From Lukov with Love

by Mariana Zapata

“What are you looking at?” I asked him, unsure why he kept glancing over and not liking it. The smile on his face didn’t go anywhere as he replied, “You.” “Why?” He looked at me every day. “Because.”

person I know, Meatball. Jesus. I like your laugh, even if it sounds a little scary.” I blinked. “Scary?” “You sound like a psycho when you laugh, all heh, heh, heh, heh.”

“You’re my friend, Jasmine. Not just my fucking partner. Don’t give me that bullshit.”

“You. Matter. To. Me. You. I couldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you because of me,” he kept going, his voice rising. “I’ve known you since you were a little kid, helping my sister off the ice when she fell. You didn’t treat her different because of her last name like everyone else did. You didn’t ask her about me. You and Karina just picked each other. I know the things you did for her, she told me. She told all of us about Jasmine Santos who isn’t scared of anybody. About Jasmine who doesn’t like unicorns because she likes Pegasus, because they can fly.

“I wanted you to be my partner for years, dumbass. When Karina had told me you were thinking about switching to pairs, I had thought you would say something to me, even in passing as a joke. I thought you would say you were going to kick my ass, and I had planned on talking to you over it. But you never did. The next thing I knew, you had a partner. Some dipshit that wasn’t half as good as you.”

But Ivan kept going. “Mr. Santos, your daughter is the hardest working person I’ve ever met. She’s persistent to a fault. Someone will tell her not to do something, and she only does it more. I don’t think there’s anyone in the world who has fallen more than her and gotten right back up, never complaining, never crying, never quitting. She’ll cuss herself out, but it’s at herself. She’s smart, and she’s relentless,” he said calmly, his hand squeezing my leg tighter than before.

“She gets to the facility at four in the morning Monday through Friday and trains with me until eight. Then she goes to work, on her feet right after that until noon. She eats her two breakfasts and her lunch in her car, then comes inside and trains with me until four. Three days a week, she has three ballet lessons by herself and one with me for two hours each time. One day a week, she takes Pilates from six until seven. Four days out of the week, she goes for runs and works out after we train. She goes home, eats, spends some time with the rest of her family, and goes to bed by nine. Then she’s up at three o’clock in the morning and does it all over again. “And for months, she was going back to the facility to practice by herself from ten at night until midnight. Because she was too proud to tell me that she needed help. Then she would go home, sleep for three hours and do it all over again. Six days a week.” The hand on my leg gripped the fuck out of it, not hard but… desperate. And Ivan kept talking. “If Jasmine wanted to go to school, she would graduate with honors. If she wanted to become a doctor, she would be a doctor. But she wanted to become a figure skater, and she is the best I have ever had as a partner. I think that if you’re going to do something, you should be the best at it. And that’s what Jasmine is. I understand school is important, but she has a gift. You should be proud of her for never giving up on her dreams. You should be proud of her for being tru...

“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 ever known. There will only ever be you.”

“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.”

“Everything and anything. I swear. I know we’ll have to skip most of the Discovery Series and the WHK, but maybe we can still do Skate North America—” It was his hands that cut me off. Those hands that I was so familiar with, I could pick out from a crowd by touch. The hands that had held mine, held me, so many times I couldn’t count. But they had never held my face before. At least not the way he did right then. Because his palms went to my cheeks and he cupped them. And then he cut me off. With his mouth. His lips pressed to mine. Surged to mine. Covered them. Hard. And then he kissed my upper lip between his while I was still trying to figure out what the fuck was happening.

Ivan was kissing me. Kissing me. His mouth went to my eyes suddenly, and he pressed his lips from one of my eyelids to the other, quick, fluttering, so light I could barely feel it. One brow bone and then the other. And I just sat there. I sat there and I didn’t move away or push him away or tell him no.

I loved him. I loved this man so much that losing him was going to break my cold, dead heart into so many pieces I was just going to have to stick them in the same box I kept my dreams and carry it around with me forever.

This was my partner. This was more than my partner. He was my other half.

“I want to know because you never told me, but what do you have against Mary McDonald?” he asked. “I want to know why we hate her.” Why we hate her. Ivan. Fucking Ivan.

He frowned so deeply lines formed across his forehead. Those brown eyes sliced away from me before they came back. “Jasmine, it was because Ivan called me a week afterward and said he would ‘fuck me up’ if I ever contacted you again.”

