Chapter 6 Ivy
IVY
Teddy glides fast and effortlessly across an empty rink, in his hockey uniform, and stops in front of me. He pulls off his helmet, his eyes finding mine and winks. The motion is equal parts trouble and invitation; my stomach flips like I’m seventeen again.
When he says my name, it comes out low and raspy.
I don’t so much hear the two syllables as feel them curling heat in my stomach.
He skates closer, bridging the distance with confidence.
His calloused hand reaches for mine, fingers warm as they slide between mine.
Everything blurs until it’s only the two of us in the center of the vast space.
The sweet smile that tilts his kissable mouth isn’t the cocky grin from the interviews, it’s only meant for me. He bends down—
I jolt awake. His phantom touch lingers against my skin, the ghost of his husky voice whispering in my ear. Then the ceiling of my apartment swims into focus. It was just a dream. Nothing more.
My phone won’t stop buzzing, the vibration rattling against the nightstand.
That must be what woke me from the hot dream.
I bury my face deeper into the pillow, hoping it’ll stop, but another message pops up.
With an annoyed groan, I grab the device and squint at the alarming number of notifications.
There are new texts waiting from my family, Kayla, and other friends who don’t usually blow up my phone.
That’s odd. We’re not a group that checks in on weekday mornings unless something’s terribly wrong.
Rubbing my eyes, I read the first of the family group texts.
Dean
Ivy, please tell me you’re on the team taking care of him
I can’t believe you didn’t say ANYTHING
Max
It’s Teddy Seaborn after all. Your all-time favorite player.
Dean
Bubbles, reply ASAP
Mamma Campbell
Leave your sister alone. She must still be sleeping. I’m sure you’ll have confirmation at some point today.
Dad Campbell
Proud of your work, kiddo
Wait a fucking moment. Has the news about Teddy and where he’s being treated leaked?
It can’t be. The information is supposed to be locked down, handled only by a select group of people.
My stomach twists as I leave the group chat, ignoring the rest of the unread messages stacked on top of each other.
I open the browser and check The Puck News, the site dedicated to the latest events in the hockey world. The first thing staring back at me is an official statement by the Woodpeckers organization pinned at the top of their feed.
Woodpeckers Official Statement
Following the incident in the third period of Woodpeckers vs. Beavers on December 2, Woodpeckers forward Theodore “Teddy” Seaborn underwent two emergency procedures at Easton General Hospital for complications related to head trauma.
As of this morning, Mr. Seaborn is awake and stable. Out of respect for his privacy, we will not be sharing any further information. We ask the media and fans to extend the same respect to Teddy and his family.
We are cooperating fully with the League’s Department of Player Safety and their review of the hit that led to these injuries. Player safety is paramount; dangerous plays have no place in our game.
During his recovery, the organization is in close contact with Teddy and his representatives. Our focus is his health and long-term well-being.
Media note: Please direct all inquiries to the Woodpeckers Communications Office.
— The Woodpeckers Management
I let out a shaky breath. The entire hockey world now knows what only a handful of us did yesterday. No wonder my phone won’t stop buzzing.
The screen lights up again with Kayla’s name, and before I can talk myself out of it, I hit accept. “Morning, well, I guess afternoon.”
“Ivy! Thank god,” she greets me. “I wasn’t sure if you were already on shift.”
“Not yet. Still at home. You saw the statement?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“Obviously. It’s everywhere.” She hesitates, her tone softer now. “So…are you treating your favorite player?”
“Kayla. You know I can’t disclose anything more than what the statement has.”
“Don’t Kayla me. Max warned me not to tease you, but come on. He told me about the signed poster in your childhood bedroom and how you never missed watching a Woodpeckers game since Teddy was a rookie. You’ve been a fan forever.”
Heat creeps up my neck, ridiculous at twenty-eight years old but impossible to stop. “That was years ago. Posters and jerseys don’t matter in a hospital.”
“Maybe. But admit it; it must be a little surreal.”
“I can’t think of him as my favorite player and former crush, not when he’s the patient at the hospital where I work. That’s all I can say.”
The comment about not thinking about him is a small white lie on my part. Still, it’s how I should be reacting to the fact that he’s at Easton General until he recovers. Yet after the way he showed up in my dream, it’s harder to convince myself I’m unaffected.
“You’re stronger than me. I would have fainted on the spot hearing about where he’s staying.” If she only knew the truth…
“Good thing you work in interior design and not in healthcare,” I murmur.
She chuckles. “Fair. Hang in there, Ivy.”
“Thanks for calling, even if it was only to get the information out of me.”
When we hang up, the silence in the apartment feels louder than the conversation. What was that dream about, anyway? Ugh, it shouldn’t matter. My head was just playing tricks on me. But the memory clings, stubborn as the imaginary warmth of his hand in mine.
I swing my legs off the bed and pad barefoot into the tiny kitchen before starting the coffee maker. The hiss and gurgle fill the quiet space. While it drips, I lean against the counter, arms folded, staring at the empty wall in front of me.
I’ll be going back to the hospital in two hours, facing him again.
I have until then to calm down, to remind myself I’m not the same girl who once cheered herself hoarse when Teddy scored in overtime against St. Louis during the Cup finals.
