[Ivy's POV]
Dawn creeps through the hospital blinds, painting Nick's sleeping face in gentle stripes of gold. I adjust my position in the uncomfortable chair, my back protesting after hours of vigilance. The steady beep of his monitors has become a comforting rhythm, proof that despite everything, his heart still beats.
He looks so peaceful now, finally resting after yesterday's surgery. The doctors said it went well, the first of two procedures to repair the damage to his legs. His brown hair falls across his forehead, and I can't resist reaching out to brush it away with trembling fingers.
"You're doing so well, my love," I whisper, though I know he can't hear me.
Twenty-four hours since his crash, and every minute has been a battle against my own worst thoughts. Each time I close my eyes, I see that mangled car, his broken body being pulled from the wreckage. The memory makes my chest constrict, like someone's crushing my ribcage in a vise.
My phone vibrates again, Blair's fifth call this morning. I silence it without looking. Whatever she wants can wait. Nothing exists outside this room, outside the gentle rise and fall of Nick's chest.
Cecilia pokes her head in, her expression as controlled as ever despite the chaos she's managing. "The press statement's been released," she says quietly. "Reaction's been sympathetic so far."
I nod. The team, the championship, my career, it all seems so distant now, like someone else's life I vaguely remember living.
"Thank you," I finally manage. "For everything."
She gives me a rare smile before slipping back out, leaving us alone again.
I haven't told the team I'm retiring yet. The words sit on my tongue like a secret too precious to share. But every time I think about walking away, about closing that chapter of my life, a strange lightness fills my chest. Not grief or regret, relief. Pure, unexpected relief.
My fingers find Nick's, careful to avoid the IV lines. "Maybe this is a blessing in disguise," I murmur, surprised by my own thoughts. "Not your accident, never that, but this... pause."
For the first time in over ten years, I'm not thinking about the next race, the next championship, the next mountain to climb. I'm just here, present in this moment, with the only person who's ever made me feel like I'm enough without trophies or titles.
"I can just focus on loving you," I whisper, leaning closer to press my lips against his forehead. "Maybe that's all I ever needed to do."
His eyelids flutter at my touch, and for a moment I hold my breath, but he doesn't wake. The doctors said he needs rest, his body has a long recovery ahead.
My phone vibrates again in my pocket, the harsh buzzing more grating than the hospital machines. That's the sixth call from Blair in two hours. A hot surge of anger floods through me, rising from my gut and spreading like wildfire through my chest.
I glance at Nick's sleeping form, making sure he's still peaceful before I slip out into the hallway. The fluorescent lights sting my tired eyes as I pull the door closed behind me.
When the phone buzzes again, something snaps inside me. I yank it from my pocket and stab the answer button, pressing it to my ear.
"WHAT? WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?" I snarl, my voice echoing down the empty corridor. A nurse at the station looks up, startled, but I don't care.
"Ivy, thank god…" Blair's voice trembles on the other end.
"I don't have time for your bullshit right now," I cut her off, pacing like a caged animal. "My husband is lying in there broken because I wasn't there to protect him. So unless the world is literally ending, I don't give a fuck about whatever you're calling about."
"I just wanted to know if Nick's okay," she says, her voice smaller than I've ever heard it. "The news reports are saying different things, and I was worried…"
"You're worried?" I laugh, the sound harsh and ugly even to my own ears. "That's rich. You didn't seem so worried about him when you were parading around with that walking Ken doll, did you?"
Silence hangs between us for a moment. I can hear her breathing, unsteady and shallow.
"Lucian's gone," Blair says, the words coming out in a rush. "I broke up with him."
"What, so you want…"
"I'm not trying to win Nick back," she cuts me off, her voice sharp with desperation. "I just... is he still in critical condition?"
I exhale slowly, the fight draining out of me as I lean against the sterile hospital wall. Through the small window in Nick's door, I can see his chest rising and falling in that steady rhythm that's become my lifeline.
