SUMMER/FALL
SQUIRT: Dinner at Margot’s at 7PM with Dad.
Seb: OK
Jojo: Works for me. Me and James will be there.
Tali: Sounds good.
Mom: Ben is coming with me.
Squirt: Okay, Mom.
Mom: I know you’re making a face, Rubella. Don’t.
Mom: I’m married. He knows it. He’s married. I know it.
Squirt: I didn’t say anything!
Mom: But I know you don’t approve.
Squirt: -_-
Mom: I’ll be on my best behavior.
Squirt: Promise? You won’t antagonize him?
Mom: I promise. Not one word.
Squirt: You promised.
Squirt: Jas, you’re coming, right?
I sighed and rubbed at my brow bone with the back of my hand. I had known my dad had arrived a few days ago. I hadn’t forgotten.
I just had chosen not to go over to Ruby’s house, where he was staying, to say hi.
I’d been tired after our two-a-day practices, ballet, Pilates, workouts, runs, and work. With only two weeks left before our first competition, it was fucking crunch time. We were running out of it, and I was stressed as fuck. I had been for the last two-plus months. Because from the moment I had gotten over being sick and Ivan had finally “allowed” me to go home, we had gone straight into learning the choreography for our short program and free skate. We’d decided not to even bother focusing on the usual exhibition program most pairs teams put together for galas that took place after major competitions. Ivan and I had decided that between the three of us—Coach Lee included—we could put something together.
We had all smirked when he had decided on the music for it.
And while learning choreography was tiresome to begin with, it had been even harder on me than Ivan. Not that I told him that or let it show. Because I’d had to do the same thing I had from the beginning. I’d had to practice it five hundred times more when I wasn’t with my coach or choreographer.
If any of them had thought it was strange that I’d brought my own camera and tripod to practices to film them, they hadn’t said anything. Coach Lee already had her camera set up to tear apart things her eyes couldn’t catch. My eyes needed that camera to track the moves and elements at night in my room or the living room. And during the week, I’d invite my mom or Tali or Jojo to come with me to the LC at damn near the middle of the night—from ten o’clock until midnight—to watch me and correct me while I did the programs so many times, my muscles were forced to memorize them.
For almost a month, I survived off three hours of sleep six days a week.
It had been hell. It had sucked. It had put me into a bad mood.
But I couldn’t complain, and I wouldn’t. Even if it meant I had to start putting on makeup before practices so that my dark circles weren’t that obvious.
But I had survived June into July.
And I had survived the intensity of July into August and then into September as our movements were picked apart, rebuilt with repetition and a lot of fucking patience. Perfection was hard. But none of us expected or wanted any less.
So…
We kept going.
I made time for my family on Saturday nights, when Ivan usually joined me unless one of his “kids” was sick. And on those rare days when one of them didn’t feel well, I’d drive out to see him on Sunday, and we’d hang out at his house and take them for a walk, or watch television on his big, comfortable couch. And twice, I’d brought Jessie and Benny along with me, and it had been just as fun, because Lacey might be a little sassy ass with a side-look that impressed the fuck out of me, but she loved kids.
I worked. I practiced. I trained. I did ballet with and without Ivan. I did Pilates without him, sometimes with my mom. I went for runs, sometimes with Jojo. I went rock climbing a few times with Tali. Ruby and Aaron came by for dinner randomly.
Every single minute of my life began to count. Measured, booked, and given away before the day had even started.
But I loved it. Valued it. All those squeezed-in moments were appreciated and necessary for me.
I was making things work. I was happy. The happiest.
So, the last thing I wanted or needed was to go see my dad.
But…
“What’s that face for?” Ivan asked from where he dropped his bag beside me at the gymnastics facility we were going to be training at that afternoon, while we tried to work on doing a quad throw—because fuck it, why not? I had asked when Coach Lee brought up how easy our triple throws had become and how she thought we could add another rotation to the mix easy, easy. Only, at the gymnastics facility, we could try them without the fear of me busting my fucking head open on the ice. Apparently, they had found out thanks to my check-up, that I’d had five concussions already in my life and had to try to avoid getting another one. I’d offered to put on a bike helmet, but all I’d gotten were two blank stares.
Ivan was the only one who had gotten a middle finger in return though.
They hadn’t appreciated my joke about us trying a Pamchenko while we were at it either.
So here we were.
