. “And I hate the distance. We keep missing each other’s calls and it feels like I’m always one step behind or one step ahead.”
She hums soothingly like she used to do when I cried over scraped knees and teen drama. “Love doesn’t care about time zones, Ivy.”
“I know,” I whisper, blinking fast. “It’s just that every time I see his name on my screen, I feel like I can finally breathe. And then it’s a missed call, a short text or another voicemail. I’m trying so hard not to let it get to me.”
“But it does, because it matters.”
A tear slips down my cheek before I can swipe it away. “Yeah. It does.”
“Distance is a bitch, but it’s only temporary. You’re both fighting for something important right now,” Mom murmurs, voice thick with sympathy.
“I just hate feeling this vulnerable and off-balance.”
I wish I was one of those people who handles long-distance with grace instead of coming undone over a few missed calls. But every time the phone rings and it isn’t him, it feels like a bruise getting pressed again.
“You’re allowed to feel all of that. Missing someone you love doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.”
“Max said something similar.” I smile, even as my lips tremble. “When he and Dean tried to pry more information out of me.”
She laughs softly. “Your brothers adore you. Meddling in your business is practically their love language.”
“Ple-eeease tell them to keep their opinions to themselves. I’m begging here.”
“I’ll pass along the message,” she promises after another laugh. “But Ivy…don’t shut them out. And don’t shut Teddy out either. Just because the timing is rough doesn’t mean the connection is.”
I’m so grateful for her and how she always seems to know exactly what to say to pull me back from the edge. I don’t tell her that enough.
“Thanks, Mom. You always know what to say. Love you.” I really do.
“Love you too, sweetheart. Good luck tomorrow. We’ll be watching you bright and early, cheering so loud the neighbors start filing noise complaints,” she says and hangs up.
I tuck my phone back into my coat pocket and breathe out slowly, watching the cloud of air drift away.
The cold doesn’t bite quite as sharply now.
Mom always has a special way of settling the parts of me I can’t reach myself.
And for the first time tonight, I feel like I can walk back inside without crying.
The beautiful Levi course gleams under the pale winter sun, winding down the hill in silver curves. Max meets my gaze as we join the lineup of racers and I feel his worry. It sits heavy on my shoulders. He knows I’m off. I know I’m off. And knowing that he sees it twists the knife deeper.
My stomach rolls, a sour reminder of the zero sleep I got.
Sure, the call with my mom helped a lot in the moment, but it didn’t chase away my sad mood.
My chest feels tight, my head foggy despite the water and electrolytes I’ve been forcing down all morning.
Even my gloves feel heavier, like the weight of last night’s spiraling thoughts somehow seeped into my gear.
Every heartbeat is too loud in my ears, thudding like a warning.
Like every part of me knows I’m not fully here.
Max starts his turn, his movements perfection.
I watch him carve downhill like an instructional video made by the gods of Ice Cross.
It’s no surprise he places first in the men’s category.
The announcer’s voice booms over the speakers, calling my turn next. I step forward, knees slightly shaky. Tipping my chin toward the track, I tell myself to focus. I don’t have a good feeling about this.
At the whistle, I launch forward, blades biting into the ice. The first turns are smooth—more muscle memory than actual clarity. My temples throb with each stride, but I push harder, closing on the first jump.
I miscalculate. Completely. My right skate hits the ice at the wrong angle. I go down hard, the impact rattling my bones. For a heartbeat, there’s nothing but ice in my vision, cold burning through my gear.
There’s no time to think or curse once my body stops, all sprawled on the track. I’m back on my feet within seconds. I force myself forward, fighting for every inch. Each push feels like dragging myself through wet cement, but I refuse to slow.
Crossing the finish line, the nineteenth place blinks on the board. It’s far from what I came for, but it’s still a finish.
Max is waiting at the barrier, concern written all over him. I manage a weak nod in his direction, but the moment I step off the track, my vision blurs. The tears aren’t from the wind. They’re hot and humiliating instead. I swipe at them before anyone can notice.
My body will bruise by tomorrow morning, but the real ache sits deeper.
It’s the part of me that knows I didn’t do anything reckless last night—I just couldn’t sleep.
I couldn’t shut my brain up long enough to rest. I let the heartache mess with my focus.
And I can’t keep doing that if I want a shot at the top three.
But saying goodbye to Teddy isn’t an option, so I have to suck it up for another month and some days.
Slinging my helmet under my arm, I walk away from the finish area, the scoreboard glowing behind me. It screams that I screwed up another thing in my life. And damn if the thought doesn’t hurt.