"No," I finally answer, my voice softer than before. "He's safe. He's just... broken as can be. But the doctors say he should make a full recovery, given time and proper care."
Blair's sigh of relief is audible, a long exhale that carries months of tension with it. "Thank god," she whispers.
The silence stretches between us for a moment, not quite comfortable but no longer charged with hostility. I watch a nurse check something on her computer, the mundane normalcy of it almost surreal against the chaos of the past day.
"You're thinking of quitting, aren't you?" Blair asks suddenly.
The question catches me off guard, my body tensing instinctively. "Huh?"
"Formula 1," she clarifies, her voice taking on that analytical edge I know from our strategy meetings. "You're planning to walk away. I can hear it in your voice."
I pull away from the wall, pacing the narrow corridor as if I could physically escape her observation. How the hell did she know? I haven't told anyone except Nick, and even that conversation was brief, interrupted by his medication pulling him back under.
"What I do with my career isn't your concern," I snap, gripping the phone tighter. The fluorescent lights suddenly feel too bright, too invasive.
"You can't quit, Ivy," Blair says, her voice rising with unexpected passion. "Think about what you're throwing away…"
"Don't tell me what I can and can't do," I snarl, turning away from Nick's door so my voice doesn't disturb him. "My husband nearly died while I was chasing some stupid trophy on the other side of the world. Do you understand that? Nothing else matters."
"Nick will have this hanging over him forever," Blair says, her voice softening. "He's going to spend the rest of his life believing he robbed you of another championship. You know how he thinks, Ivy. He'll never forgive himself."
"Shut the…"
"Ivy, you're rich as fuck," Blair interrupts, her voice growing stronger through the phone. "You could easily hire a full-time physical therapist to travel with you for the rest of the season. Nick can still fly, can't he? Just put him in a wheelchair and bring him along."
I freeze in the sterile hallway, her words hitting me like a slap across the face. The simplicity of her solution makes me dizzy with possibilities I hadn't even considered in my panic.
"That's..." My voice trails off as my mind races ahead, calculating logistics, picturing Nick beside me at races instead of thousands of miles away.
"I'm not trying to meddle in your marriage," Blair continues, her tone gentler now. "But I know Nick. He'll blame himself forever if you throw away your F1 career for him. Is that the weight you want him carrying during his recovery?"
I press my forehead against the cool hospital wall, closing my eyes as the exhaustion of the past twenty-four hours crashes over me. The image of Nick's face when I told him I was retiring flashes behind my eyelids, the guilt, the shame, the quiet devastation he tried to hide.
"He'd hate himself," I whisper, the admission painful as it leaves my lips.
"Exactly," Blair says.
"Why do you even care?" I ask Blair, suspicion creeping back into my voice. "You'd have a better shot at the championship with me out of the way."
"I want to beat you," Blair's voice turns hard through the phone, "so Nick knows that sure, he might be happier with you, but I'm still the best racer he ever fucked."
The words hit me like a physical blow. My vision actually blurs at the edges, turning red with rage. My free hand clenches into a fist so tight I can feel my nails cutting into my palm.
I hang up without another word, hurling my phone against the wall with enough force that it shatters, pieces of plastic and glass skittering across the sterile hospital floor.
"THAT FUCKING BITCH!" I scream, the words tearing from my throat like jagged glass.
I pace the corridor, trying to contain the violent storm raging inside me. My chest heaves with each breath, my entire body trembling with the effort of not putting my fist through the nearest wall. How dare she.
But even as the fury courses through me, a tiny, rational voice in the back of my mind whispers that beneath Blair's disgusting comment, she made some valid points. Nic would carry that guilt forever, another weight on shoulders that are already bearing too much.
I glance through the window of his room. Even unconscious, his face looks troubled, eyebrows drawn slightly together like he's working through a difficult problem in his dreams.
"Fuck. I really thought I'd get to just finally relax for a long time."