I didn’t put my phone away as I glanced over at him. He had on a thin white T-shirt that must have been ancient it was so threadbare, and faded black sweatpants I had never seen before, not even at his house when he dressed down in the same sweats he practiced in. And he looked great. I didn’t know why that surprised me. “My dad is in town.”
He blinked. “I thought your dad was a deadbeat.”
The snicker that came out of me was more sad than funny. “No.” I scrunched up my nose and looked away. He wasn’t.
Ivan hummed thoughtfully, and I knew that never meant anything good. “I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned him other than on Father’s Day when you said you weren’t going to call him. I figured….”
I glanced at my phone sitting on the floor and caught myself shaking my leg. Months ago, I would have changed the subject. But Ivan had grown into… he’d grown into someone I didn’t lie to. Not ever. Even knowing all that and accepting it, I still only told him a part of it. Telling him everything was too much. For me. I was happy. I didn’t want to ruin it. “We’re not close. He lives in California,” I explained.
“So? He’s a dick? Didn’t pay child support every month?” he asked bluntly.
I shook my head, prying more honesty out of myself and realizing it wasn’t as hard as I’d expected it to be. “No. He paid child support, came to visit a lot back in the day when Rubes, Seb, and Tali were still growing up. He still comes to visit once a year now. Calls on birthdays. Sends gift cards for Christmas….” While he spent it with his step-kids. But I didn’t say that. What was the point?
Something funny came over his face, but he didn’t say anything, and it only made me sigh. I could see him trying to figure out what my deal was. And he either got it out of me now, or he’d pester me over it for as long as it took to get it.
“He’s just not very supportive of me figure skating, that’s all.” I shrugged. “You can guess how that makes me feel. Anyway, he’s visiting and my family is doing a group dinner tonight with everyone, and I don’t want to go.”
He leaned forward and flicked me on the forehead. “Then don’t. Say we have to practice.”
I gave him a side-look but kept my hands to myself. “I used to do that to him every time he came to visit. For years.”
“So?”
“I’m not trying to do that anymore,” I repeated. “And I don’t like the idea of running away from seeing my dad just because I don’t want to hear him call me a disappointment.”
Ivan’s blink was slow. The tick that pulsed at his jaw, even slower, and he lowered his voice in a way that I hadn’t heard since the morning over two months ago when he had sat beside me as I deleted my personal Picturegram account after the rude comments and messages had kept coming. When he had asked to go with me to check on my PO Box from then on, I hadn’t even argued, but nothing must have come in because Ivan hadn’t brought up creepy letters since. “He’s called you that before?”
Shit.
“No, but some people are really good at sugarcoating what they really think.” I sighed again and rubbed at my forehead one more time. Should I go? Should I lie and stay home or go do something with Ivan instead? I knew what I really wanted to do. It wasn’t even a choice. But… fuck. “It’ll be fine. I’ve grown up. I can keep my mouth shut and not argue with him for two hours.”
At least that’s what I was going to tell myself.
Ivan nudged my arm with the one he hugged me with several times a week, usually for no reason at all, but always when we nailed something or just had a great workout. “I’m free tonight.”
I snorted. “You’re free every night.”
Because he was. Other than his family and me, the only other thing he spent his time on were his babies at home. He’d told me once that he’d been away so much growing up, that now he just liked being home as much as possible.
He nudged me again. “I can pinch you if you start to argue with him,” he offered.
I couldn’t help but give him a smile. “I’m sure you’d pinch me even if I didn’t argue with him.”
The smile that came over his features lit me up, and I bottled it up and set it aside for later, just like I always did. “You want me to clear my busy schedule with Lacey then?”
Oh, Lacey. The distrustful, grudge-holding, cute monster had only just barely started letting me pet her. But only when she wanted. And only for a second. And not on her head. “You don’t have to do that. I know you’d rather hang out with the crew at home.”
“Yeah, because it’s the only time people aren’t looking at me and talking about me,” he replied, the honesty in it catching me off guard. “But I don’t like you dreading going to see your dad more.” He gave me another one of those bright-ass smiles. “You know I’ll keep you in check.”
I snorted and rolled my eyes. “You can try.”
Ivan leaned back on his hands, his grin widening. “Meatball, you know I can. I’m not scared of you. You like my face too much to punch it.”
What an idiot. An idiot. And I only egged him on by snickering because I wasn’t about to laugh and make it that much worse. “One of these days, I’m going to shove my foot up your ass so you can keep that in check.”
