Chapter 15 Ivy
IVY
It’s snowing today. I didn’t notice it at first, focused on checking on how Teddy was doing; making sure he was comfortable, hydrated, and not in pain.
As I twist the cap onto his water bottle, the big flakes outside catch my eye, and I turn toward the window.
They float lazily past the glass, slowing time, even here in the busy hospital.
“It’s snowing!” I say excitedly and turn to him.
“I take it you’re a fan of snow?”
“Of course. Aren’t you? I assumed you would be considering you’re a hockey player.”
“You know what they say about assuming.”
The comment draws a laugh from me. “But it’s the first snow of the season!”
“Think we can go out there?” he asks, a hopeful tone in his voice.
My eyebrows shoot up. “You mean outside?”
“Exactly.” When he shifts, his movements are stiff. “I can’t see it, obviously, but I’d like to feel the first snow of the season.”
The words come out tentative and hopeful.
I do a mental checklist of all the things we’ll need to make it happen.
Wheelchair. The IV drip has to be disconnected safely.
Extra layers—sweatpants, hoodie, jacket, beanie, gloves maybe.
A blanket for his lap. I’ll also need to log where we’re going in case anyone asks. But it’s doable.
“Of course. I’ll get you a wheelchair.”
Helping him once I return, I guide his legs over the edge of the bed. He moves cautiously, but there’s determination in him that wasn’t there a few days ago. He eases into a dark gray hoodie while I pull the matching sweatpants over his legs.
“Should I wear my sunglasses?” he asks, bringing my attention back to the moment.
“It’s up to you. It might be too bright outside without them now that you can see some changes in light.”
“Can you grab them for me? They should be in the top drawer.”
I open the dresser drawer and find his Wayfarers beside a faded photograph.
It’s a candid shot of a younger Teddy with his Woodpeckers teammates in the locker room.
They’re grinning as they hold the Cup, looking exhausted and exhilarated.
The warmth reflecting in his eyes shows what the team means to him. It truly is his family.
I put the glasses in his hand and our fingers graze. His touch lingers a second longer than usual, sending sparks up my arm. It takes him a moment before he slides the shades on his face. Adding a thick jacket to his outfit, I complete the look by pulling a beanie low over his ears.
Once he’s in the wheelchair, I park him near the door, leaving a blanket on his lap. “Hang tight while I grab my jacket.”
“Don’t forget your gloves,” he calls after me.
In the employee dressing room, I tug on my puffy jacket and pull my knitted accessories from the locker.
A quick glance in the small mirror on the door shows my eyes brighter than they’ve been in days.
There’s also a flush in my cheeks that has nothing to do with the temperature.
I’m stupidly giddy to experience this moment with him.
When I return, Teddy’s smiling to himself excitedly like a little kid on Christmas morning, his hands resting on his covered knees.
“Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” he replies.
I push the chair towards the elevators as someone calls out to me. “Nurse Campbell!” I turn to find Ellie from the unit’s front desk jogging toward us, clipboard in hand. “Dr. Royce wants to confirm your two o’clock consult.”
“I’ll be there. Just giving a patient some fresh air.”
She glances at Teddy, her expression understanding. “Alright. Stay safe out there. They’re promising a snowstorm in a few hours.”
“We'll be back soon.”
The cold is the first thing to greet us when we step onto the rooftop.
I love the feel of it on my face after an autumn that never seemed to end.
Teddy tilts his head and a snowflake lands on his cheek, melting on impact.
Another follows, brushing his lips before vanishing.
The sharp lines of pain and frustration carved on his face over the last days blur beneath the flakes.
I watch his face soften, tension easing out of his jaw.
His mouth parts slightly in wonder. My eyes fixate on him and uninvited feelings flutter in my stomach.
“When I was younger and if Uncle Jake was in the country, he’d swing by school and take me outside during the first snow.
No matter how late it was, he’d bundle me up and say, ‘You’ve gotta catch the season’s first flakes for good luck.
’ I’d run around the yard of our private school with my tongue out.
He’d laugh and swear it was the most important tradition we had,” he says wistfully, a grin on his face.
“That’s such a lovely memory.”
“Most of my best memories include either Jake, Em or Jasper.”
