Warmth hit my cheek at the same time the arms around me swarmed me. Ivan whispered, his lips against my earlobe, “You’re going to win. We’re going to win—”
I choked.
“—and even if we don’t, you’re as far away from being a loser as anybody can get, so shut up. I’m sure your mom doesn’t feel like it was worth nothing. I’ve seen her watching you before. I’ve seen you before. There’s no way anyone would see you on the ice and think there was a price limit on it,” he suggested.
I squeezed my eyes closed and held back the next choke crawling up my throat, and I felt like I was dying all over again. “Ivan…”
“Don’t ‘Ivan’ me. We’re going to win,” he whispered into my ear. “Don’t give me this bullshit about you being a loser either. I don’t win every time. Nobody does. And yeah, it isn’t fun, but only a quitter says things like that. A quitter gives up and really does make that kind of statement come true. You’re only a loser if you give up. Are you a quitter now? After everything? After all those broken bones and falls, you’re going to quit now?”
I didn’t say anything.
“You giving up, Meatball?” he asked, rocking me back into him.
I said nothing.
“These young girls quit right after they win gold medals because they’re scared of losing after that. You say nobody remembers second place, but no one remembers the girls that win once and disappear afterward either. The girl I know, the Jasmine I know, isn’t scared of shit. She doesn’t give up, and that’s the girl people will always remember. The one who is there time after time. You’d win and keep trying to win afterward. That’s the girl I know. The one I partnered up with. The one I think is the best—and you better not ever ask me to repeat that because I won’t. I don’t know what happened to you earlier, but whatever it was, you need to move past it. You need to remember what you’re capable of. What you are. You make every sacrifice worth it. You make every penny worth it. Do you understand me?”
Understand him?
“Just let me go,” I croaked. “Please.” Please. Please. Out of my mouth. Jesus Christ.
He didn’t. Of course he didn’t. “Do you understand me?”
I dipped my chin and kept my mouth closed, my organs burning up and melting.
Ivan’s sigh went over my ear, and he squeezed me in that hug I hadn’t wanted but didn’t want to leave now. “Jasmine, you’re not a loser.” What had to be his chin touched my ear because it prickled. “Not years ago, not last week, not today, not tomorrow. Not ever. Winning isn’t everything.”
The snort out of me burned. It was so easy for him to say that. To think it.
And in that Ivan way, he knew what I was thinking because he said, “Some of the unhappiest times in my life have been after big wins. Your family loves you. All they want is for you to be happy.”
“I know that,” I whispered, hating how weak I sounded, but not able to do anything to change it.
I was miserable. More miserable than even after Paul left. More miserable than maybe after I realized my dad was moving away.
“You and me will give them that. Understand me?”
A sob tried to crawl out of my throat, but I kept it in, and I buried it. Buried it so deep I wasn’t going to risk ruining this chance by replying. Because this was enough. This was too much.
And I was miserable.
“That night I had dinner at your house, the second thing your mom said to me was, I can make things look like an accident,” he murmured, and I froze. “When I was leaving that night, your brother’s husband told me that you’re like his little sister and that he hoped I’d treat you with the same respect I would treat my little sister. And your sister Ruby randomly whispered that her husband was in the army for over ten years. I think she meant it as a threat.
“And both your brother and your sister said that you have experience digging holes to put bodies into,” he finished, his voice still gentle. “They sounded proud of it. Real proud of it, Jasmine.”
I blinked, and then I blinked some more. This… something, just barely replacing the burn going on inside of me. Not much, but it was enough for the weight on my chest to lift just enough for me to feel like maybe I could breathe again sometime soon. Maybe in a year. Maybe in two. Because that was my family.
And Ivan’s next words wrecked some more of that feeling eating me up slowly.
“They understand, Jasmine,” he kept going. “How can you think you haven’t done anything when they care about you so much? They admire you. They were bragging about how tough you are. How resilient you are. There are girls at the rink who light up every single time you walk by. You’ve probably changed their lives and inspired them by showing up here day after day, staying true to yourself, not letting anybody talk you out of anything. Not even me. I don’t know what you consider a loser, but those aren’t the kind of traits that come to my mind when I think of with that word.”
I ducked my head and bit my lip, my words lost, my mind too slow to process everything.
And then he finished me off.
“You and me, Meatball. We’re going to win if that’s what you need. Understand me?”
Chapter 12
“I think we’re done for the day,” Coach Lee called out from her spot a couple feet away from where I’d landed after a throw.
Breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, trying to keep from panting after a practice that had made me sweat so much the L and R on my hands had started to fade, I nodded. It was time. I was tired, and I knew Ivan was too. I’d felt how deep into his reserves he’d had to dig to throw me that last time.
Plus, it didn’t help that I’d slept like shit. It also didn’t help that we’d been so busy at the diner that morning that I hadn’t gotten a chance to even take a break. I’d overdone it the night before. Inside and outside, and my body hadn’t forgiven me for not treating it as well as I usually did.