He laughed, loud, grinning. “You can try.”
I rolled my eyes and pretended like I didn’t have a smirk on my face.
“Did you get your Anatomy issue already?” he asked suddenly.
I blinked. “It’s out?”
Ivan nodded. “Yesterday,” he replied, already reaching toward his bag and dragging it over. It only took him a moment to pull out a shiny black magazine with a familiar-looking football player on the cover and drop it on my lap. “Page 208.”
Flipping through the magazine and catching bits and pieces of thighs, biceps and sculpted backs, I found the page and stared at the spread. I had thought for sure they would use one of the shots the photographer had taken of us doing a star lift, a move where Ivan had me over his head with his hand on my hip, while I looked like I was upside down in a split position. The photographer had shown it to us when we had wrapped up for the day.
But the magazine hadn’t chosen that image.
Instead, it was the most perfect shot of us doing a death spiral that was in the issue. Well, a modified death spiral because instead of having my arm at my side, mostly parallel to the ice, I had it over my tits, covering the two pieces I wasn’t about to show: my nipples. With Ivan in a pivot position, which basically looked like he was sitting in an imaginary chair with one leg slightly back so that his toe was anchored in the ice, one of his hands was holding one of my hands. In motion, he would have been spinning me around in a circle, with my body parallel to the ice, my head level with my knee, so I was inches from grazing the ice.
It was one of my favorite elements period.
But looking at us on the magazine… it was something else.
The lines of muscle at Ivan’s thighs and calves were unbelievable. The arm holding mine was long and strong, his visible shoulder and neck were graceful as hell. Ivan looked amazing. A perfect physical example of all the things that made up figure skating: elegant, powerful, and limber.
And I looked pretty fucking good too. Jojo wouldn’t be crying too much. The angle the picture was taken at mostly showed a whole lot of thigh, the profile of one butt cheek, and skin at my hips, some abs, ribs, and flesh all the way up to the hand holding Ivan’s.
It was a work of art. A work of art that would be worth any shit I might get in the mail that Ivan was now screening for me. It was beautiful.
I was going to need to get a copy and frame it.
“What do you think?” the man beside me asked.
I was looking at the ridge of muscles that wrapped from his ribs around to his back as I answered, “It came out all right.”
I couldn’t even be surprised when he elbowed me in response.
I had made a horrible mistake.
A terrible, terrible mistake.
I should have stayed home. I should have gone to Ivan’s. I should have stayed at the LC.
I should have done anything other than come to dinner with my family to see my dad.
Because it was easy to forget that love was complicated. That someone could love you and want the best for you, and at the same time, break you in half. There was such a thing as loving someone the wrong way. It was possible to love someone too much. Too forcefully.
And with me, my dad had mastered that shit.
I’d sat all the way on the other side of the table, trying my best not to bring any attention to myself after I’d given my dad his first hug in over a year. It had been awkward, for me at least. All of my siblings and even my mom had given him one, so I had too.
My goal had been to shut up as much as possible to prevent myself from saying anything that could trigger the f-word that came up way too often when we were around each other.
But it had come up, like it always did, no matter how much I didn’t want it to.
And I had Ruby to thank for it.
Ruby who brought up my awesome new partner—who had taken a seat beside me and on the other side of Benny—and how we had several competitions coming up over the next seven months.
And just like that, without congratulating me on teaming up with the man he probably didn’t know was a gold medalist, a world champion, who had fan pages and even an unauthorized biography written about him, my dad had just jumped right in to a conversation that had never, ever ended well between us.
He had leaned over the table, a good-looking man with skin and hair color the exact shade as mine, and asked with a condescending smile, “I’m happy for you, Jasmine, but what I want to know is, what are you going to do afterward?”
Goddammit.
Later, I’d tell myself I had tried. I had tried to play dumb and give him an out, even though I hated playing that game. I hated having to give him a chance.
“After the season?” I got myself to ask, hoping, hoping he wouldn’t embarrass me or insult Ivan by not giving a shit he was figure skating in a body.
But like every other time, he either didn’t give a shit or ignored the signals I could feel everyone giving him to shut the fuck up. “No, after you retire,” he answered, a pleasant expression still on his seventy-year-old face. “Your mother told me you’re still working at a diner. It’s wonderful you’re making your own money after all those years you used to say you couldn’t because you had to practice,” he chuckled.