A small smile tugs at my lips. “That says a lot about the kind of people they are. Holding onto the memories of them the way you do.”
He only hums in response. I take in our surroundings, looking over the edge. The trees that were bare only hours ago are now draped in a white veil, matching the rest of the hospital yard.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper.
“Tell me what you see.”
I shove my hands into the pockets of my jacket before speaking. “It looks like everything’s dusted in powdered sugar. The trees, the ground, even the cars in the parking lot. We’re inside a snow globe that hasn’t settled yet. The flakes are getting bigger by the minute. It truly is magical.”
Teddy exhales a long breath that curls in the cold. He tips his face toward me, the faintest trace of a smile ghosting across his full lips. “Thanks for bringing me out here.”
“Anytime.”
I mean it with my whole chest. If he asked me to wheel him into a blizzard just to feel something, I’d do it without a second thought.
“I didn’t think I’d care about snow this year. Not this way. But I actually do, because of you and your enthusiasm,” he admits.
Kneeling beside him, my hand gently covers his. “Good, because you should be able to feel the beauty in the small things even if you can’t see them.”
He doesn’t answer right away. The silence stretches, not awkward but thoughtful.
He turns his hand over beneath mine, palm up, and lets it rest there.
Not quite holding onto mine, not quite letting go.
His charming, dimpled smile widens as he tips his head back, letting the flakes fall across his face.
“I’ve experienced what feels like hundreds of snowstorms in my lifetime, but this one feels different. ”
“Because you’re paying attention to it differently.”
“Somehow this moment feels bigger than I imagined.”
I murmur a quiet “yeah,” the word carried off by the falling snow and wind. It feels small compared to what’s pressing beneath my breastbone, but it’s all I can manage. The hush around us makes it feel like we’re suspended in time.
"We should go inside before I freeze to death," Teddy jokes, but there’s an edge in his voice.
My stomach drops. I’d been so caught up in the magic of the moment that I forgot to think about what it might be doing to him. Guilt stabs sharp and fast, panic bubbling inside as I kneel closer. “What’s wrong?”
He shifts uncomfortably under the blanket. “It’s the cold and the light together, I guess. My head is pounding…I don’t wanna push it too far.”
“Shit. We better get you inside then.”
I tuck the blanket more securely around his legs and turn the chair back toward the elevator. The warmth of the hospital air greets us as soon as the doors open, chasing the bite of winter from our skin.
When we’re moving toward the neuro wing door a few floors down, a voice calls out. “Are you Teddy Seaborn?”
I glance over my shoulder and spot a pretty nurse from another ward, her eyes wide with recognition.
“Yeah, that’s me,” he confirms, the faint bite in his tone making it clear he’s not thrilled about the attention.
“I didn’t know you’d be out and about. It’s really great to meet you—I’m a huge fan. How are you doing?” she asks, ignoring his discomfort and continuing to fangirl, even as I try to steer us away.
Teddy turns his head the other direction. “I’m doing fine, thanks.”
“Thanks for stopping to say hi.” I smile at my fellow nurse, hoping to ease the building tension. “But we should get back to his room.”
“It’s surreal seeing you here. Hope you feel better soon,” she calls to our backs as I push his wheelchair forward.
The quiet between us stretches through the short ride. In the safety of a familiar space, his posture finally relaxes.
“Want help with your hoodie?” I ask.
“Sure,” he mutters. “It’s getting a bit warm.”
As I ease the clothing off, my hands skim the solid lines of his shoulders and back, the heat of him seeping through the fabric.
His scent—warm and unmistakably him—wraps around me.
It’s completely innocent and yet not at all.
His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, we just stare at each other.
Even if he can’t see me, I feel like he does right now.
“Everything okay?” I mumble.
Teddy blinks, lips parting. His tongue swipes briefly across his top lip and I track the movement. “Yeah. Just tired.”
“Think you can make it to the bed on your own?”
“I want to try at least.”
I steady the wheelchair as he rises, his movements slow but determined. Once he’s settled on the mattress, I pull the sheets up. “Rest up for a while.”
Teddy goes quiet, his breathing evening out as sleep claims him in a matter of seconds. Outside, snowflakes spin and drift, weightless against the darkening sky. I linger, pretending the only storm worth noticing is the one unfolding beyond the glass.