Chapter 18 Ivy
IVY
The air of the nearly empty outdoor arena smells of shaved ice and rubber as I lace up my skates, the cold seeping through my practice gear.
I pop my visor down and let the start countdown run in my head: three…
two…one…go. My thighs are already sore from today’s gym training, but I shove off anyway.
I lean into the first banked turn, the ache in my right knee reminding me of an old injury. It should make me slow down.
Instead, I push deeper into the curve, chasing the sting. Because pain makes more sense than what’s in my mind right now. Pain is simple. You fall, you bruise, you rise. There’s a pattern to it. Unlike my deepening feelings toward a man who refuses to leave my mind.
Teddy pops into my thoughts no matter how hard I try to ignore him.
I’m crushing on a patient while praying I’m not walking into the same fire I’ve burned in before.
The attraction feels like the drop from the start ramp: my stomach is in my throat, gravity yanking me forward and there are no brakes once I’ve launched.
But the risk draws me in.
And that’s a major problem. Broken men bring challenges that have always been my weakness.
I patch them up, pour myself out, and tell myself this time will be different.
It never is. They never see the true me or how much I need to be cared for, too.
I swore I’d never let myself get pulled into that cycle again.
So why does my pulse sprint the second his dimple shows?
Why do I crave the way his walls go down when we’re alone?
Sure, it might be harsh to put Teddy in the same box as my ex-flings, but we met because he’s my patient.
If that’s not at least mildly broken, then I’ve seriously misjudged my scale.
The boards blur in my peripheral vision as I throw myself into another lap, skating recklessly.
Every crash I’ve ever taken flashes through me like old bruises, but at least when I hit the ice, I know why I fell.
On the track, the risks are clean and the consequences straightforward.
There are no games or messy entanglements.
Not like with men and matters of the heart.
I push myself, running the track again and again, until sweat slicks the back of my neck and the metallic taste lingers on my tongue.
Only when my legs threaten to give out do I finally stop.
Tugging my helmet off, strands of sweaty hair stick to my forehead.
My reflection stares back from the windows of the building housing the dressing rooms—I’m the girl who’s supposed to know better.
Hell, I’ve lectured other nurses about boundaries; I’ve given myself the same talk, but it isn’t sticking.
My mind veers to Teddy again—his laugh, his stupid charm, and how his voice softens when he lets me see the cracks. I tell myself not to think about him. That I’m just setting myself up for another fall. But standing here, I realize I’m already tipping over the edge.
I should go straight home and ice my body. Practice totally wiped me out. My legs are overcooked noodles, and my ribs ache from when I clipped the barrier on a downhill turn. Every breath I take carries a reminder: you’re human.
Instead, I drive three extra blocks to Hudson Hash Diner. The Queens location is open all night, with the flickering sign promising the best pancakes in all of the five boroughs. The large windows are fogged with steam, and the scent of sizzling butter wraps around me the second I step inside.
“Two portions of plain pancakes with butter and maple syrup to go, please,” I tell the guy behind the counter, sliding a tip into the jar.
In a matter of minutes, I’m in my car with a brown paper bag warming my lap, wearing my post-shower hoodie and joggers, my hair damp from a rushed rinse at the arena.
Checking the time, I wince. It’s technically after visiting hours, but I know who’s working tonight. And I know Teddy, he’ll be happy to get his pancakes. He’s not expecting me; but once practice ended, all I wanted was to see him.
Thirty minutes later, I nod at Samson, one of the other nurses, sitting behind the desk.
He spots the bag in my hand and gives me a look screaming “girl, really?” before offering a resigned wave-through.
Thank fuck he’s not the gossiping kind, so the rest of the nurses won’t hear about my surprise visit.
I knock once, letting myself into Teddy’s room. He’s upright in bed, looking toward the door.
“Hey,” I say softly. “In the mood for a visitor?”
His handsome face breaks into a smile, that damn dimple showing. “Ivy? I thought you weren’t working today.”
“Decided to make a visit outside my hours, if you don’t mind.” Stepping inside, I hold up the bag. “I brought contraband, too.”
He sits up straighter, the movement slow. “What kind?”
“The best kind.” I set the bag on the tray table and start unpacking, popping the lid off the Styrofoam container. “Plain pancakes with butter and maple syrup.”