Like I hadn’t said that shit when I was sixteen and seventeen and eighteen, when I’d been struggling with school and trying to squeeze figure skating into every other minute of my life because I’d been killing it then. I had dominated the juniors scene then. I sure as fuck hadn’t wanted to work because a part-time job would have meant the end of my dream.
My mom had always known that and understood.
But he hadn’t.
And I had fucked up at eighteen and asked him for money, even though I knew better.
You’re a little old for these skating things, Jasmine, no? Focus on school. Focus on something you will always be good at. These dreams, they waste a lot of time.
I wasn’t a superstitious person. Not at all. But the season after that one had been the worst I ever had. And each one after that hadn’t gotten much better.
Practices were good. Everything leading up to every event was great. But the moment it really mattered… I choked. I fucked up. I lost my confidence. Every time. Sometimes more than others, but always.
And I had never told anyone that I blamed it on my dad. Focus on something you will always be good at. Because according to him, I wouldn’t always be good at the one thing in the world I was actually great at.
And his words then, at the restaurant surrounded by my family, were a fucking punch to the solar plexus I had no way of avoiding or handling.
And he’d kept right on going.
“But you can’t work there, waitressing forever, and you can’t skate for the rest of your life, you know,” my dad said, still smiling like every one of his words weren’t sending a hundred needles straight into my skin, each one going deeper and deeper by the second, so deep I wasn’t sure how the fuck I would ever get them out.
I clenched my teeth together and looked down, forcing myself to keep my mouth shut.
To not tell my dad to fuck off.
To not blame him for all the damage his words and actions had done to me.
To not tell my dad that I had no idea what I would do after figure skating and somehow not admit that the lack of an answer—of even an idea—caused me to panic. I didn’t even know what I would do a year from now when this was all over with Ivan, but I wasn’t going to bring that shit up. Even Ivan hadn’t brought it up in months. The last thing my dad needed to know was that Ivan didn’t want me for longer than a year, even if he was my best friend and a person I enjoyed spending my time with.
My pride could only handle so much.
“I think, maybe, you should have gone to college like Ruby. She went to school and still did what she wanted to do,” my dad kept talking, oblivious to the fact he was killing me inside and that my mom, who was sitting beside me, was gripping her knife for dear life. “It’s never too late to go back and make something out of yourself. I’ve thought about going back to get my MBA, see?”
Make something out of myself. Make something out of myself.
I swallowed and fisted my fork tighter, stabbing my ravioli with a vengeance, and shoving it into my mouth before I could say something that I might regret.
But probably not.
Something touched me beneath the table, sliding over my knee and cupping it. I hadn’t realized I was shaking my leg until he stopped it. Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I could see Ivan’s arm partially hidden under the table. But what I could definitely see was the fact that he was side-eyeing me, his cheeks flushed.
Why were they pink?
“You have to focus on what will make you money when you’re older and can’t get on the ice anymore,” my dad kept going, oblivious.
I held my fork so hard, my fingers were going white around it. The hand on my knee cupped it even tighter before moving slightly above it, just on top of the knee cap, lining it. Did he have to say this stuff in front of someone who had dedicated his entire life to figure skating? It was one thing to insult me, but it was another thing to undermine all the hard work that Ivan had put in.
“You weren’t so good in school, but I know you can do it,” my dad kept talking, sounding so enthusiastic at the idea of me going back to school, it was that, that set me right off.
Jasmine doesn’t have a learning disability, he had argued with my mom one day in the kitchen when I’d been maybe eight years old and I was supposed to be in bed but had snuck downstairs instead. All she needs is to focus.
Looking up at him, up at this man who I had loved and wanted to love me just as much for so long, all I felt was an anger that I hadn’t come to grips with in the twenty-plus years since he’d divorced my mom and left. Left me. Left us. Just left. And I swallowed carefully, accepting that he didn’t know me at all, and he never had. Maybe it was my fault. Maybe it was his.
But that didn’t mean I was going to shut the hell up like I had promised everyone I would.
“No, I didn’t do so great in school. I hated it,” I told him slowly, watching every word out of my mouth. “I hated myself for hating it.”
