Chapter 24 Teddy
TEDDY
Outside my family, Em and Jasper, nobody knows about my dead brother.
It’s a wound I’ve carried for years, a sore spot I often keep locked down because revisiting it does nothing but bleed me dry.
Still, I told Ivy how I grew up under the shadow of someone who never got the chance to live, and how I always felt like the replacement son.
The spare who could never measure up to the phantom of aspirations my parents pinned on a little boy who didn’t make it past the first hours of his tragically short life.
Every achievement of mine was weighed against what he might have been, every failure confirming the fear that I was never enough.
Now that I’ve said it out loud, I feel exposed in a way no helmet or pads could protect me from. But instead of regret, there’s a strange lightness in me. Like sharing it with her took a sliver of the weight off my chest. For once, I don’t have to carry the ghost of him alone.
Back in my room, the air feels stale compared to the recreation room.
Ivy opens the window and helps me settle into bed, fussing with the blanket longer than necessary.
The faint chill from the open window mixes with the subtle warmth of her presence.
She moves around the room, doing everything except addressing the thick silence pressing between us.
The fear creeps up my neck, scared she’s upset about what I shared earlier.
“You’re quiet,” I finally say, my voice low.
“It feels like I overshared,” she sighs. “I don’t normally have such deep conversations with patients.”
That catches me off guard. Overshared? I was sure I was the one who’d crossed that line, spilling pieces of myself I’ve kept buried for years.
Not her. What could she possibly have said that makes her feel exposed?
The idea that Ivy, the woman who seems so steady and in control, feels vulnerable with me…
it’s both surprising and strangely comforting.
Maybe I’m not the only one letting walls down here.
“Guess I should feel special then,” I tease, trying to coax a laugh out of her.
She doesn’t bite. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Say it straight, Ivy. I’m your friend, not a mind reader. I don’t have time for guessing games.”
Fuck, I hate using that word when talking about us.
Friend. I don’t know when it happened exactly, but somewhere between Ivy’s first steps into my hospital room and now, she stopped being just my nurse and friend.
But I have no idea what I am to her, and I’m too much of a coward to ask directly.
All I know is how everything feels better when she’s near.
“The problem is, I don’t think of you as only my friend, Theodore,” she whispers.
My breath catches. There’s no way she repeated what I thought a moment ago. I turn my head toward where she’s standing, lips parting before I press them shut again, trying to find the right words.
“Good. Because I don’t think of you that way either. Not anymore,” I finally say.
The confession crackles between us. Her voice trembles as she asks, “What do you mean?”
“Every time you walk into this room, it feels less like a shift change and more like life is coming back to me. I wait for your soothing voice and your light laughs when you’re not around. Hell, even the sound of you walking past in the hallway makes me breathe easier.”
The words leave me stripped bare. My chest feels tight, like I’ve taken a hit straight there, only this time I dealt it to myself. I don’t know if she’ll accept what I said or if I’ve ruined the one steady thing I have in this place.
Ivy sucks in a shaky breath, and I swear I can hear the way her composure cracks. When she speaks, her voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it. “You don’t know how much it means to hear that.”
“Then you should give me a chance to understand how much. I have no idea, so please tell me.”
Her protest follows quickly. “Did you forget that I’m your nurse, Teddy? There are boundaries, ethics, bonding over trauma—”
“What the fuck do you mean bonding over trauma?” I snap before I can stop myself.
“It’s when a connection forms because of intense circumstances. The brain confuses safety with attachment.” She explains, the words faltering, but all I hear is the fear beneath it. “Maybe these feelings are stronger because I’ve helped you through something traumatic.”
Oh, so this is how she wants to play this out. “So you think this is fake?”
“No!” she blurts out, her voice breaking. “I think what I’m feeling scares me, that’s all. Because it’s real when it shouldn’t be.”
“Then stop worrying about what it’s called and just be here with me. We can figure this out together.”
There’s a shift in her steps before she sits on the edge of the bed. Her hand brushes mine, and I grab it instantly, holding on like I’ve been wanting all this time.
“Okay, but I have to step away from your care team.”
“Why? It won’t be that long anyway before I’m leaving for rehab.”
She huffs, clearly annoyed. “You deserve someone who can treat you without bias. I can’t be objective anymore. Not when every part of me is starting to care too much.”
“So you’d walk away?”
“I’d still be here, just not officially in charge of you.”
She truly believes stepping away from my care team is the best solution. The thought of losing her presence, even in the smallest routines, feels unbearable. I sit in silence, thumb brushing over her knuckles.
“And how do you feel about it?” I ask, wanting to know if she feels even close to how I do.
“I hate the idea of not seeing you every time I’m at work.
When I’m away, I can’t stop thinking about you—your disarming laugh, your stories, the perfect way your hand fits in mine, and how you make me feel truly seen.
It’s hard to explain exactly what you mean to me, but whatever it is, my feelings keep growing daily. ”
The ground shifts under me with her heartfelt words. “Then kiss me,” I dare, my heart pounding. “Kiss me and mean every second of it.”
“I want to. But I’m at my work,” she says hesitantly.
A half-smile tugs at my lips. “I don’t see the problem when I’m the one suggesting it.”
