Chapter 50 Teddy
TEDDY
It’s been two months since my surgery, and my best corrected vision is still considered legally blind.
Before the operation, everything was muted.
Now, colors and shapes are visible. My new favorite shade is the dark blue of Ivy’s hair.
I asked her to keep it that color a bit longer so I can finally admire it, even if the details are blurry.
The fact remains that I won’t have my vision back like it used to be. I have days when the grief nearly paralyzes me. I miss the game and the version of myself who knew exactly what he was doing and where he was going. I miss the sense of confidence that wasn’t tied to a thousand other things.
Ivy once told me healing doesn’t always look like getting better.
Oftentimes it’s about becoming yourself again.
I don’t know exactly what my future holds, but my goal is to keep finding color in the world around me.
More than anything, I want to keep doing life with her by my side.
She never glosses over the hard parts, giving me space when I need extra time to find my footing.
She also paints the world for me in words when I ask her.
Pouring a cup of coffee for Ivy, I leave it on the counter to cool and turn back to the stove.
I keep one hand on the counter’s edge until I find the handle of the pan, brushing my fingertips lightly against the side to make sure it’s centered on the burner.
The eggs hiss softly, a sound that tells me they’re close to being done.
I give them a slow stir, keeping my grip steady on the handle.
When the edges firm up beneath the spatula, I slide the pan off the heat.
The toaster clicks behind me, and I turn to grab the slices, spreading butter over them while they’re still hot.
A floorboard creaks, followed by the familiar rhythm of footsteps moving across the hardwood, making their way down the stairs. “Morning.” She wraps her arms around my waist from behind.
“Morning,” I echo, setting down the butter knife. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No, but the bed feels empty without you.”
Her cheek presses between my shoulder blades, and I reach behind me to brush her hip. “Coffee is ready and so is breakfast. Hopefully I’m not serving you burnt food.”
“I bet it’s amazing.”
“It’s still hot, so eat carefully,” I warn.
“I was born to live on the edge.”
I laugh and the sound comes easier. I’m fond of the upgraded version of me I’ve become with her in my life. We settle at the kitchen island, plates in front of us. The sun is starting to slant through the blinds, catching the blue in her hair, making it glow.
She reaches for her coffee and sighs. “I love when you make breakfast.”
“Save the commentary until you survive the first bite.”
“No, I mean it. It’s the domesticity I’m weak for.”
That gives me a perfect opening. “You know what else might make you weak?”
“Doing the laundry and mixing all our colors together?” she suggests playfully.
“Not what I had in mind.” I grin around the next bite. “But I’ve gotten used to you being here most nights.”
“Same.”
“Your toothbrush is in the bathroom. You now have two drawers in my dresser. Three if you count the one you stole when I wasn’t looking.”
“Mmhm.”
“I’m pretty sure my neighbors think you live here,” I add nervously.
“Is this your subtle way of kicking me out?”
“No. The opposite.” I shift toward her, resting one arm on the kitchen island, my fingers trailing lightly on her arm. “I want you here and not only overnight or when it’s convenient. I want you to move in properly.”
“You’re serious,” she breathes out.
I nod, my thumb brushing over the back of her hand, needing her to feel the truth of it. “I love having you here, waking up with you and figuring out my future with you. I don’t need to see every detail to understand you’re the best part of every single day.”
“Even when I’m leaving my gear everywhere and stealing all your clothes?”
“Especially then,” I reply, pulling her into me.
Ivy kisses me, tasting of coffee and toast. “Fine, you twisted my arm. I’ll move in later this week,” she whispers against my lips teasingly.
My heart flutters like a puck bouncing off the post. “Good, because I already cleared out a shelf in the fridge for your favorites and bought you extra oat milk.”
“You’re such a sap.”
“And proud of it.”
I hold Ivy’s arm as we walk, her stride sure and easy beside me. I’m getting better at navigating the streets when I’m out alone, my white cane helping when needed. But it’s still easier for me to go from one place to another with company.
Em is walking a few steps ahead, on the phone with her assistant, rattling off numbers and schedule blocks with the confidence of someone who’s been up since six and has reorganized a client’s life twice today. She ends the call as we approach a narrow brick building.
"This is the one you wanted to check out?” Ivy asks me as we stop.
“It’s nothing fancy, but I like that it doesn’t feel corporate and how close it is to home.”
Em unlocks a door and the scent of old paper and dust greets us as we step inside. The open space is one big rectangle of exposed brick, dusty wood floors, and tall windows letting in a generous amount of light.
"Not bad," my friend comments. “With some paint, new furniture and a rug to dampen the echo...it’ll be perfect."
Ivy slowly turns in a circle. "I can picture it. Posters of adaptive athletes on the walls. A whiteboard full of plans. Perhaps a dog bed in the corner?"
We’ve been looking into getting a guide dog, though neither of us has made the call yet. The thought of it—a partner trained to help me navigate the world—makes me surprisingly emotional. It’s exciting and terrifying, another reminder of how different life is now and how much hope there still is.
"So, pitch it to me one more time, Seaborn," Em requests.
I take a calming breath and picture the charity I’ve been planning during my recovery the last two months.
Then say, "It starts with community. I want it to be a place where people can fall in love with sports again or for the first time. I’m talking about adaptive training, mentorship, equipment access and visibility.
Kids who lose their vision or live with other disabilities might think they can never have this. I want them to know they can."
When the two most important women in my life respond with sounds of affirmation, I continue.