My dad’s dark eyes flashed toward me in surprise. “Oh—”
“I have a learning disability, Dad. It was hard for me, and I didn’t like it,” I kept saying, keeping my eyes on him and ignoring the looks that I was sure my brothers and sisters were giving each other. “I didn’t like having to go to… what did you call it? ‘Get special treatment’ to learn my ABCs while everyone else was already reading. I didn’t like having to figure out different ways to learn how to spell because my brain had a hard time keeping track of letter sequences. I didn’t like that I could never remember my locker combinations, so I’d have to write them on my hand every single day. I hated that people thought I was stupid.”
Even from across the table, I could see his gulp. But he’d done this shit to himself. He had brought up something that everyone else except for Ivan and probably Aaron knew about. “But there are classes you can take, things you can do to help.”
I kept my sigh inside of me, but I took it out on the fork I was still gripping the shit out of. “I know how to read and write. That’s not it. I learned how. I don’t like school, and I never will. I don’t like people telling me what to do and what to learn. I’m not going to graduate with a college degree. Not tomorrow, not five years from now, not in fifty years.”
Dad’s expression faltered for a moment, his gaze going around the table like he was searching for something, and I didn’t know what he thought he saw or why he decided to say the words that fell out of him a moment later, but he sealed his own deal in a voice that was too light. Too joking for a moment that to me, wasn’t humorous at all. “Jasmine, those are the words of a quitter.”
I heard my brother Jojo suck in a breath and heard Ivan’s fork clink against the side of his plate. Mostly though, I heard the anger in me churning to his words. To his bullshit-ass assumptions. “You think I’m a quitter?” I asked him, fully aware I was giving him the same look I gave other people when I was three seconds away from losing my shit.
“Jas, we all know you aren’t a quitter,” Jojo chimed in quickly, finally.
We both ignored him.
“You don’t want to finish school because it’s hard for you. Those are the words of a quitter,” my father claimed, slashing my heart in half at the same time.
Had he not heard a single fucking thing I’d just said?
Beside me, Ivan cleared his throat, his fingers sliding up even higher on my thigh and squeezing me, not in anger but… in something else I couldn’t place. And before I could open my mouth to defend myself, to yell at my dad that that wasn’t the point at all, he beat me to it. “I know I’m not a member of this family, but I need to say something,” my partner said calmly.
I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. I was… I was so damn mad, disappointed, I wanted to throw up.
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 true to herself.”
Ivan paused and then said three words that slayed me. “I would be.”
Fuck. Fuck.
I didn’t even realize I had shoved my seat back until I was getting to my feet, dropping my napkin and fork and knives beside my plate. Something in my chest burned. Seared. Flayed me inside out.
How did Ivan know me so well and my own dad not?
How could Ivan know all these things about me, and my own dad be disappointed in who I was? I knew I wasn’t book smart. When I’d been younger, I’d wished that I had been. Finishing high school had been hard enough for me, but it was because I hadn’t given a shit about it, because I had loved this sport and wanted to be like the other girls who were homeschooled or had private tutors. I hadn’t been lying when I said I hated school and had no interest in going back.
But it was hard enough to be a disappointment with the one thing I was good at, without being able to handle disappointing my own dad, simply by being me.
That burning sensation made its way up to my face, and I honestly felt like I couldn’t breathe. It almost felt like I was drowning as I pushed past the people waiting by the hostess podium, shoving the door open as I tried to gulp for breath. My palms went up to cover my eyes as I sucked in air, trying so hard not to cry. Me. Cry. Over my dad. Over Ivan. Over the reminder that I was dumb and a failure, regardless of how I looked at it and how happy I was. It had all been too soon. Or maybe I was finally just acknowledging how much my dad’s beliefs and desires and actions affected me.
But goddamn. It hurt. It sucked.
I could win every competition this season, and I would still be stupid, useless Jasmine to my dad. Disappointing, big-mouth Jasmine. Cold, pissed-off Jasmine with dreams that were a waste of time and money.
I hadn’t been enough when he left, and I still wasn’t enough for him now.
But I wanted to be. It was all I had ever wanted. I had wanted to be enough for my fucking dad. Even now after all this shit, I still just wanted him to see me. To love me. Like everyone else in the restaurant did.
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.
My palms grew wet, and I sucked in a breath that sounded like a sob but felt like a razor blade straight into my sternum.
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.
Why didn’t he know how hard I was willing to work every day for the things I wanted?
Digging the meat of my palms even tighter against my eyes, fully aware I was probably smudging my mascara and eyeliner but not giving a single shit, I sucked in a breath that probably could have been heard from down the block.
The doors beside me opened and I heard a “you should probably give her a minute,” said by my brother, followed by the sound of the door closing.
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.
I failed.
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. “Why do you do this to yourself? Huh?” he asked me.
My chest stuttered, a hiccup, a compressed choke that hurt me more than I already was.
“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.”
“I know,” whispered into the bone directly between his pecs, squeezing my eyes shut so that I wouldn’t disgrace myself even more by bawling into him.
“You warned me, but I didn’t believe you,” he went on, some part of his face still pressed against the top of my head.
“I told you,” I said, the miserable feeling inside of me growing by the second. “I told you. I didn’t even want to come. I knew it was going to happen, but I’m stupid, and I hoped maybe this time would be different. Maybe I could shut up and he could pretend I wasn’t there, like he always used to. Maybe this time he wouldn’t criticize me and tell me all the different things I could be doing with my life, but no. It’s my fault. I’m a fucking idiot. I don’t even know why I still bother. I’m not going to be an engineer like Sebastian. I’m not going to use my GI bill to work in marketing. I’m not going to be a project manager like Tali, or even just be Ruby. I’m never going to live up to my brothers or my sisters. I never have—”
My voice broke. Totally just snapped in half.
And that was when the first wave of tears hit my eyes, and I gasped to keep them inside of me. To fucking keep them in because I wasn’t going to do this. I wasn’t going to fucking do it, especially not over my dad’s comments.
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? My parents had already been on the rocks, and then my mom got pregnant and my dad stuck around for another couple of years, hoping things would get better, but they didn’t. And I wasn’t enough for him to stick around, so he left. He just fucking left and came back once a year, and my brothers and sisters loved him, and he loved them, and—”
“You are not a fucking mistake, Jasmine,” Ivan’s voice shook into my ear and my shoulders went so tight, I started trembling. Me. Trembling.
And I cried. Because my dad had left when I was three, and instead of watching me grow up, instead of being there to try and teach me how to ride a bike like he’d taught all of my brothers and sisters, it had been my mom who had.
“Your parents splitting up had nothing to do with you, and your dad leaving is on him. It wasn’t up to you to keep them together,” he continued on, anger hanging onto the softness like a shield.
And I just kept on crying.
His arms were steel around me, his face and his mouth and his whole head over mine and to the side like he could block me and protect me.
“You’re enough. You will always be enough. Hear me?”
But I kept on crying into him, his button-down shirt getting wet beneath my face, and I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t help it. I cried like I hadn’t cried… ever.
Because there were a million things wrong with me, and the one thing that wasn’t, was one of the biggest things that disappointed my dad… and everyone else I loved.
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 that matter are the ones who have always known what you’re capable of.” He swallowed so loud I heard it. “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 sobbed into him. These fucking tears just purging themselves from me. His affection, his words, his belief were just… too much. They were too everything.
And I was so greedy, I needed them. I needed them like I needed to breathe.
“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.”
But I couldn’t. And I didn’t. Not for every medal in the world could I stop. Not for any and every figure skating honor I’d been dreaming about for half my life, could I have stopped.
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 in and out. Watching us or not watching us, who the fuck knew.
But he didn’t go anywhere.
When the hiccups weren’t so bad, when I finally began to wind down, and I felt like I could breathe again, 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.
I hated crying. But I didn’t realize I hated being alone more.
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 mouth that got me into trouble, but actions couldn’t lie.
In the middle of making a circle with his palm across my shoulder blades, Ivan said—not asked—“You’re all right.”
I nodded against him, the tip of my nose touching the lean, powerful pectoral muscle in front of it. 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.
I sucked in a strangled breath, feeling shitty but not totally pathetic anymore. Some part of my brain tried to tell my nervous system that I should feel embarrassed, but I couldn’t. Not even a little bit. I’d never thought my sister was weak because she cried over the most random shit.
My dad had hurt me.
And baby and adult Jasmine had never known what to do with that.
“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. “That’s what I thought.”
“It’s already awkward in there, might as well make it more awkward,” I said roughly, not totally feeling it.
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 that, the tiny little baby smile on my face stopped in midgrow.
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 have a problem. I was being nice because he’s your dad.”
I nodded, because it was the only thing I could do right then.
He dropped his hands, his eyes never straying from mine, and I dropped my arms too, leaving an inch of distance between us.
“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. I wiped at my eyes as he opened the first door for me, and then the second one. Did I know I looked exactly like I’d been crying for close to half an hour? Yup.
And I didn’t give a shit.
When the hostess started to beam at Ivan and me, and then abruptly stopped, I didn’t avoid eye contact. I just looked at her. Chances were my makeup was running, my eyes had to be puffy and red, and my face might have been swollen too. But I kept on walking.
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.
Sure enough, the awkwardness at the table was noticeable even from a distance. The only person whose mouth was moving was my sister Ruby’s, and from the expression on her face, it didn’t even seem like she knew what she was talking about, but everyone else, including my dad seemed to be staring a hole directly into their plates. I wasn’t surprised that it didn’t make me feel good that I’d ruined dinner.
I hadn’t meant to.
Sniffling before they could hear me, I got myself under control just as I reached my chair. “I’m back, bitches,” I said in my fucked-up voice as I pulled my chair out.
Every set of eyes flicked up at me in surprise just as I plopped down into my seat, Ivan doing the same thing. “I made sure she only stole candy from kids and didn’t try to beat them up,” he said dryly, shoving his seat forward before picking up his napkin and dumping it on his lap. “Only one of them cried.”
A smile twitched at my lips, even as my eyes felt dry and my face felt hot.
No one in my family said anything. Not for a minute. Maybe not even for two minutes.
Until…
“A wasp got you in both eyes too while you were out there, huh?” my brother Jonathan piped up, giving me an expression that wasn’t totally a content one.
I blinked at him, ignoring the tightness in my chest, and said, “After he stung you all over your face, from the looks of it.”
Jonathan snickered, but it was half-hearted. “You look like a raccoon.”
I sniffed and picked up my utensils, ignoring the look I could feel my dad giving me from his spot down the table. “At least Mom didn’t find me in the trash.”
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.
A throat cleared and a second later, my dad started to say, “Jasmine—”
But Ruby pretty much cut him off by shouting, “I’m pregnant!”
“Do you want me to drive you home?” Ivan asked as we waited for the rest of my family to filter out of the restaurant.
My face was still puffy and tight, and I was sure I looked like a giant pile of shit, but I gazed right at that handsome face and shook my head. “No, that’s stupid. I know it’s past your bedtime and you need your beauty sleep. I can catch a ride with my mom.”
The man who had been nothing but quiet the rest of dinner, nodded, not picking up on my jokes at all. Which said something. Said more than anything. He was still frustrated, but whether it was at me or my dad, I had no idea. Maybe I was imagining it too, thinking everything was always all about me.
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.”
I stared right into those eyes I couldn’t tell were almost a sky blue in that moment, but knew in the bottom of my heart were. “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. “Ex-partners on the other hand… I’m lucky they signed confidentiality agreements. Save it up for them.”
I blinked at him, taking in the explanation that didn’t answer hardly anything, and I swallowed it for later, trying to cling onto the lightness of this conversation after earlier. “I’ve got you,” I told him with a nod.
He squeezed my hand again.
At that moment, the doors behind him opened and I could hear my brother and James arguing, followed by my mom talking to my sister about how she shouldn’t keep things from her mother. The hypocrite.
“I’ll get going then,” my partner—my friend—said, slipping his hand out of mine gently and effortlessly. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Get some rest. Call if you need me.”
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 his car, leaving me standing there, watching him… before something familiar hit my ass.
My brother.
An arm slipped around my waist, pulling me into a body only a few inches taller than me. Jonathan gave me a rough squeeze that banged me against him, before roughly whispering into my ear like his words embarrassed him, “Love you, Grumpy.”
Letting my head drop to the side so that it rested against his, I put my own arm around the middle of him, around his ribs, and said, “Love you too, jackass.”
He huffed but didn’t let go of me. If anything, he held me closer to him and whispered, “I don’t like my baby sister upset.”
I groaned and tried to pull away.
He didn’t let me. “My wittle, baby sister.”
“If you say ‘wittle’ one more time….”
He laughed the lamest noise I had ever heard from him. “Love you, Grumps. And I’m proud of you. If I had kids and they grew up to be half as dedicated and hardworking as you, I couldn’t ask for anything else.”
I sighed and hugged him closer. “Love you too.”
“Don’t let Dad get to you, all right?” My big brother turned his head, gave me a sloppy kiss on the head, and let me go, just like that. So suddenly I almost fell over.
