The television screen makes Melissa's victory feel a million miles away, like I'm watching someone else's sister climb the fence at Indianapolis Motor Speedway. My chest aches with a strange mixture of pride and self-loathing as I watch her scale the catch fence like a conquering hero, her arms raised triumphantly against the Indiana sky.
"Look at her go," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd filtering through the hospital room speakers.
I should be there. I should be standing in Victory Lane, watching my sister make history in person instead of lying broken in this sterile hospital room with both legs suspended in a complicated web of wires and braces. The guilt sits heavy in my stomach, churning alongside the medication.
Ivy's hand finds mine in the tangle of IV lines and monitoring cables, her fingers intertwining with my own as she gives a gentle squeeze. Her touch anchors me to the present, pulling me back from the spiral of regret.
"Don't worry, baby," she says, her voice soft but certain. "You'll be right next to me when I win it."
I turn to look at her, surprised by the unexpected promise. Her purple eyes hold mine with fierce determination, no trace of doubt in them.
"What do you mean?"
She smiles that predatory smile I've come to love so much. "Exactly what I said. When I take the Indy 500, you'll be right there me."
Before I can respond, the camera cuts to the victory podium where officials are preparing the traditional bottle of milk. Melissa stands there, still in her racing suit, hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, looking dazed but excited. It's the happiest I've seen her in years, maybe ever.
Time seems to blur as I watch my sister's greatest moment unfold on the small hospital TV. The morphine makes everything feel slightly dreamlike, disconnected, as if I'm floating just outside my own body. I blink, and suddenly Melissa's drinking from that iconic bottle of milk, white liquid spilling down her chin as the crowd roars its approval.
"And joining us now is Melissa Woods," the interviewer says, thrusting a microphone toward my sister's milk-splattered face. "You must just be absolutely over the moon right now! Winning the Indy 500 on your first attempt, in your very first IndyCar race. How are you feeling?"
Melissa laughs, the sound slightly hysterical with joy and disbelief. "Honestly? I'm in shock. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this."
"Your brother Nick was involved in a serious testing accident here just days ago," the interviewer continues, and my stomach clenches at the mention of my name. "Did that affect your mindset going into today's race?"
I hold my breath, waiting for her answer. Beside me, I feel Ivy tense, her hand tightening around mine protectively.
Melissa's expression darkens, a shadow passing over her victory-bright face. "Yeah," she says, her voice suddenly tight. "I almost didn't want to race at all, honestly. It was my idea to put him in that car."
"Today's win is for Nick," she continues, eyes glistening under the bright lights. "I don't say it much, but he was my greatest cheerleader growing up. Even when I was getting all the attention and support, he never resented me for it. Just having him come to Indianapolis this weekend meant the world to me."
Something warm and unexpected blooms in my chest.
"How is your brother doing now?" the interviewer asks, her voice gentling with genuine concern.
"He's recovering well," Melissa says, managing a small smile. "The doctors are optimistic. I'm actually heading to see him right now. This milk bottle's coming with me, he deserves to be part of this celebration."
"That's amazing," I whisper, my voice cracking with emotion I didn't expect to feel.
The broadcast cuts to commercial, leaving me staring at a beer advertisement featuring happy people in a bar.
"We should grab her some snacks or whatever when she gets here," I say, turning to Ivy. "Like celebratory food or drinks. Make it feel more like a party."
Ivy's expression shifts immediately, her jaw tightening in that way that tells me she's about to shut down an idea completely. "No," she says firmly, her purple eyes meeting mine with unwavering intensity. "You're not going anywhere, Nick. You can barely move without those pain meds, and I'm not leaving you alone in this condition."
"I didn't mean I'd go," I clarify, though part of me appreciates her protective instinct even as it frustrates me. "I just thought maybe you could run down to the cafeteria or…"
"Absolutely not." She cuts me off, her hand tightening around mine. "I'm not leaving your side for some chips and soda. Melissa will understand."
The finality in her voice makes it clear this isn't up for discussion. I want to argue, to point out that my sister just won one of racing's most prestigious events and deserves more than hospital room small talk, but the look on Ivy's face stops me cold.
There's fear there, barely concealed beneath her commanding exterior. The kind of fear that's been lurking since she got the call about my crash, the terror that if she takes her eyes off me for even a moment, I might slip away somehow.
"Okay. We'll just be here then."
She exhales slowly, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. "Thank you."
The minutes tick by in relative silence. My eyelids grow heavy as the morphine pulls at me, making the room feel soft around the edges. I fight it, wanting to be alert when Melissa arrives.
"How long do you think before she gets here?" I ask, my words slightly slurred.
Ivy glances at her phone. "She'll need to do more media obligations first. Probably another hour at least." She looks back at me, concern flickering across her features. "You should rest while you can."
"Don't wanna miss it," I mumble, even as my eyes drift closed against my will.
"I'll wake you when she gets here," Ivy promises, her voice gentle as her fingers brush through my hair. "I promise, baby."
The sensation of her touch combined with the medication is too much to resist. I feel myself sinking into the pillows, consciousness slipping away despite my best efforts to hold on.