Ti drags like a broken leg across hospital linoleum. The pain ds make everything a bit softer, but my thoughts remain razor-sharp, cutting open from the inside. Thirty minutes since my conversation with Cecilia, and the tension in the room has thickened to sothing you could slice with a scalpel.
Mom hasn't stopped pacing since the doctors left. Five steps toward the window, pivot, five steps back. lissa slouches in the corner chair, thumbing through her phone but not really seeing it. Cecilia stands guard by the door, a perfect statue except for her eyes, which track Mom's every movent like she's calculating the exact force needed to neutralize her if necessary.
No one's speaking. What is there to say? I've broken myself in spectacular fashion, and now my wife is throwing away the Monaco Grand Prix because of it.
The door swings open without warning.
Ivy walks in like she's entering her own kingdom.
My breath catches in my throat. Even after all this ti together, she still hits like a physical force. Her purple-tinged hair is pulled back in a severe ponytail, highlighting the sharp angles of her face. She's wearing her Zenith team jacket, the purple fabric making her eyes seem to glow in the harsh hospital lighting. Those eyes sweep the room with predatory assessnt, cataloging every person, every potential threat.
But her expression... there's nothing there. No rage, no sorrow, no relief. Just a perfect, terrifying blankness that makes my stomach clench tighter than any of my broken bones.
I open my mouth, but fear steals my voice.
lissa breaks first, rising from her chair with hands raised in placating surrender.
"Ivy, look, please don't be mad at Nick. This is my…"
"Everyone leave the room," Ivy cuts her off, voice flat as a frozen lake. “I’ll talk with you later, lissa.”
For a heartbeat, no one moves. Then, like a spell has been cast, they all begin gathering their things. No argunts, no protests. lissa catches my eye as she slips past Ivy, mouthing a silent "sorry" before disappearing through the doorway.
Cecilia follows next, exchanging a brief, aningful look with Ivy that I can't decipher. Mom hesitates longest, her mouth opening like she might actually challenge Ivy's authority in this mont.
One look from those purple eyes changes her mind.
The door clicks shut behind them, leaving alone with my wife.
The silence stretches between us like a chasm. I watch Ivy take one slow, deliberate step toward my bed, then another. Her face remains that perfect mask, but sothing in her eyes shifts as she takes in the full extent of my broken body, the casts, the bandages, the monitors tracking my vital signs.
She reaches the edge of my bed and just... stares. For a long, excruciating mont, she doesn't move, doesn't speak. Then I see it, a single tear escaping down her cheek, a lone betrayal of the emotion she's fighting to contain.
The sight of that tear breaks sothing inside .
"Ivy," I whisper, my voice cracking. "I'm so sorry I fucked up Monaco for you."
Sothing changes in her expression, the mask slipping, cracking, shattering. Her purple eyes blaze with a fury I've never seen aid at before.
"YOU THINK I GIVE A FUCK ABOUT A RACE RIGHT NOW?" she roars, her voice echoing off the sterile hospital walls. The sudden explosion of emotion makes flinch, sending fresh pain through my broken ribs.
Her hands hover above , trembling. I can see the desperate need in her, to touch , to hold , to confirm I'm really here and alive, warring with the fear of causing more damage. Her fingers curl into fists, then release, then curl again, a physical manifestation of her internal struggle.
"I..." I don't know what to say as I watch her co completely undone before my eyes.
"YOU COULD HAVE DIED!" Her voice cracks on the last word, the sound echoing through the hospital room like shattered glass. "Do you understand that? DIED, NICK! They called and said you were in critical condition!"
Her whole body is shaking now, tears streaming freely down her face. I've never seen her like this. This is Ivy stripped bare of all pretense, all control.
"I was in a plane for NINE FUCKING HOURS not knowing if you were even going to be alive when I landed!" She slams her fist against the wall, making the dical equipnt rattle. "Do you have ANY IDEA what that was like? Sitting there, completely helpless, imagining my husband dead or brain-damaged while I'm trapped in a tal tube?"
Her chest heaves with ragged breaths as she paces frantically beside my bed, hands raking through her purple-streaked hair.
"I couldn't… I couldn't breathe," she stamrs, voice dropping to sothing raw and vulnerable. "I kept seeing your body, broken and lifeless, over and over. I've never been so fucking terrified in my entire life."
She suddenly whirls toward , jabbing a finger in my direction, her face contorted with grief and rage. "Cecilia told you I said NO!" she shouts, tears streaming down her cheeks. "She told you exactly what I asked of her!"
The sight of Ivy crying is tearing apart inside, worse than any physical pain from the crash. Each tear feels like a knife twisting in my chest. I've never seen her like this, completely undone, vulnerable in a way I didn't think possible.
"I'm so sorry," I whisper, my voice catching. "I just wanted to prove that I could…"
"PROVE WHAT?" she screams, cutting off. "That you could die? That you could leave ? Your mother doesn't fucking matter, Nick! Do you understand that? Her opinions, her bullshit about what n can or can't do, none of that matters!"
