From Lukov with Love

by Mariana Zapata

I wanted to be enough just the way I was, without Ivan having to tell my dad all the things about me he should have known.

The one man I wanted to appreciate me and respect me, didn’t. And the other man, the one whose appreciation and respect I had told myself for so long didn’t matter, seemed to think the world of me.

I didn’t sense someone close by until it was too late, and two arms wrapped themselves around my shoulders. It only took a single sniff to know who it was.

My choke reached down into my lungs, pretty much making my entire chest contract in a near hiccup. The arms hugging me pulled me into a chest I was too familiar with while I dropped my arms and let them hang loosely at my sides. And I let it happen. I let my face fall forward into the spot directly between pectoral muscles I’d seen countless times, and touched countless times, and admired more and more by the day, and I grit my teeth to keep from making anymore choking noises.

The muttered “fuck” went in one ear and out the other. Followed by what must have been a cheek pressing against the top of my head. Ivan’s voice came low, so low I barely heard him. “...

“You know how good you are. You know how rare that is. You know how much work you put in to everything. You know how strong you are,” he whispered, his arms crossed over my shoulder blades. “Your dad doesn’t know anything about figure skating, Jasmine. From the sound of it, he doesn’t know you at all. You know better than to let what he thinks get to you. You know better.”

But your body doesn’t always listen to what you tell it. I was well aware of that. But it still felt like a betrayal when it didn’t hold in the tears I was trying to keep a rein on. And Ivan’s arms tightened even more, pulling me in the millimeter left until we were plastered together from thighs to hips to chest.

“I was a mistake, you know?

“You are not a fucking mistake, Jasmine,”

“You’re enough. You will always be enough. Hear me?”

Ivan cursed. He hugged me tighter. He cursed some more.

“Jasmine,” he said. “Jasmine, stop. You’re trembling,” he let me know, as if I couldn’t feel it for myself. “You said once in an interview that you skated because it made you feel special. But you’ll always be special. Figure skating or not. Medals or not. Your family loves you. Galina loves you. You think Galina wastes her love on people who don’t deserve it? Lee admires you so much she texts me in her car to tell me how good she thinks you are. You think she feels that way about just anybody? You have more heart in you than anybody I’ve ever met. Your dad loves you too in his own fucked-up way.”

His head dipped down to my ear and he whispered, “And when we win a fucking gold medal, he’s going to be watching you, thinking he couldn’t be prouder of you. He’s going to walk around telling everyone his daughter won a gold medal, and you’re going to know you did it without him. That you did it when so many people didn’t believe in you, even though those people don’t matter. The ones th...

“I believe in you. In us. Regardless of what happens, you will always be the best partner I’ve ever had. You’ll always be the hardest working person I’ve...

“I’d give you every ribbon, trophy, medal, anything at my house or at the LC if it meant something,” he told me. “I’ll give you anything you want if you stop crying.”

I just kept on crying. For my dad. For my mom. For my siblings. For myself. For not feeling good enough. For not feeling enough. For doing what I wanted to do despite all the noes and the eye rolls and all the things I’d had to give up along the way. All the things I’d lost that I might someday regret more than I already did.

But mostly, I cried because while I didn’t care what most people thought of me, I cared too much about the people whose opinion I did value.

Ivan held me and kept on hugging me the entire time I stood there, letting out things I didn’t even know I had in me. It might have been a couple of minutes, but considering I’d only cried two other times in the last ten years at least, it was probably more like half an hour that we stood outside the restaurant, ignoring the people going ...

one of the forearms draped horizontally across my spine moved. The flat of Ivan’s hand went to the base of my spine and slid upward, making small circles there, one, two, three, four, five, before it made its trek back down and up.

And I wasn’t going to overanalyze Ivan being the one bringing me comfort, being the one who understood me better than anyone else in that restaurant.

Slowly, and way more timidly than necessary when there was no sense of personal space between Ivan and me—when he’d seen more of me than any man and touched me more often than anyone else probably ever would, and hugged me more than anyone before him—I wrapped my own arms around his waist and hugged him back.

I didn’t tell him thank you. I figured he would take my hug for what it was. A thank you and a thank you and a bigger thank you that was so large and pure, my mouth couldn’t have done it any justice. It was always my...