“You remembered.”
He inhales deeply, the way people do when a good meal is set down in front of them, savoring the scent. A pleased groan rumbles out of him as he rubs his hands together, boyish and unguarded.
My heart does the annoying thing where it skips when he’s around. “Of course I did. Who forgets a man’s pancake preferences?”
He laughs in agreement and reaches for the fork I hand him, devouring his favorite food. His moans of enjoyment should be illegal. “Did you make these?” he asks between large bites. “They’re so damn good. Reminds me of the ones my Uncle Jake makes.”
“I did not. Unless I was secretly hired by Hudson Hash, and no one told me.”
“I’ve heard they offer the best diner pancakes on the other side of the river, but I haven’t been there.”
“They’re my post-practice reward.” I settle into the chair beside him with my portion. “Though I don’t usually share.”
“Practice.” He echoes, tilting his head curiously. “What practice?”
I exhale through my nose. “Ice Cross.” This is the part where people usually blink at me like I’ve grown a second head.
“Ice what?” He sets the fork down and wipes his mouth with a napkin.
“Ice Cross,” I repeat. “It’s downhill skating. Basically no-contact sprints on a vertical ice track. Think luge meets roller derby meets ice hockey on crack.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of it before.” Teddy blinks, processing the information. “Let me get this straight: you’re a nurse and an Ice Cross star?”
I snort. “I’m definitely a nurse. The other part is debatable. I’m only starting my second season next month.”
“What does an Ice Cross season look like?”
“Everything happens in under three months, so pretty packed,” I explain. “We’ve got a week-long training camp in Japan in early January, then ten races—five in Europe and five in North America. There’s twenty women and twenty men. The races are televised.”
“Sounds intense.”
“It is,” I admit with a smile. “It’s not exactly the kind of sport that pays a lot, especially women.
Since it’s only starting to gain popularity, we get paid for competing and a bonus based on final rankings.
If you’re not in the top five, it’s not a whole lot.
I’ve got one sponsor, Blackbeard Energy Drinks.
The company covers my flights and some of my accommodations when we’re on the road.
Hence, I’m a nurse by day, semi-pro ice maniac by night. ”
“No way! I’ve been sponsored by Blackbeard for years, too. Their CEO is a friend of mine. That’s such a cool connection.” He’s grinning now. “What else haven’t you told me? You bench press ambulances in your free time?”
“Only on weekends,” I deadpan.
He laughs, shaking his head. “You don’t strike me as the type to hurl yourself down an icy death slide for fun. That’s so wild.”
“What do I seem like then?”
“I don’t know yet.” There’s a flicker of vulnerability behind the words. “But I want to.”
His confession steals the breath from my lungs. I look away, suddenly hyper-aware of the small room and the closeness between us. My earlier thoughts flood my mind and I have to move the conversation to another direction.
“Well, now you know I'm a daredevil.”
“It’s a bit strange how you’re helping me recover from my injury, while taking big risks that could put you in a similar situation.”
The comment annoys me as I thought he, of all people, would understand the thrill. “You did the same thing every time you stepped on ice, so what makes my choice any different?”
“The difference is, I signed a contract knowing I’d get slammed into the boards for a living. It was the job. Doesn’t make it smart, but it made sense.”
I bristle at his words. “Oh, so getting paid a lot makes the difference then? Wonderful.”
“That’s not what I meant, Ivy. Fuck.” He runs a hand through his hair, agitated. “I’m trying my best to process the information you just dropped, and it freaks me out a little, okay?”
“Why?” I ask, point-blank.
“I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
My pulse jumps, part irritation, part something stupidly hopeful. I’ve been spiraling over my thoughts of him, and now he says that?
“When I started training for Ice Cross, everyone said I was out of my mind. They warned me of the risks, and called it reckless like you just did. But you have to understand, I’m more myself on the ice than anywhere else. Even more than at the hospital.”
“Why’d you start?”
No one has asked me that before. How to put into words everything downhill racing means to me?
“Because…” I trail off. “Because I needed control and something completely different from my normal life. Being a nurse means you’re constantly on alert.
You give your everything, and some days it’s not enough.
You go home and all you can think about is who didn’t make it, or who’s barely hanging on. ”