Not the girl who secretly followed every interview and replay.
That girl still lingers, but she has no place on his care team.
Mug in hand, I take a slow sip while I pick out an outfit for the commute.
It’s getting colder, so I pair Dr. Martens boots with my go-to black skinny jeans, a band tee and matching cardigan.
Today’s choice is the Nirvana logo with a yellow smiley face.
It goes nicely with my thicker faux leather jacket.
Getting ready after a quick shower, I brush coconut-scented leave-in conditioner through my hair and apply light makeup. Just mascara and lip gloss to brighten up my tired face. It’s a far cry from what I used to wear for years—heavy eyeliner long forgotten in the past.
“Game face on,” I whisper to myself, ready for another shift.
By the time I reach Easton General, the sidewalk is already clogged with reporters and their sidekicks with cameras balanced on shoulders.
Their long lenses are aimed at the entrance as though Teddy himself might stroll through the revolving doors any minute.
Microphones get shoved toward anyone in scrubs, every hospital employee a possible source.
Is Seaborn really awake? What’s his condition? When will he be released? Will he return on ice anytime soon?
I keep my head down and my pace steady. A few cameras swivel in my direction, hungry for a quote, but no one stops me. To them, I’m just another person walking into the hospital, and I intend to keep it that way.
After changing into my scrubs, I made my way to the conference room. I’m about to meet with the team regarding Teddy’s treatment plan, the responsibility feeling oddly personal.
Dr. Carl Royce, one of the senior doctors, looks up from a tablet and smiles when I enter the room. He’s a well-known neurologist who has worked with many high-level athletes during his thirty-five-year career. His expertise is exactly what Teddy needs on his road to recovery.
“Ivy,” he greets, his voice warm. “We were waiting for you. Have a seat.”
I nod, offering him a tight smile, and pull out the nearest chair. The scrape of it against the floor is too loud. Sitting down, I fold my hands on the table in front of me, trying not to fidget. A female neurologist clicks a pen beside me. A fellow neuro nurse scribbles into his notepad.
Dr. Royce clears his throat. “Alright. We’re here to discuss the case of Theodore Seaborn, also known as Teddy.
As you all know by now, the patient was brought in after consecutive hits to the head during a hockey game four days ago, resulting in a brain injury.
He’s stable after two separate surgeries, but the situation remains critical.
His vision is severely affected, and we’re still assessing the full extent of the damage. ”
He pauses, his eyes briefly flicking to every member present.
“We’re dealing with Terson’s Syndrome. It’s a rare complication where intracranial bleeding leads to eye hemorrhages.
We’ve started treatment to reduce the pressure, but we should be realistic.
His vision may or may not recover. We won’t know the full scope until the blood reabsorbs or he undergoes further treatment.
His best option is another surgery in a few months. ”
Dr. Royce turns to me, his brown eyes assessing. “Nurse Campbell, you’ve been in contact with the patient recently. What’s your read on him? How’s he handling this?”
Every head around the table shifts toward me. Meeting his gaze, I take a measured breath. I can’t tell if I’m meant to be objective or allowed to be human, so I aim somewhere in the middle.
“He’s scared and still in partial denial of his injuries. He’s trying to act normal, but the fear is there. I don’t think he’s completely ready to admit how much this is affecting him, but he’s a fighter,” I answer.
“He’s a tough one, isn’t he?”
I nod, smiling wryly. “But I don’t think toughness alone is enough to get him through the next several months.
He needs more than the medical care we can provide for his brain injury.
I suggest we find him a therapist. Ideally someone who’s worked with athletes and understands what it means to lose not just your health, but your identity linked to the sport. ”
Dr. Royce nods in a silent agreement. “I’ll reach out to Dr. Philip.
She’s worked with a few of my former cases.
She might be able to help Teddy while he’s staying here.
Let’s continue monitoring him closely in the meantime.
Until further notice, we’ll reassess his condition every few hours.
Nurse Campbell, I’ll need you to be extra vigilant.
If there’s any sign of regression in his movements, we must act immediately. ”
“Agreed. What about the press?” I ask hesitantly. “Any advice on how to handle them?”
Dr. Royce exhales through his nose and sets the tablet down on the table with care.
“It’s going to get worse before it gets better,” he admits.
“The statement from the Woodpeckers confirmed his location, which was careless and reckless on their part. So let me be absolutely clear: under no circumstances are we to engage. No comments, no speculation, not even a hint of recognition if they ask about him by name. Every inquiry goes straight to the hospital’s communications office. ”
A few people nod and scribble down the reminders in their notes.
Dr. Royce’s eyes sweep the room, steady and firm.
“We protect our patients first. That includes shielding them from circus acts on the sidewalk. If anyone feels pressured or harassed by the media, report it immediately. The administration will handle it.”
No one says it out loud, but we’re all thinking the same thing: this isn’t just another case. Our patient is a man whose face has been on many billboards, and now his recovery is playing out under a microscope none of us asked for.
By the time we wrap thirty minutes later, Teddy’s long-term treatment plan is firmly in place.
His sight may never come back and he might have other long term side effects such as migraines and mood swings.
Having his care plan in hand, I’m reminded that there’s only so much we can do. The rest is up to him.