Because I was all right. Because he’d been right about all the things he’d said.

And a lot of me knowing I was going to be okay was because he believed in me. Ivan. Someone. Finally.

“You want to leave or you want to go back inside?” he whispered, still rubbing my back.

I didn’t have to think about it as I stood there, not moving a muscle besides keeping my arms around the narrow waist in front of me. And when my voice came out hoarse and strangled, I sure as hell didn’t let myself feel any shame. Maybe part of all this was my fault, but some of it was my dad’s too. “Let’s go back inside.”

Ivan made this amused sound, his face still against the top of my head. “...

The chest beneath my cheek shook, and the next thing I knew, Ivan was leaning back, those strong palms cupping my temples with those long fingers curling around the back of my head. He didn’t blink. He didn’t smile. He just looked me right in the eyes, his expression serious as fuck,

and he said, “I might want to kick your ass sometimes, and I might tell you that you suck when you screw up and when you don’t, but you know it’s only because someone needs to keep you in check. But I meant what I said. You’re the best partner I’ve ever had.”

And a hint of a smile, tiny, tiny, tiny, stretched the corners of my mouth. At least until he kept talking. “But I’m never going to admit that again, so you better remember it for a rainy day, Meatball.” And just like tha...

Ivan gave my head a gentle shake, his own mouth curling open, fully and totally. “And if your dad talks to you like that again, or says some shit like we aren’t real athletes, we’re going to hav...

“I will always have your back, you know that,” he stated, sincerity staining his tone. I nodded again because it was the truth, but also because he had to know I had his back too. Always. Even in a year, when he was skating with someone else. Always.

I didn’t have to say “let’s go inside.” This man knew my body language better than anyone already, so when we both turned toward the doors of the restaurant at the same time, it wasn’t surprising.

And when Ivan’s hand slipped into mine, for all of two seconds, giving my palm a squeeze before sliding right back out like it hadn’t been there to begin with, I swallowed and kept my head held up just as high.

My brother choked at the exact instant that a hand landed on my thigh for the second time that night and gave it a squeeze.

Without thinking, I reached forward and took his hand, squeezing it tightly. “Thank you for coming, and for everything you said and did.” I squeezed his much bigger hand once more. “You didn’t have to—”

His eyes were on me, steady, steady, steady. “I did.” “No, you didn’t.” “Yes.” He squeezed my hand back. “I did.”

“If you have any family drama and I need to get involved, I’ll be there.” What could have been considered a smile, creased his dimples and he shook his head. “No. No family drama. They’re all supportive. But my grandpa would eat you up, you know.” He paused and his dimples became that much more pronounced.

“I’ve got you,” I told him with a nod. He squeezed my hand again.

I nodded, this… something… pressed right at the center of my chest. And before I could think about what I was doing, I went up to my tiptoes and kissed what I could reach—Ivan’s chin.

He looked down at me with an expression I had never seen before. It pleased me. So, I smacked his hip and said, “Drive careful, Satan.”

He blinked. Once. Twice. And then nodded, his eyes looking like they had glazed over for a moment before refocusing, and then just like that, he turned on his heel and headed toward...

“But to tell you that you’re a quitter? He’s lucky I promised Squirt I’d behave or I would’ve ripped him an asshole the size of my fist, and punched it.”

That was my mom right there. My defender forever and ever.

Love to me was honesty. Being real. Knowing someone’s best and worst. Love was a push that said someone believed in you when you didn’t.

Love was effort and time.

On the ice, Ivan started doing really lazy laps, his gaze staying on my dad and me, no matter where he was. He was watching to make sure everything was fine. I didn’t doubt that if I needed him, he’d skate over and butt in.

But I wasn’t that kind of person. I had avoided dealing with this as long as I could. It was time though.

all I ever wanted was this. It’s the only thing I’m good at, and you don’t see that or get it. I work so hard. I bust my ass every day for this. I have to do something a thousand times to do it decently, not even well. I’m not a quitter. I’ve never been a quitter, and I’m never going to be a quitter. But you don’t see that. You don’t get it.”

He smacked the back of his hand against my leg, and I smacked him right back.