"I want programs connecting visually impaired, blind or other disabled athletes to former pros. They’re people who’ve played at the highest level and know the grind.
We’ll build custom training plans, bring in guest coaches and build confidence. ”
"Don’t forget stipends and scholarships for those who don’t have the money to chase those opportunities,” Ivy says.
"Exactly. We’re starting with hockey, but the plan is to expand. Skiing. Climbing. Running. Swimming. Whatever movement makes people feel powerful and comfortable in their skin,” I say, proud of myself for bringing such an important cause to Manhattan first.
“The gala next month is going to be huge. Between Jasper’s generous contribution, and all your former teammates donating and participating, we’ll reach the fundraising goal ahead of opening. We can double the amount if we play it right,” Em says proudly.
"The more we raise, the more we can give to the community,” I tell her, puffing out my chest in pride.
Walking further into the room, I’m standing in what could be my future office space. I imagine a big, wooden desk in the middle. Lots of laughter. A teen rolling in on crutches. A kid figuring out how to hold a hockey stick.
I turn toward both women. "Let’s do it. Let’s make this real."
The sun hits my face through the high window and I smile. This moment right here is filled with hope and positivity.
Em claps once, the sound sharp in the echoey space.
“Alright. My agency will sponsor some of the start-up costs such as branding, legal and digital. My team can handle the communications side until we find a professional to work with you. We have a design mockup for the website and social channels done.”
I raise my brows, surprise sparking through me. “You what?”
“I had a feeling you’d pick this place.”
Ivy chuckles. “She’s right. You’ve been talking about the floor plan all week.”
“Exaggeration,” I mutter. “More like the past three days max.”
Em ignores me. “It’s a joint venture. My agency will be a strategic partner. We have a few athlete clients who might be interested in doing monthly spotlights and adaptive sport clinics, helping with community outreach. That okay with you?”
“It’s more than I expected, to be honest.”
I’m overwhelmed by the love and support from my friend. I knew she would help, but I never expected this much. She already has a million things on her plate and now she’s taking on another project. I have no idea how she does it, but I couldn’t be more grateful.
“We’ll keep everything legally separate from the agency,” she continues, fully in business mode. “But there’s no reason we can’t share resources. You’ll have visibility, credibility and a hell of a support team backing you up. This is going to be big, Teddy.”
My head spins with all the information and ideas. Everything’s happening so fast. Even if I’m not playing any longer, Em still deals with my sponsorships and public appearances. We agreed that it was the best plan of action for the first year until I have everything with the charity figured out.
Ivy tugs gently on my arm, moving us toward one of the arched windows. “Now the real question: what will you call it?”
I breathe out a slow laugh. “Been stuck on the name for days. There’s no way we’ll use anything linked to Seaborn.”
“Good. Because the Seaborn Foundation exists and anything similar sounds like either a yacht club or an elite prep school for troubled boys,” Em comments.
I purse my lips. “Exactly.”
“Let’s make a list,” she suggests. “Names are a huge part of branding. We need a name that will be easy to pronounce and look strong in a logo. You know, Jasper sent me a text this morning with a list of ideas.”
“Oh god. Please no,” I groan playfully.
Ivy giggles. “Tell him to stick to the donations and naming rights for the coffee machine.”
“He’ll love that,” Em says sarcastically. “Seriously though, whatever we pick, it’ll be good, because the heart of it is right here in this place.”
Ivy leans against the windowsill. “Something about hope and starting again…what about Second Light? It sounds like a new beginning.”
The name makes me think of mornings— when I wake up and the world is not as scary as it used to be after my injury, when Ivy’s voice is the first thing I hear, when I remember I’m still here, and that’s enough. “I like it, but just not for this.”
“Why not?”
“Light already belongs to you,” I say quietly. “It’s your thing. I don’t want the charity to sound like I’m naming it after you.”
“Fair enough. Then what about After the Storm?”
Em glances up from her phone. “Too dramatic. Sounds like a self-help podcast.”
“Okay, New Ground?” Ivy tries again.
“Better,” I comment, “but still not quite it.”
There’s a beat of silence before Em looks between us. “What about Horizon Project? It’s about moving forward, right?”
I test the word over in my mind. Horizon. Something you can keep reaching for, even when you can’t see what’s ahead. “Yeah,” I say finally. “That’s it.”
“Horizon Project it is,” Ivy agrees.
I take another slow turn through the room. We’re standing in the middle of a dusty, sunlit building that needs work and love, admiring what’s coming together here. There’s space for endless possibilities.
Em bumps me. “Alright. Let’s grab food. You’re picking up the tab, Teddy Boy.”
“But I’m the charity,” I protest.
“You’re the face of the charity,” she corrects. “I’m the business partner. Ivy is the dream girl. That makes you the lunch guy.”
Ivy threads her arm through mine. “That’s only fair.”
“Fine, but I pick the place.”
“As long as there’s cake for dessert,” Em agrees.
“There’s always cake if I get to decide,” I add.
After Em and Ivy take pictures of the place, we step into the sunlight.
I catch the scent of warm bread drifting from the bakery next door and my stomach growls.
A dog barks from across the street, the sound blending with honking cars.
Ivy laughs and I loop my arm through hers.
My white cane keeps its rhythm on the sidewalk in front of us, and I lift my face toward the pale smear of light in the sky, taking it all in.
This is my life now. A little blurry, but full. So damn full.