Chapter 32 Teddy
TEDDY
I’ve been with more women than I can count.
Late-night hookups. Quickies in bathrooms with the wrong people.
Sharing hotel beds with names I barely remember.
At some point, it all started to feel the same—meaningless and forgettable.
Anything physical was a way to take the edge off and silence my brain for a little while, pretending I wasn’t as hollow as I felt.
Until Ivy.
Yesterday replays in my mind on loop. I’ve been sitting with the experience all morning. Not just what we did, but what it meant. She chose me, finding me worthy of her affection. I didn’t know what I was missing until I had her in my arms.
For the first time, sex wasn’t just a sequence of movements. I felt it in my heart, too, rewriting the definition of intimacy. My body still hums with the memory of her like she pressed fingerprints into my bones. And God, I hope to one day have all of her.
I don’t know what we are exactly, but last night was real. No matter what comes next, she’s more than a random hookup. Unlike all the other women, I don’t want to run away from her. What happened between us was amazing, but not enough when it comes to her. I need her in my life every way possible.
It sucks that she’s no longer part of my care team.
I get why she chose to leave. She did the right thing, drawing those professional lines.
But that doesn’t make it any easier. I’ll miss the steady comfort of her presence woven into my daily routine.
The room already feels emptier without her cheery voice checking in.
There’s also an empty spot in the bed where she laid last night, curled against my chest.
Now she’s packing up for the Ice Cross World Circuit, chasing her dream.
I’m so damn proud of her, but the miles between us are heavy.
Maybe it’s what we both need right now—space to work on ourselves.
She deserves to give her whole heart to the sport she loves, just like I need to give mine to healing.
My phone buzzes, bringing me out of my thoughts. I reach left, tumbling around until my fingers find it. Holding the device, I command, “Hey Siri, read my recent messages.”
“You have recent messages from Jasper ?kerman. Jasper ?kerman said: ‘Hey brother, Happy New Year. How was last night?’ Would you like to reply?”
“Yes.”
“What do you want to say?” comes the voice I’ve grown used to over the past few weeks.
“Happy New Year. Exclamation mark. You pass out somewhere in a pile of glitter. Question mark.”
“Send it?”
“Yes,” I answer with a wide smile on my face, happy to be texting with my best friend.
A moment later, my phone pings.
Jasper
Alive. Barely. We had a fun time celebrating with the guys and their dates. Are you avoiding telling me about last night because something happened?
I snort. This is Jasper we’re talking about. He’ll take whatever I reply and turn it into a running joke that’ll haunt me until grave.
“Hey Siri, text Jasper: You could say last night was memorable. Full stop. Ivy is no longer my nurse and I might have shown her how much I appreciate the fact.”
Jasper
New year, new simp?
I roll my eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t unscrew from my skull. “Hey Siri, text Jasper: Shut up Jasper. Full stop. I’m not a simp. Exclamation mark.”
Jasper
YOU ARE NOW. Shrimp Teddy.
Another text comes in before I have time to react to his nonsense.
Jasper
I’ll be making a “Shrimp Teddy” graphic later tonight. Merch drops in spring.
What the fuck? Shrimp?
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I mutter, laughing to myself. “Simp. I said simp! Goddamn shrimp.”
Shaking my head, I picture Jasper cackling over this for the next decade. I might be better at the voice recognition thing, but it seems to have a personal vendetta against me whenever I’m texting him or my teammates.
“That’s it. Screw this voice-to-text garbage. He better call me or send a damn carrier pigeon next time. Anything but this bullshit.”
“Hey, Theodore,” Ivy says softly as she slips into my room later. “Thought I’d check on you.”
“I’ve actually been waiting for you. You here is the best part of my day.” The words come out husky, thick with the memory of last night, and I don’t bother hiding it.
She steps closer instead of answering right away, fingertips brushing the side of the bed. “You’re going to make me blush.”
I chuckle softly at the comment, the moment settling warm between us. Now that she’s no longer in charge of my care, she wanted to stop in for her longer break. She settles into the chair beside me and digs into her dinner, and my stomach gives itself away with a loud growl.
“Have you eaten yet?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I got distracted by other things.”
My mind scrambles for a way to talk about last night without sounding like a complete idiot. Morning-after conversations have never been my forte. I’m unarmed and out of practice.
“You shouldn’t have skipped dinner because of that.” There’s a soft clink as she says, “Are you thinking about last night?”
“Aren’t you?”
“I’ve been thinking about it a lot, actually.”
“Good thoughts or bad?”
“Both. Good because it was incredible. Bad because my brain is a traitor and keeps whispering that we fucked up the things between us. I don’t know how to explain it, but my previous experiences have ruined the trust in everything working out.”
That pulls me up short. Not because she’s wrong, but because it echoes everything I’ve been wrestling with all morning. “I was thinking the same thing. Well, not exactly based on my personal experience, but how it’s hard to trust that things will work out.”
“There’s one thing I know. I don’t regret it. Do you?”
“Not even for a second. I could never regret you.”
My pulse hammers like I’ve just admitted something bigger than either of us understand. Yet I feel comforted, knowing we’re on the same page.
She lets out a breathy laugh. “I think I’m a bit scared. I’ve had a handful of boyfriends, but I’ve never been in love.”
I’m in awe that she’s willing to bare this part of herself to me. I’m used to people hiding behind armor. Hell, I’ve done it most of my life. But Ivy hands me her truth like it’s a gift.
“At least I don’t think so,” she continues. “My bad experiences with dating made me believe I won’t experience that feeling. But I’m not sure that’s the case anymore. Before you, I’d never met anyone who made me feel safe enough to open my heart.”
The weight of her trust presses against me. I’m terrified of screwing up, but even more terrified of losing the chance to try. “Ivy…”
“I’m not declaring this is love,” she rushes to clarify. “I just mean whatever this is…it’s more than anything I’ve felt before.”
“I never cared or let people in. It was easier to keep things surface-level, keep everything temporary and shallow.”
“How about now?” Her voice is soft, but laced with curiosity.
“Now all I can think about is how you touch me with such care, yet you don’t treat me like I’m damaged. You’ve made me believe I’m worth the risk. It’s everything I never knew I deserved.”
What I really want to say is I could see myself wanting more with you, already catching glimpses of how good it might feel to share my life with you. But those words might scare her, so I keep them locked inside my heart. For now.
Her fingers find mine, threading them together. “You deserve so much, Theodore,” she whispers earnestly. “But I’m glad I made you feel that way.”
“I’m feeling all these new things but don’t know exactly how to put them into words or how to express myself.” I rake a shaky hand through my hair, wishing I could be smoother, but also knowing she deserves my clumsy honesty.
“I get that,” she replies.
“And I have no clue how to show you what you mean to me when words don’t feel enough.”
“I used to think showing you cared had to be loud with big, dramatic gestures. Crying at airports. Screaming in the rain. Barely eating for days because you can’t imagine your life without the other person. So maybe my idea of romantic gestures is a bit askew.”
I huff a quiet laugh, leaning back against the pillows. “You watch too many romcoms.”
“Guilty. I’m learning that feelings can start quieter. There’s no need for fireworks right away. It’s little things that matter at first. Like noticing how someone’s voice changes when they’re tired or remembering how they take their coffee.”
“Or how you hum under your breath when you’re focused,” I add softly.
“You tilt your head a little when you’re trying to hide a smile,” she counters, adding, “Like right now.”
“And you smell like coconuts.”
“I also haven’t missed how you get this tiny crease between your brows when you’re pretending you’re not worried.”
I love that she noticed, even if I had no idea. “Guess we’re both paying attention.”
“Maybe that’s the point: caring enough to notice.”
My chest aches with the need to tell her more, to reach for her before the moment slips away. “Ivy?”
“Yes, Theodore?”
The warmth of her breath brushes against my hand as she presses her lips to my knuckles. The simple touch undoes me. It’s soft and reverent. For a guy who’s spent years feeling disposable in the eyes of the two people who were supposed to love him unconditionally, it’s almost too much to take in.
“I don’t fully understand what this is, only that I don’t want it to end,” I admit in a whisper.
“Me neither.”
There’s so much more I want to say, but the words catch in my throat. So instead, I reach for her by leaning forward, and she meets me halfway. Our lips touch in a slow kiss. It doesn’t need to be more. It’s perfect.
When we part, she rests her forehead against mine. “I should go. My lunch break is ending in five minutes.”
“Don’t be a stranger.” I manage another crooked grin.
“I’ll come by after rounds.”
She leans down, brushing one more kiss on my lips, leaving the ghost of her there. I don’t want her to go. But I can’t keep her locked in this room with me, no matter how much I miss her when she’s not around.