Ivan glanced down at me with a smirk. “With the right person. I’m not going to have them with just anybody and dilute my blood.”
I rolled my eyes at this idiot, still ignoring that weird feeling in my belly that I wasn’t going to acknowledge now or ever. “God forbid, you have kids with someone that’s not perfect. Dumbass.”
“Right?” He snorted, looking down at the baby before glancing back at me with a smile I wasn’t a fan of. “They might come out short, with mean, squinty, little eyes, a big mouth, heavy bones, and a bad attitude.”
I blinked. “I hope you get abducted by aliens.”
Ivan laughed, and the sound of it made me smile. “You would miss me.”
All I said, while shrugging was, “Meh. I know I’d get to see you again someday—”
He smiled.
“—in hell.”
That wiped the look right off his face. “I’m a good person. People like me.”
“Because they don’t know you. If they did, somebody would have kicked your ass already.”
“They’d try,” he countered, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
There was something wrong with us.
And I didn’t hate it. Not even a little bit.
Chapter 14
“What’s wrong with you?” Ivan snapped about five seconds after coming out of a sit spin—the same sit spin I’d stumbled out of a second before, landing right on my ass. The same one I’d kept losing my balance on the last six times we’d done it. The same spin I could usually do over and over and over again, one variation after another, a flying sit spin, a death drop, with a twist.... It was usually no big deal.
Unless your entire body was burning up, every muscle between your knees and chin ached, and your head felt like it was about to explode.
On top of that, my throat was acting like I’d chewed on sandpaper, and just standing up in general was taking everything out of me.
I felt like shit.
Total, complete shit. I had all morning. I was pretty sure I’d woken up in the middle of the night—which I never did—because my head hurt and my throat had burned like I’d swallowed a glass of lava for shits and giggles.
But I hadn’t told Ivan or Lee about it.
With only one full day left before we started working on choreography, we didn’t have time for me to be sick. Since the morning of the day Ivan and I had watched Ruby’s kids, one thing after another had started acting up. My throat had started tingling, then tingling a little more. Another day my head began to feel weird. Then I started to get tired. Then everything started to ache, until bam. The fever came. And everything else decided to go full-fledged sick.
Ugh.
Flopping onto my back, the groan that came out of me was thanks to how bad my head was pounding. I couldn’t remember the last time my balance had been so bad. Never?
“Are you hung over?” Ivan asked from wherever the hell he was.
I started to shake my head and immediately regretted it when the urge to throw up kicked me right in the gut. “No.”
“You stayed up last night, didn’t you?” he accused, the quiet swish of his blades on the ice telling me he was getting closer. “You can’t be coming to practice exhausted.”
Rolling over and then coming to my knees, all I had the energy to do was wiggle the fingers on one hand. “I didn’t stay up, jackass.”
He huffed, the black of his boots coming into view. “You’re full of—” I saw his hand reaching for my upper arms too late. So late there was no way, no fucking way based on how shitty I felt, that I could have moved before he touched me. His hands grabbed me right above the elbows and just as quickly let them go.
I’d been so hot, I had taken off the pullover I had on over my tank top over an hour ago, leaving my arms exposed. If I could have stripped that off too, I would have.
Ivan’s hands went to my forearms, gripped them for a second, and let them go too.
“Jasmine, what the fuck?” he hissed, his palms going to my cheeks as I just waited there on my hands and knees because I had no energy left. If I could have laid down on the ice in a fetal position, I would have. He cupped my face for a moment, then moved his other hand upward to cover my forehead, cursing so creatively under his breath in Russian, I would’ve been impressed any other day. “You’re burning up.”
I groaned at the coolness of his hands on me and whispered, “No shit?”
He ignored my smart-ass comment and palmed the back of my neck, earning him a moan straight out of my mouth. Jesus, it felt good. Maybe I could lay on the ice for a minute.