“I also said that I’d destroy you. You missed that part,” a familiar voice piped up, making both of us turn to find Ivan peeking his head inside the room, the door barely cracked, hair perfectly gelled into place, his face shaved clean, everything about him bright and sparkling. And he was smiling. And holding red roses. I loved him.

“She’s my partner now, Paulie, and she’s going to keep being my partner. And you know what? I’m not real good with sharing, so it might be a good idea if you got out of here before all those things I had warned you about come true,” Ivan cut him off, as he came to stand at my side.

“Did you really call him and tell him not to contact me ever again?” That was the thing about Ivan. He didn’t bullshit. Not ever. I didn’t think he was even capable of being embarrassed either. Because there was no hesitation as he responded. “Yes.”

“No shit, Sherlock. The idea of you being upset over that waste of breath pissed me off. You deserved better.” He smiled and pressed our hands tight against his side. “If you were going to cry for anyone, it was going to be me.” “You’re an idiot.” “I know.”

And I watched as he tied the pink leather straps together, tight but not too tight, and left the bracelet up high on my arm like I’d had the other one, in the perfect spot to be hidden by the sleeve of my costume. He’d barely finished the knot when I brought my forearm to my face and read the tiny inscription on the metal. To Meatball From your best friend, Ivan

Whatever happens, he mouthed to me. But then his lips kept forming words. Three words exactly. I love you.

I remembered his I love you, and it pissed me off all over again. Because. What. The. Fuck? “You had to tell me right before we started?” I hissed, panting and out of breath. His chest was puffing in and out as he gasped, “Uh-huh.” Uh-huh. Just uh-huh. “You—”

“Stop looking at me like you want to kill me. We can talk about this later. Don’t be awkward,” he murmured, pulling my hand once we were standing straight up again. “We both know you love me.”

“Ivan,” I started to say, knowing the last thing I wanted to do was ruin this moment, but also wanting an answer. Wanting to know just what the hell was going to happen so I could plan, even if everything hanging in the balance wasn’t for months away. But I didn’t want to run from this anymore. I wasn’t going to be a pussy. “Hmm?” he asked, still rubbing my arm up and down. I held my breath and got my words together before spilling them out. “Whenever you and Coach Lee get around to finding me another partner—” His hand stopped moving, and I felt him turn his upper body to look down at me. “What?” It made me a coward for sure, but I kept my head on his shoulder, even knowing he had his total attention on me. “When worlds are over and you try to find me someone else to—” “Jasmine.” Now that tone had me glancing up at him to give him a crazy look, and the expression I faced was another version of crazy. “What?” He blinked. “You think I’m going to find you another partner?” It was my turn to blink. “Well, yeah. That was the deal, wasn’t it?” One eyebrow went up. So, I made mine go up too. “I’m not going to find you another partner,” he said, his face and voice both telling me he was insulted. But I didn’t get why. “Why the hell would I do that?” “Umm, because that was the deal. Because you were the one that said like a hundred times that we were only pairing up for a year.” I almost added “dumbass,” but managed not to. He blinked. Both of his eyebrows went up. Then he blinked...

“You mean so much to me that that’s why whatever happens doesn’t really matter to me. Not like it used to. Not like it ever will again,” he finished, pressing his forehead against mine, his eyes intense and heartbreaking. “You’re not ever going to be anyone else’s partner. Not while I’m alive, Meatball. I will drag your stubborn, beautiful ass kicking and screaming back to me because nobody else will ever be good enough for you.”

“Because I’m okay with you having ten other people be your favorite. But you’re always going to be my favorite person,” he finished. “Always. No matter what.”

“I love the way you smile,” he said with a dreamy, sleepy expression. “I want to tell you to do it more often, but I don’t.” I took in every inch of that flawless face. “Why?” He didn’t even have his eyes open as he responded. “Because you don’t give it to everyone.” His cheek rested against mine, that sweaty chest did the same as he said, “And I don’t plan on sharing you.”

Most importantly, it had been nine years since we’d gotten married. Nine years and three months from the moment he had said, panting and red-faced, out on the ice at the end of our long program while the crowd went fucking nuts, “I think you should marry me, Meatball.”