Page 11 of The Dating Coach (Hearts on Ice #4)

The morning had started so well—Frank suggesting a “quick hike” to see a waterfall, all of us eager to embrace the outdoorsy aesthetic of our cabin weekend. Three hours later, we were thoroughly lost, though no one wanted to be the first to admit it.

The morning light filtered through towering pines as we pressed deeper into the woods, the forest floor still damp with dew. An hour ago, the trail had started vanishing beneath a tangle of brambles and ferns, the trees growing so close their branches wove a living canopy overhead.

“This definitely isn’t the trail,” I muttered, brushing aside a low-hanging limb. The undergrowth pressed in on us like a hungry beast. “Since when did hiking turn into bushwhacking? Are we starring in a horror flick now?”

"It's not a horror movie," Henry said with strained patience, consulting his phone's GPS for the fifth time. "We just took a small detour."

"We've been on this 'small detour' for an hour," Karen pointed out, somehow managing to look glamorous despite the mud splattered on her designer hiking boots. "At what point does a detour become genuinely lost?"

"We're not lost," Frank insisted, despite having led us confidently in what I was now certain were circles. "I have an excellent sense of direction. It's like a superpower."

"Your superpower is getting us killed by bears," Karen shot back. "Or worse – having to drink our own urine to survive."

"No one's drinking urine," Liam said calmly, though I could see him fighting a smile. "We have water bottles."

"For now," Karen said darkly. "But when we're found in spring, nothing but skeletons clutching empty water bottles, remember I called it."

Mia, who'd been documenting our misadventure on her phone, laughed. "The Fall of the Friendship Group: A Tragedy in Three Acts. Act One: Frank's Hubris."

"I don't have hubris," Frank protested. "I have confidence. There's a difference."

"The difference is spelling," Henry muttered, still glaring at his phone like he could intimidate it into finding signal.

I looked around at the endless trees, all of which looked identical to my untrained eye.

"Maybe we should go back the way we came," I suggested.

"Which way is that?" Karen asked. "Because I've seen that same crooked tree at least three times, and I'm starting to think it's following us."

As if the universe had been waiting for the perfect comedic timing, the sky chose that moment to open up. Not a gentle drizzle or a warning sprinkle – a full-on downpour that had us all scrambling for cover.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Karen shrieked, pulling her jacket over her head. "This is exactly like a horror movie! Next someone's going to suggest we split up!"

"We should definitely not split up," Henry said firmly. "But we do need shelter."

Through the rain, I caught sight of what looked like a rocky overhang. "There!" I pointed. "Cave or at least some cover!"

We ran for it, slipping and sliding on the suddenly muddy trail. Liam steadied Mia when she stumbled, and I felt a flutter of gratitude for his automatic protectiveness. The overhang turned out to be a small cave, shallow but dry enough to shelter six soggy hikers.

"Well," Frank said, wringing out his shirt, "this is cozy."

"This is a disaster," Karen corrected, though she was fighting a smile. "My hair is ruined. I look like a drowned poodle."

"A very attractive drowned poodle," Frank offered gallantly.

We arranged ourselves in the small space, ending up pressed closer together than strictly necessary.

I found myself between Liam and the cave wall, hyperaware of every point where our bodies touched.

He'd given Mia his rain jacket without hesitation, leaving him in just a t-shirt that was now plastered to his chest in extremely distracting ways.

"So," Henry said after a moment of listening to the rain pound outside our shelter. "While we're stuck here, maybe we could... talk?"

"Talk?" I asked warily. "About what?"

"I don't know. Deep stuff. Secret stuff. It's like a slumber party but with more potential for death by exposure."

"I'll start," Frank announced. "I have a confession. I've been thinking about changing my major to culinary arts."

"That's your big secret?" Karen asked. "You literally cook all the time. We all knew that."

"I haven't told my parents," Frank admitted. "They think business majors are the only valid life choice. But I love cooking. I want to open a restaurant someday. Something small, weird menu, maybe cryptid-themed."

"The Sasquatch Diner," Mia suggested immediately.

"See, she gets it!" Frank beamed at my sister. "What about you, Mia? Any secrets to share with the cave?"

Mia glanced at me, then took a breath. "I guess.

.. my secret is that coming out wasn't the hardest part.

The hardest part is being happy about who I am while knowing it cost me my parents.

Like, I'm proud of being gay, but I feel guilty for not feeling guiltier about losing them. Does that make sense?"

“Perfect sense,” Frank said quietly. “Jesse, our hockey teammate, came out to his parents in his sophomore year. They didn’t take it well, but with support from Liam, Henry, and me, he’s doing much better now.

Yet he still has days when he feels like he disappointed them simply by existing authentically. ”

"It's the internalized bullshit," Karen added. "Society spends so long telling us we're wrong that even when we know we're not, part of us wonders. I still sometimes catch myself cracking jokes when things get too real, just to keep people from seeing how messed up I actually feel inside."

I stared at Karen. "You do that on purpose?"

"Comedy as armor, baby," she said with a theatrical flourish that proved her point. "Thought you knew. I literally deflect every serious conversation with a punchline."

"I thought you were just naturally funny," I admitted, feeling stupid for missing something so obvious about my best friend.

"Oh, I am hilarious. But it's also my defense mechanism." She studied me with those too-perceptive eyes, her usual grin softening. "What about you, Gem? