My vision went fuzzy when it happened, so seeing it through the camera lens was hard to watch. I was a man-shaped lump of dead weight, getting my heart pumped by Sienna as the tide rolled in.
And then Ivy stormed into the frame.
The panic on her face when she saw me like that won’t leave my head.
She bolted, EpiPen already in her mind. She knew what I needed, where to find it, and how to use it. When she dropped to her knees, there was no fear. Only determination.
Right before she saved my life, she said,I watched a video.
When? For who? Did she watch that video for me?
I check my phone and there's no new texts from Ivy. She sent three while I was still wired up in that bed:
Are you alive?
Need me to bring you anything?
Tell me when you’re out, please.
And what did I do? One-word replies. Like I was going for a fucking award for Most Emotionally Unavailable.
Yup.
Nah.
Sure.
I stare at those three words now and wince. It’s not that I didn’t want to say more. It’s that I didn’t trust whatmorewould’ve looked like coming from me, in that bed, thinking about her.
She didn’t come to the hospital. Why would she? The event didn’t stop because I did. The livestream rolled right into Flipper & Flirt—singles mixer, drinks, and speed dating—and Ivy held it together. Of course she did. Ran the chat, gathered donations, and interviewed guests herself without missing a beat.
Without me.
I kept watching the stream until the nurse swiped my phone. The last thing I saw was Ivy interviewing some single guy(Daniel, I think),who had parked himself in her personal spacewith his all-too-friendly smile and even friendlier hands. He said her eyes matched her outfit, and Ivy’s face lit up.
Didn’t love that one bit.
I’ve been an asshole to her all weekend, and Daniel’s over there buying her drinks.
My jaw tightens.
I bet Daniel’s a real slimeball.
BING!
The elevator doors hiss open on our floor, and my heart kicks the back of my ribs. Every step down the carpeted hallway is a countdown. The hospital beeps are gone, but the silence is ten times louder. It’s a deafening reminder that I have no game plan. For the first time in a long time, I’ve got no read on the situation.
The “keeping my distance” vow I made at lunch is DOA, buried in the sand, and I’m not digging it up.
But what’s the play here? The last time I trusted my gut, Iended up half-dead on the beach.
When I woke up, Ivy didn’t just have her hand clamped around mine; she was gripping it like she was the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth.
All I know is—
I need to see her.
I move down the hallway one foot in front of the other, not entirely sure what I’m going to say when I find her.Thank youfeels too small.I’m sorryfeels too loaded.I woke up and your hand was in mine and I haven’t stopped thinking about it for five straight hours,is definitely not happening.