I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about my choices—about what I wanted to do and needed to do—and… if I was going to be honest with myself, I’d thought more about Ivan’s kindness than I would have ever expected. He’d probably hugged me for ten minutes straight as I’d calmed down and slowly, in tiny bits and pieces, gotten grounded.
He hadn’t asked what upset me. He hadn’t teased me for it. At some point, he had just let me go while I finished drinking my hot cocoa and then taken the cup from me to wash and set beside the sink. Then he’d followed me to the empty changing room, waited for me to grab my things…
And he’d followed me home.
We hadn’t said much to each other, and I wasn’t sure if it was just because he knew I was in my head or if he didn’t know what to think about me losing my shit. Honestly, I wasn’t sure either. The one thing I did know was that if Ivan thought I was going to be embarrassed the next day, he had to have been real fucking surprised when I wasn’t.
I could see it in his face every time he looked at me. Those crystal clear almost sky blue eyes roamed over my face every time we were in front of each other. For one tiny millisecond the first time I caught him watching me, I thought about looking away.
But I didn’t. I refused to.
Because to do that would say I was ashamed that he’d found me like that, that he’d heard and watched me damn near cry, which was almost as bad. And one of the best lessons I’d ever learned figure skating was that when you fell, you got right back up and acted like nothing had happened to begin with. You made things important, or you didn’t. And if you got up and smiled and held your head up high… you still had your dignity.
And I was going to squeeze the shit out of my dignity with both hands.
At least what was left of it.
We were friends. And sometimes friends lost their shit around each other. At least that’s what I figured.
“Take it easy and get some rest, Jasmine,” Coach Lee said as she skated toward me and gave me a serious, lingering look.
I forgot she had be
en the one Galina had called the night before. I only managed to nod. What else could I say or do?
“See you tomorrow bright and early,” she finished, touching her fingertips to my shoulder for a brief moment before dropping them and skating away.
Planting my hands on my hips, I kept trying to catch my breath as I looked around the ice, taking in the six other people still practicing, taking advantage of the last few minutes before the private ice time was over and it opened up for group lessons. I spotted Galina almost immediately sitting at the same spot she used to sit in when it was me and her, her chin resting on the folded hands she had on the wall. Her gaze was on the teenager going through a sequence of arm movements a few feet away.
“Am I invited to dinner tonight?” Ivan’s question came from behind me.
I blinked and turned to look at him over my shoulder. He had started off practice wearing a dark green fleece pullover, but had stripped it off about an hour ago, leaving him in fitted black sweatpants and a light gray long-sleeved shirt with patches of dark damp material along his chest and abs. Maybe I hadn’t slept well, but from the lack of bags under his eyes, he hadn’t had the same problem. His face was as clear and bright as always.
Lucky shit.
Breathing in through my nose, I pressed my lips together for a moment, and just as I was about to shrug, I nodded instead. I owed him that much. He deserved that much. “If you don’t have anything else to do,” I said, making sure my voice was nice and even.
Ivan nodded. “Not until later.”
What did he have to do later? I wondered.
“I’ll follow you home then,” he said, sounding just like he always did… without the sarcasm. “If you can manage not to drive like a psycho, that would be nice.”
And there we went.
“I drive the speed limit.”
Those thick, dark eyelashes swung over his eyes. “Is that what you call going ten over?”
I made a face. “I’ve never gotten a ticket.”
“Uh-huh.”
I rolled my eyes and just barely managed not to shoot him a dirty look. “I’ll wait for you by the front doors, sock boy.”
One corner of his mouth twitched… but he dipped his chin.
He blinked at me.
And I blinked right back at him.
Then the other corner of his mouth twitched too.
“You suck,” I said before I could stop myself.
“You suck more,” he replied before starting to skate backward. “Meet you in ten.”
I scrunched up my nose and made my way to get off the ice, getting to the opening at the wall right after Ivan. I put my skate guards on, watching him watch me as I did it, noticing out of my peripheral vision, the families beginning to show up and make their way to the stands.
But we didn’t argue. I took off and headed toward the changing rooms, not wanting to be the last one to the front doors. I’d rather wait for him than him wait for me. It would probably be a good idea to text my mom before I left just so she’d know he was coming.
I hadn’t seen her since the night before when she’d told me about her accident, and even though I wanted to talk to her about what she had implied, I didn’t know what exactly to say. I wasn’t positive what would be more effective than “I love you.”
And she deserved so much more than that.
I rounded the first corner, where Ivan would turn to head to his special room, and headed straight instead. I spotted the two teenage girls standing outside the room immediately. It was the two girls who were always nice to me. Sure enough, just as I approached the door, they turned and gave me two shy smiles.
“Hi, Jasmine,” one of them said while the other one squeaked, “Hi.”
I thought about Ivan’s words the night before and gave them both a little smile as I walked in front of them. “Hi.” My hand went to the door to push it open… and I paused, before saying, “Have a good practice.”
“Thank you!” the outgoing one basically shouted as I went in.