“Theodore—”
“Kiss me, Ivy.” My grip on her hand tightens, every word vibrating with unfiltered need. “Before I lose my mind.”
She faintly brushes her thumb over my knuckles. It’s enough to make my pulse trip over itself. Then something beautiful happens.
Ivy finally says, “fuck it”, and presses closer.
The mattress dips beneath her weight as heat radiates from her body.
It seeps into mine, erasing the last inches between us.
Her breath ghosts across my face—warm, shaky, and impossibly close.
Tilting my chin up, I search for her lips, and then she’s right there.
For a heartbeat, the world narrows to nothing but the consuming touch of our mouths.
The kiss isn’t tentative. It’s a collision, hungry and inevitable, like we’ve both been waiting for this breaking point.
Her lips crash into mine, and heat sparks across every nerve in my body, a live wire surging through me.
Her lip ring is foreign, yet sexy, against my skin.
I kiss her back with everything I’ve been holding in—anger, longing and relief—like the only way to survive is to give my all to her.
A hand cups my cheek, tender where our mouths are frantic.
My fingers slip into her soft hair and I pull her to me, deepening the kiss until the rest of the world disappears.
It’s just us, breathing the same air and clinging to the same impossible hope.
The kiss carries her laugh, her fire, and the stubbornness that’s kept me going when I wanted to give up. It’s everything I wished for and more.
When we finally break apart, our breaths tangle in the narrow space between us. She rests her forehead against mine, and my thumb moves over her cheek, reluctant to let her go. My whole body thrums with aftershocks, like I’ve been lit up from the inside out.
“Damn, if I knew how alive that would make me feel, I would’ve kissed you days ago,” I rasp, voice rougher than I intend. My lips still tingle from the kiss, my chest heaving like I’ve just finished a sprint.
“And I would’ve let you. Even when I was trying so hard not to let the lines blur.”
“Too late for that.”
She lets out a shaky exhale. “With my training camp in Japan right around the corner, I have the perfect excuse to leave your care team that won’t raise eyebrows. I’ve already started handing off my other patients. This should be no different.”
There’s a faint hitch between sentences, like she’s trying to convince herself as much as me. The sobering thought of her leaving so soon slices sharp through my mind. “I hate the idea of being far away from you,” I say honestly, not bothering to hide my feelings with her.
“I know,” she murmurs and gives me a reassuring kiss. “But I need to go. If I don’t, I’ll regret it. It’s only three months anyway.”
Three months doesn’t sound long. But it stretches in my mind like an endless rink, empty and cold without her warm presence to fill it.
“So what does this mean for us?”
“We have a few days left before I leave. But this gives us time to focus on ourselves, you on your healing and me on the Circuit. When I’m back, we’ll figure the rest out.”
Her words are meant to soothe, but a strange mix of hope and fear churns through me. Hope that this thing between us is real enough to last, and the fear that time and distance might dull it.
“You know being with me won’t stay private forever. I’m not exactly a nobody, Ivy. The attention of the media and the public can get intense. People love to dig information and speculate. They’ll talk about you like they know you.”
She’s quiet for a moment, and I can almost hear her sorting through it.
Then, she says firmly, “I know what your world looks like, Teddy. I’ve seen glimpses of it from the outside.
And honestly? The idea of being thrown into that spotlight terrifies me a little.
I’m used to being in the background, not the one being stared at.
But with my racing career and being with you, it’ll all change.
” She lets out a slow breath. “I also know what I want and that’s us. ”
Her words slam into me with quiet force. She’s not saying it’ll be easy; she’s saying she’s willing. For me. Despite everything, my mouth curves faintly.
“Does this mean I can finally have your number?”
Ivy chuckles. “I can’t believe we haven’t exchanged digits.”
“Better late than never.” I reach for the phone on the side table and hand it to her. “Put your information in and text yourself.”
“What should I put my name down as?”
My mouth goes dry. It’s a simple question, but my brain suddenly scrambles like I’ve been thrown into overtime with no play drawn up. The words I want to say hover on the tip of my tongue, bold and terrifying. Fuck it, I’ll say them anyway.
“How about ‘my light’?”
She exhales a shaky gasp. The kind that slips out before she can catch it. “Oh, Theodore.”
Hearing my name in that breathy, disbelieving tone sends a shiver through me. My heart tightens, equal parts nervous and proud. I meant it. And from the sound of her voice, she knows I did.
Her nails click softly against the screen as she types.
I sit still, pretending this moment is not a big deal.
Inside, I’m reeling. I’ve never asked a woman for her number before.
One night was usually enough, and I’d move on without looking back.
But this isn’t about a night of shared pleasure or a distraction.
It’s about wanting her in my life tomorrow and all the days after that.
“There. Now you can’t say I’m impossible to reach,” Ivy points out.
“Good. I don’t plan on letting you off that easily, my light.”
She lets out a soft, incredulous laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet, you’re still here. A kiss before you go?”
She leans in and her lips find mine in a quick, fleeting touch.
With a soft sigh after, she excuses herself to start her rounds.
The silence she leaves behind should feel hollow, but instead it hums with possibility.
For the first time in a long time, the future doesn’t scare me.
It sparks something alive in me instead.