Gentle fingers thread through my hair, the sensation pulling me up from dreams I can't quite remember. The touch is familiar, warm, carrying that particular tenderness Ivy reserves for moments when she thinks I might be fragile.
I blink slowly, fighting against the sleep that makes my eyelids feel like they're weighted with lead. The hospital room comes into focus in pieces: the beeping monitors, the afternoon light filtering through the blinds, Ivy's purple eyes watching me with careful attention.
"Hey sleepyhead," she murmurs. "Someone's here to see you."
My gaze shifts past her, and there's Melissa standing at the foot of my bed, still in her racing suit. She's clutching the iconic milk bottle like a lifeline, her face split into a grin so wide it must hurt. Behind her, lurking in the corner like a ghost at the feast, Mom hovers with her arms crossed.
"Melissa! Congratulations!"
Melissa bounces on her toes, that infectious excitement rolling off her in waves. "Can I hug him?" she asks, taking a step closer to the bed.
Ivy's expression immediately contorts into pure disgust, her nose wrinkling like Melissa just suggested licking the hospital floor. "No."
The word comes out flat, absolute, leaving no room for negotiation. The protective instinct flares hot in her stare, that same fear that's kept her glued to my side since the crash.
Melissa chuckles, holding up her free hand in surrender. "Alright, alright. Fair enough." She shifts the milk bottle to her other hand, beaming at me with barely contained excitement. "Lil bro, guess who's joining Formula One next year?"
My brain takes a second to process what she's saying. "Really?"
"Cadillac gave me a deal after that win," Melissa says, her words tumbling out in a rush. "I just need to sign the contract and I'm good to join the grid on the newest team. Can you believe it?"
The news hits me like a physical force, cutting through the medication fog. "Holy shit, you must be so excited!"
"Melissa." Ivy's voice cuts through the moment like a blade, sharp and commanding. "Whatever you do, don't sign that contract."
The room goes silent. Melissa's lips part slightly as she turns to look at Ivy, confusion flickering across her features.
"There are twenty better teams," Ivy continues, her tone taking on that clinical precision she uses when discussing racing strategy. "You'd be better off in an Aston Martin [A/N: Lol] than a Cadillac. Your career will go nowhere if you join a team like that."
My sister cycles through emotions: surprise, defensiveness, and finally something resembling resignation.
"I can't imagine another F1 team would even want me," Melissa says quietly, her earlier thrill dimming. "This is my shot, Ivy. Maybe my only shot."
Ivy leans back in her chair, arms crossing over her chest in that way that means she's calculating odds and strategies.
"Realistically, if you won your Formula Two championship, you would have been my teammate with Zenith. They already assume I'm leaving next year. Blair will be primed to be a strong number one driver. Who knows, you might get a…"
Melissa's phone buzzes loudly in her pocket, cutting Ivy off mid-sentence. My sister scowls as she pulls it out, squinting at the screen like the caller ID personally offended her.
"It's my manager," she says, confusion evident in her voice as she glances between Ivy and me.
My heart skips a beat. The timing seems too perfect, too convenient. I turn my head toward Ivy, ignoring the way the movement makes my neck ache.
"Did you put in a good word?" I ask, hope creeping into my voice despite myself.
Ivy's eyebrow arches so high it nearly disappears into her purple-streaked hairline.
"No," she says, offended. "I would never. Your sister isn't very good at racing."
Melissa doesn't waver at Ivy's brutal assessment. If anything, she brightens as she brings the phone to her ear.
"Hello?" She listens for a moment, her features neutral, then her eyebrows shoot up. "Wait, really?"
A beat of silence follows.
"How much less?" Melissa asks, her voice rising slightly.
Whatever answer she receives makes panic flash across her features for exactly two seconds before determination replaces it. "No, don't even negotiate. Tell them I'll take it, I don't care."
My heart hammers in my chest. Ivy's posture shifts from clinical dismissal to sharp interest, her focus locked on Melissa with predatory intensity.
Melissa's joy returns, genuine and radiant. "Yeah, yeah, it's fine. I'd rather be on the best team on the grid even if it pays a little less. Who cares about the money?"
She nods along to whatever her manager is saying, practically vibrating with excitement. "Yeah, tell them I'll fly out to Cambridge tonight to sign." Another pause. "Yeah, alright, will do. Bye."
The phone drops from her ear as Melissa turns to look directly at Ivy, pure triumph written across her expression.
"Guess who just got your seat next year, Big Sis!"
Ivy's entire body goes rigid beside me.
"Don't ever call me that again."
Mom's voice cuts through the tension, sharp with disbelief. "Wait, what?"
Melissa turns toward her, looking thoroughly vindicated. "I know, right? The second I fire you, I end up way more valuable. Isn't that crazy, Mom?"
I brace myself for the explosion. For the cutting remarks about ingratitude, for the lecture about everything Mom sacrificed for Melissa's career.
But it doesn't come.
Instead, Mom's expression crumples in a way I've never seen before. Her arms uncross, falling to her sides as she takes a hesitant step forward. Then another. Before any of us can process what's happening, she's crossing the room and pulling Melissa into a fierce embrace.
Melissa's eyes go wide with shock, her arms hanging awkwardly at her sides. She looks like she's been physically struck, frozen in place as Mom holds her tight.
"This is everything I've always wanted," Mom says, her voice thick with emotion. "Everything I dreamed about when I was pregnant with you. My daughter, racing in Formula One."
The words should be touching. They should be a beautiful moment of maternal pride.
"All those years of sacrifice," Mom continues, her voice breaking slightly. "All those times I pushed you, drove you to be better. This is what it was all for. This makes everything worth it. My dream is finally coming true."
Melissa's expression twists into something I know all too well. Her eye roll is subtle, the same one she's been perfecting since childhood whenever Mom made Melissa's achievements about herself.
"Yeah, Mom," Melissa says flatly, extracting herself from the embrace. "Thanks."
Mom lets go, but she is still practically glowing with that manic pride.
"Yes, congratulations, Kendal, on your wonderful achievement," Ivy's voice drips with venom so pure it could strip paint. The sarcasm is thick enough to choke on.
Mom's posture turns instantly defensive. Her spine straightens, shoulders squaring as she turns toward Ivy.
"This validates everything I did," Mom says, her voice taking on that dangerous quiet tone I remember from childhood. "All my choices. All my decisions. I was right all along."
Ivy rises from her chair beside my bed. The air in the hospital room suddenly feels charged, crackling with the kind of tension that makes my chest tighten despite the medication.
"Your daughter is a third-rate driver at best. And she is not better precisely because your insane narcissistic delusions hold her back instead of helping her."
Mom flushes red, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "How dare you..."
"What?" Ivy interrupts, taking a step closer with that predatory grace that's both terrifying and mesmerizing. "You want me to beat the shit out of you in a hospital too?"
The threat hangs in the air, heavy and lethal. I remember the last time Ivy's fists connected with Mom. The sudden pallor in Mom's skin makes it clear she remembers it too.
"Whatever," Mom spits, already backing toward the door. Her retreat is hasty, undignified, all that rigid composure crumbling under Ivy's glare. The door swings shut behind her with more force than necessary.
The silence that follows feels profound, broken only by the steady beep of my monitors.
Melissa turns to look at Ivy, her good humor restored.
"Big Sis," Melissa says, her voice soft and genuine, "if only you could have joined our family sooner."
The words hit me square in the chest, carrying a truth I hadn't let myself fully acknowledge. How different would our lives have been if someone like Ivy had been there to stand between us and Mom's toxic ambition?
"Imagine?" I whisper.