She's pacing again, wiping furiously at her tears with the back of her hand. "The only thing that matters is you. Alive. Breathing. With ."
My throat tightens, making it hard to speak. "I didn't think…"
"No, you didn't think!" She stops abruptly, her voice dropping to sothing dangerously quiet. "You didn't think about what it would do to if I lost you. You didn't think about how I would live with myself knowing you died trying to prove sothing while I wasn't there to protect you."
She moves closer, carefully sitting on the edge of the bed, mindful of my injuries. Her hand hovers over mine, trembling before finally settling on my fingertips, the only part of not wrapped in bandages or connected to tubes.
The gentle pressure of her fingertips against mine feels like the only thing anchoring to this world. Her tears continue to fall, no longer angry but sothing deeper.
"Nick," she whispers, her voice breaking completely, "I'm so in love with you. So fucking in love it terrifies ."
The raw emotion in her words steals my breath away. Before I can respond, she leans forward, pressing her lips against mine with desperate intensity. It's not a gentle kiss, it's hungry, desperate, almost painful in its need. Her fingers trace up my arm, carefully avoiding the IV line, until they reach my face. She cups my cheek like I'm made of the most fragile porcelain, even as her mouth claims mine with fierce possession.
"Does this hurt?" she murmurs against my lips, her thumb brushing across my cheekbone.
"No," I breathe, lost in the storm of her.
Her tears fall onto my face, mingling with my own as we kiss again, deeper this ti. I taste the salt of her fear, her relief, her love, all of it washing over in waves that make my broken body feel whole again.
When she finally pulls back, her purple eyes are rimd with red, but sothing has settled in them. The wild panic has receded, replaced by a fierce, focused determination that I recognize all too well.
"You're never going near a race car again," she declares, her voice hoarse but steady. "Not even a go-kart. Not a fucking bumper car at a carnival. I can't..." She swallows hard. "I can't survive this again."
I want to argue, to assert so independence, but the mory of those nine hours she spent not knowing if I was alive or dead stops cold. What right do I have to put her through that again?
"Okay," I whisper, reaching up with trembling fingers to brush a strand of purple hair from her face. The movent sends pain shooting through my wrist, but I don't care. "I promise."
She captures my hand gently, bringing it back down to rest on the bed. "Don't move. You'll hurt yourself worse."
I lie back against the pillows, trying to absorb everything.
"When do you think you'll go to Spain?" I ask quietly, wondering about the race after Monaco. It seems like a lifeti away, but the F1 calendar marches on relentlessly. Read full story at novelFɪre
Ivy's expression shifts, sothing guarded replacing her earlier vulnerability. She strokes my fingertips gently, not eting my eyes.
"I'm not going to Spain, Nick."
"What?"
She sighs, finally looking up at . "I talked to Cecilia about your recovery. You're going to be in a wheelchair for a while, and you'll need extensive physical therapy." Her voice softens. "You won't be fully recovered for at least six months. The doctors said it could take as long as eight, even longer if there are complications."
The room seems to tilt around . Six months? Eight? My stomach churns violently as the implications hit like another crash. Not just Monaco, but the entire season. Every race, every point, every chance at another championship, gone.
"You can't just pull out for the season," I manage, panic rising in my chest. "Your career... the triple crown... everything you've worked for..."
Ivy shakes her head, reaching out to stroke my cheek with a gentleness that contrasts her fierce words monts before.
"I'm already a three-ti world champion, Nick," she says softly, her purple eyes eting mine. "The triple crown is still firmly within my grasp."
My heart sinks as the reality of what she's saying hits . "You can't…"
"I'm retiring from Formula 1 this year instead of next," she continues, her voice steady with conviction. "This way, I can get a jump on IndyCar preparations." A small smile plays at her lips. "Hell, maybe I can negotiate my way onto a team while we're in town."
The dication must be making slow because it takes several seconds to process what she's saying. She's giving up everything, her championship lead, her contract, her entire F1 career, for .
"What about the deal you made with Victoria?" I ask, rembering Victoria promised to build her a car for Le Mans only if she gave them four wins.
Sothing dark flashes across Ivy's face. She shakes her head, and I can tell there's a lot she doesn't want to say about Victoria right now.
"Let it go, Nick," she says, her tone making it clear this particular topic is off-limits. "We can talk more about this later."
I want to press further, but the exhaustion is starting to pull at again, dragging back toward unconsciousness.
"You're throwing away everything you've worked for," I murmur, fighting to keep my eyes open. "Because of ."
Ivy's fingers thread gently through my hair. "No," she whispers, leaning close until her forehead rests against mine. "I'm choosing what matters most. I'm choosing us."
I try to argue, to tell her she doesn't have to do this, that I'll recover just fine without her sacrificing her career. But the words won't form properly, slipping away like water through my fingers as the dication pulls deeper.
The last thing I see before darkness claims is Ivy's face, beautiful and determined, watching over like a guardian angel with purple eyes.
Ivy:
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