“She’s got a fever?” I faintly heard Coach Lee ask as I started lowering myself slowly down, hands to elbows, then elbows going wide until I was sprawled spread eagle on the ice, my cheek on it, arms and palms flat on it too.
It was cold as hell, but it felt amazing.
I could hear Ivan talking to Lee, their words becoming fainter and fainter by the second.
“Give me a minute,” I said as loudly as I could, feeling the coldness on my lips and seriously feeling tempted to lick it.
I didn’t. I wasn’t sick enough to forget how dirty some people’s blades were.
I heard something that sounded like “stubborn” above.
Turning my face to the other side, I let the cold kiss my cheek and sighed. A nap sounded so good. Right here. Right now.
“Never mind, five minutes please,” I whispered numbly, trying to reach back toward my neck with one of my hands but too tired to even do that.
“Okay, all right, roll over, Jasmine,” a feminine voice I was pretty sure belonged to Coach Lee said from somewhere over my head.
“No.”
Three minutes. If I could just close my eyes for three minutes….
There was a sigh and then something that had to be fingers at one of my shoulders, pulling and yanking on me. I didn’t fight it. I didn’t move. But somehow, they rolled me over, and I just let them, flopping over almost painfully until I was on my back with the bright lights at the ceiling forcing me to close my eyes because they made my head worse. I had to grit my teeth to keep from moaning.
“Two minutes, please,” I whispered, licking my lips.
“Two minutes my ass,” Ivan replied a moment before something started forcing my shoulder upward, tunneling its way across and under my shoulder blades at the same time something else went beneath the backs of my knees, doing the same.
“Just a minute. Come on. I’ll get up, promise,” I got out as I felt myself being lifted. It wasn’t like I could see. I still had my eyes closed and probably would until the lights weren’t blinding me.
“I know there’s a thermometer in the staff room,” it sounded like Coach Lee said. “I’ll get it.”
“Meet you in my room,” I heard Ivan respond, drawing me off the ice and into his chest.
Oh God. He was carrying me.
“Put me down. I’m fine,” I croaked, feeling anything but fucking fine as a shiver raced across my arms and spine, making me shake.
“No,” was the one and only thing that came out of his mouth.
“I am. I can get through practice….” I trailed off, squeezing my eyes closed as my headache got worse and the urge to throw up did too. “Fuck, Ivan. Put me down. I’m going to throw up.”
“You’re not going to throw up,” he said, carrying me and skating at the same time from the movements of my side against his chest.
“I am.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I don’t want to throw up on you,” I gasped, this fucking close to gagging as acid flowed around in my stomach.
“I don’t care if you do, but I’m not putting you down. Suck it up or swallow it, Meatball,” he said with all the comfort and care of my mom. Which was none.
My head throbbed. “I’m going—”
“You’re not. Hold it in,” this man—my partner—demanded, rocking me against him as he started walking and not skating.
“I’ll feel better if I throw
up,” I whispered, the sound of my own voice irritating me. My throat irritating me even more. But I couldn’t be sick. We didn’t have time. “Let me, then we can get back to practice. I can take a Tylenol—”
“We’re not practicing anymore today,” he let me know in that annoying snobby voice. “Or tomorrow.”
That had me groaning as I tried to lift my head, which was against his shoulder, and realized I couldn’t even do that. I was gone. Jesus Christ. “We have to.”
“No, we don’t.”
I swallowed and licked my dry lips, but it didn’t do anything. “We can’t take time off.”
“Yes, we can.”
“Ivan.”
“Jasmine.”
“Ivan,” I basically moaned, not in the mood for this shit. My shit or his.
“We’re not practicing anymore, so stop bringing it up.”
We only had a day left. Choreography was supposed to start tomorrow. I started trying to roll up, engaging ab muscles that had decided to take a vacation, and… couldn’t. Oh my God, I couldn’t do shit.
Ivan sighed. “I’ll put you down in a minute. Quit squirming,” he ordered, still carrying me, still walking effortlessly, his breathing steady and even as he held me up in his arms.