I could see my dad out of the corner of my eye talking to James and Sebastian, but while I didn’t want to run away, I definitely didn’t want to talk to him.
“Let’s roll, Grumps,” my mom said, slipping an arm through mine and dragging me forward in the same motion; her husband, Ben, following behind, an arm on my shoulder as he pushed me into the parking lot.
What was I going to say? No? Please stop?
My brother and sisters would only give me a tiny amount of shit for bailing without telling them bye, but they would understand why. Walking beside my mom, pretty much jogging, the three of us made it to Ben’s BMW and got inside in record time, me slipping into the back seat while Ben got into the front and my mom in the passenger.
The second all three doors were slammed shut, my mom screamed.
Literally screamed so loud and for so long that Ben and I both covered our ears and looked at her like she was insane.
“I cannot stand your father!” she shouted the second her scream died down. “What is wrong with him?”
I looked in the rearview mirror at the same time Ben did, and we both raised our eyebrows at each other a moment before he started reversing out of the parking lot.
“I’m sorry, Jasmine, I’m so sorry,” my mom apologized, turning around in her seat to look at me.
I still had my eyebrows up. “It’s fine, Mom. Put your seat belt on.”
She ignored me. “God, I want to light him on fire!”
That went dark real quick.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” she asked, still facing me. Her face this weird mixture of devastated and furious.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Now. “Put your seat belt on.”
“Is he always like that?” Ben asked as he steered the car across the parking lot.
“An asshole?” my mom pitched in. “Yes, especially with the kids.”
I loved how she called us her kids to a man that was only a few years older than my brother.
“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.”
If I wasn’t supposed to smile to that, I wasn’t sure how to make that happen.
“She was pinching me under the table,” Ben let me know, like that would surprise me. It didn’t.
That was my mom right there. My defender forever and ever.
“Sorry about that, Jas,” my mom’s fourth husband murmured.
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine.” Mom turned around to face me again. “You’re a world-class athlete, and he makes it seem like you’re some kind of… little girl that does it for fun on the weekends. And I just sat there, dying inside while my Grumpy went outside, upset.”
“Mom—”
“I don’t want to see him. I better not see him again while he’s here. Better not see him again for another decade. Ruby can hang out with him after this. He better not expect you to see him.”
“He never wants to spend time with me anyway, Mom. It isn’t a big deal. Even dinner was a stretch, and I regret it. Obviously.”
She blinked those big blue eyes at me that had the power to make men weak.
“I’m stressed. I don’t know why I lost it. It’s fine. I’ve made it this long only seeing him once a year for a day; I can go on with my life the same way. He’s never been around anyway. And it isn’t like he really cares or is going to lose any sleep over it. It’s just me.”
My mom just blinked some more.
I didn’t like her looking at me so much, especially not when I knew I looked like shit. “Mom, seriously put your seat belt on.”
She didn’t move. Then she said, “Jas… you know your dad loves you, don’t you?”
Where the hell had that come from?
“He doesn’t love anyone else more than you,” she kept going.
I almost snickered. Almost. But I managed just to look at her, not agreeing or disagreeing, because I didn’t want to talk about this anymore. I didn’t want to talk about him anymore.
And I didn’t want any pity. At least any more.
My mom reached forward and tapped my chin. “He was being an asshole tonight, but he loves you in his own way. Not more or less than anybody else. He’s just… wrong. Dumb. Close-minded.”
That time, I couldn’t hold back my eye roll as I leaned back against the seat. “Everyone knows Ruby is his favorite, Mom. It isn’t a big deal. I’ve always known that.”
Her frown was genuine. “Why would you think that?”
I snickered. “When was the last time he ever bought me a ticket to go see him? Every year, he gets Ruby tickets. He’s gotten Tali and Jojo tickets too a few times. But me? When?”
She opened her mouth as if to argue, but I just shook my head.
“It’s fine. It’s really fine. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’m okay with it all. I know he’s closed-minded, and I know he thinks he loves me in his own way. But I’m done. If he can’t accept me for who I am, I can’t force him to, and I’m not going to change my dreams for him.”
Her mouth opened slightly, just slightly, and she shook her head. “Oh, Jas….”
“I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t. Nothing is your fault. This is between him and me. We don’t need to talk about it anymore,” I said, closing my eyes and leaning back against the seat.
And we didn’t.
But I still couldn’t help but feel that sadness that somehow mixed up with determination as I sat there.