Just like every Saturday night, the changing room was full of teenage girls between the ages of thirteen and eighteen. They were talking so loud it made my ears hurt. I headed to my locker, casting a side glance around to see that they were all familiar faces with no names, and then I turned my back to them. It didn’t take long to open my locker and take my boots off, pull out my bag and set my skates in their protective case before taking my phone out, wiggling my toes and rolling my achy ankles as I unlocked the phone screen.
I found my mom’s name under messages and typed up a text as quickly as I could, making sure my words came out spelled correctly, while trying my best to ignore the girls’ voices.
Bringing Lukov to dinner, I sent her before dropping my phone onto the empty bench beside me.
Pulling my socks off and then my wraps, I felt my phone vibrate and picked it up. It just said OK. ;)
I wasn’t even going to touch that winky face. I set my phone back down and bent over to start going through my bag for my flip-flops when I stopped zoning the girls out for some reason and heard, “…big hands and big feet.”
“How do you know that’s true? There’s a lot of guys with big hands and big feet that don’t have bulges.”
What the fuck were these kids doing talking about bulges?
“Like who?”
“Like…” The girl talking dropped her voice to a whisper, like I still couldn’t hear her after she did it. Idiot. “Ivan Lukov. I’ve never seen anything under his costumes, if you know what I mean.”
The fuck were they bringing up Ivan for? And what were these little perverts even doing staring at his crotch? He’d been 99.99 percent naked in front of me, and I hadn’t looked at it for more than the second it took to see he had it covered.
And why the hell were they bringing up him not having one? That didn’t mean anything. Most guys taped it down, I thought. I’d asked Paul about it once, and he had just turned red and stuttered as he laughed, avoiding the question, like I didn’t know he had a penis under his clothes. Another idiot.
“His hands and his feet are huge,” another girl tried to whisper, but she was even worse at it.
“But has anyone even seen anything?” one little shit asked before giggling.
I spun around on the bench seat as fast as I could and chose my words as best as I could. “Would you stop? You all want some guys talking about your… stuff behind your backs?”
Just like that, they all stopped talking and turned a shade of red that I’d thought only Ruby was capable of.
That’s what I thought.
I made sure to look at each one of them before shaking my head and turning forward again. No one else said anything, and I didn’t worry about them tattling on me, because what were they going to do? Admit they were talking about Ivan’s crotch?
Slipping my flip-flops on and giving my toes another wiggle as I stretched my arches, I snatched up my keys and purse and got up, bending over to grab the handle of my duffel. I side-eyed the girls on the other side of the room who all looked like I’d kicked their puppy, and I didn’t give a shit. I put the lock back on my locker and headed toward the door, yanking the door open a lot rougher than necessary.
God, what was wrong with teenagers? I couldn’t remember talking about people’s dicks when I was their age. Seventeen, okay. But fucking maybe fourteen?
“—ugly and fat in that leotard.”
And there it was.
Children.
Thirteen, maybe fourteen-year-olds standing outside of the door. Two teens that looked a whole hell of a lot like the two that had been talking shit about me weeks ago.
And those two were standing in front of my two girls that always greeted me. The two sweet, but funny little girls that had just been grinning at me maybe five minutes ago but who currently had their backs to the wall and had glassy eyes that looked a whole hell of a lot like they were on the verge of tears.
Damn it.
Why did this hav
e to happen to me?
I wanted to walk away. I really did. I’d already had my beef with these little shits, and I didn’t want to get into it again and risk getting in trouble.
But…
My outgoing little buddy had tears in her eyes, and one of these fuckers had just called her or her friend fat and ugly, and I didn’t play that bully game.
So, I stopped and made eye contact with my two friendly girls, raising an eyebrow. “You two okay?”
The more outgoing one of the two blinked away what had to be tears, and the action instantly made this strange feeling zip up my spine, and I narrowed my eyes as I glanced at the two mean girls that both looked like they regretted the decision they had made while I’d been in the changing room that had led them to this moment.
When neither one of the two nicer girls agreed that they were fine, the feeling in my spine intensified, and I recognized it for what it was: protectiveness. I hated bullies. I really hated bullies.
“Were they picking on you?” I asked slowly, calmly, keeping my focus on the two nice kids.
“We weren’t doing anything,” one of the little shits tried to argue.
I slid my gaze over to the one who had spoken and said, “I wasn’t asking you.” Then turning back to the one with the tears in her eyes, I asked again, “Were they picking on you?”
It took a swallow before I got a nod. From both of them. And that feeling in my spine only got stronger.
I bit the inside of my cheek before I asked, “Are you okay?”
Their little nods almost broke my heart.
But what they did manage to do successfully was focus on the two little shits as my best bitch expression came over my features as I said, slowly, slowly, slowly, wearing that smile that Jojo had called horrifying on more than one occasion, “If I ever, ever hear or see you picking on them—or anybody here—again, I’m going to make you both regret the day you decided to take lessons here, do you understand me?”
Neither one of them nodded or said yes, and that only made the tingle in my spine recharge. A better person would have added some inspirational shit. But that wasn’t me.
From Lukov with Love Page 26