I was going to blame being dizzy and exhausted on why I did what he said. And why I let my head rest against that curve between his shoulder and neck. I didn’t need to wrap my arms around his neck. There was no chance in hell he would drop me. This was nothing for him.
“Is your mom at work?” Ivan asked me quietly a moment later.
“No, she—she went on vacation with Ben to Hawaii,” I replied, weakly, just faintly taking in how quickly I’d gone downhill. Another shiver slid through my whole body, and I shook even harder than I had any time before. Damn it. “I’m sorry, Ivan.”
“For what?” he asked, tipping his head down to look at me from the way I felt his breath on my cheek.
I pressed my forehead against his cool neck and let out my own breath, dismissing the lines between his brows as aggravation, just noticing my shivering was going nonstop. “For getting sick. It’s my fault. I never get sick.” Another hard case of the shakes went straight from my shoulders down my spine.
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not. We can’t take the time off. Maybe I can take something, nap, and we can train again this evening,” I offered, each word coming out longer and more drawn out than the last. “I’ll stay as long as you want.”
From the way his neck moved, he had to be shaking his head. “No.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m really sorry.”
He didn’t say a word. Didn’t tell me it was fine. Didn’t tell me to shut up again. And I was too wiped to argue with him more.
But it was in no time, that he was walking us into his room at the Lukov Complex and then gently—so, so gently—depositing me on the couch so I could lay across it. I shook again, hot and cold at the same time, my back hurting even more than it had a few seconds ago. Putting my hands up to cover my face, I held back a moan.
This was what dying felt like. It had to be.
“You’re not dying, dumbass,” Ivan said a second before something was laid over my body and two seconds before something cold and wet was draped over my forehead.
Did he just…
Yes, he had covered me with a blanket and put a wet towel on my forehead.
“Thanks,” I had the clarity to say as I lay there, knowing I should wrap my head around what he’d done but feeling too much like shit to do so. Later, later, I could appreciate how nice he was being. But right then, it felt like my head was going to explode.
Ivan didn’t reply, but I did hear some other noises going on in the background, and at some point later, maybe seconds, maybe minutes, there was movement by my feet. A few seconds after that, one of my skates came off and then the next. I didn’t ask him to be careful with them. I didn’t say anything.
Then he said, “Sit up, Meatball.”
Obviously, he didn’t feel bad enough for me to not call me that.
I did, or at least I tried to sit up, but my body wasn’t functioning. It needed things: rest. Sleep. A good vomit. Some Tylenol. A cold bath and then a hot one. All of those things in no particular order.
He made some sound that came out like a huff, then his hand went to the back of my neck, lifting it and my head higher.
And then he slipped onto the couch.
And laid my head back down… on his thigh.
“Drink this,” he ordered as something smooth and hard touched my bottom lip.
I opened my eye to see him a holding a glass to my mouth. I reached toward it, weak, so damn weak, taking it from him because it was one thing to lay my head on his lap, but it was another thing to let him hold up a glass of water for me. I took a sip and then another one, my throat closing up around each drink in protest from how sore it felt.
“Swallow this too,” he said afterward, holding up two white tablets in his hand.
I glanced at his beautiful, stupid face.
And he rolled his eyes. “It’s not arsenic.”
I still looked at him.
“I’m not going to poison you until after worlds, all right?” he added, not sounding anywhere near as much of a smart-ass as he usually did.
Closing both my eyes at once in a way I hoped he took as “okay,” I opened my mouth and let him drop the tablets on my tongue, chasing them down with three painful gulps. Dropping my head back onto Ivan’s thigh, I closed my eyes. “Thanks,” I mumbled.
There was an “uh-huh” that I definitely heard in reply. What had to be fingers touched my hair, moving around my head. Gentle, gentle… until they started tugging.
“Oww,” I hissed, opening an eye to find him hunched over me, staring down with a frustrated expression, as he yanked on my hair again.
“What is this?” he hissed, pulling some more.
I flinched when he did it again. “A scrunchie?”
He pulled, but not tugging as many hairs out with that attempt. Just like a hundred. “It’s so tight.”
“No shit,” I croaked, not sure if he even heard me.
He made a face and gave my hair one last tug before pulling the band—and another two hundred strands of hair—out, holding them up victoriously. “How do you not get headaches using this?” he asked, looking at the black elastic like it was some crazy shit he had never seen before.
How had he not seen a scrunchie before with the other women he’d been partnered up with over the years? Ugh. I’d worry about it later. “Sometimes I do,” I whispered up to him. “I don’t exactly have a choice.”
He frowned at my explanation and then dropped his hand, making the band disappear for a moment before it was back and he was empty-handed. Closing my eyes once more, I felt his fingers go back to my hair and start stroking it away from my face and what had to be over his lap. It felt good, his thigh under my head, his fingers in my hair, and I couldn’t help the sigh I let out as he did it.
I might have dozen off, but the next thing I knew, something was poking at my lips, and I opened my eyes to find my head still on Ivan and a big hand holding a thermometer right in my face. He raised his eyebrows expectantly, so I opened my mouth and let him put the blue stick in, closing my lips afterward.
“She needs to go to the doctor,” Ivan claimed, looking over at where Coach Lee was sitting… which was on top of the coffee table, with a worried expression on her face. I hadn’t heard her come in.
Then I processed the word Ivan had used: doctor.
“I agree,” our coach replied, already digging into her pocket to take out her phone. “I’ll call Dr. Deng and then the Simmons to reschedule.”
Ivan glanced down and gave me a stern look. “Don’t say you’re sorry.” Then, before I could get out a word, he told the other woman, “Tell her it’s urgent. I’ll take her as soon as she has an opening. And tell the Simmons to keep their schedules open. I’ll make
sure they’re taken care of for their time.”
She nodded, already pulling her phone to peck at the screen.
Meanwhile, I shook my head, waiting for the thermometer to beep so I could talk. Coach Lee was on hold when the device finally did. The display read 103.7. Great.
“No doctor,” I said, to both of them when Ivan took the thermometer out of my hand to get a look at the reading.
Those blue eyes flicked toward me for all of two seconds before going back to the thermometer.
“Ivan, no doctor.”
“You’re going to the doctor,” he let me know, his face tensing as he took in the number on the screen before saying to Lee, “Tell them her fever is almost 104.”
I licked my lips uselessly and looked up at him, the whole hot-cold thing making me want to kick off the blanket on top of me but also drag it up higher to my neck. “No doctor.” I swallowed, closed my eyes for a moment, and said, “Please.”
Ivan’s hand stroked my loose hair, and he gazed down at me. “Do you want to feel better or not?”
I tried to give him an ugly look but couldn’t get my face to work. “No, I love feeling like shit and missing training and screwing everything up.”
Both those thick eyebrows went up like “no shit.”
“Forget about it. You’re going to the doctor. If you need medicine, you need it the sooner the better.” He pursed his lips for a moment and then added, “So we can get back to the choreography. When you’re ready.”
This fucker. He knew exactly how to get me. Jesus.
“Look, I need today, tomorrow—”
“We’re taking it off.” He blinked. “Why don’t you want to go to the doctor?” He squinted. “I swear, if you’re scared of needles—”
I moaned and started to shake my head before stopping myself when the pain there triggered my nausea. “I’m not scared of needles, who do you think I am? You?” I whispered.
Coach Lee was talking quietly on the phone, but neither one of us was paying her any attention.
“All right. You’re going to the doctor.”
I closed my eyes and told him the truth because he’d get it out of me eventually and I wasn’t in the mood for him to nag. “I don’t have insurance. I can’t afford a visit right now. Seriously, I’ll be fine. Just give me a day. It’ll pass. My immune system is usually great.”
From Lukov with Love Page 29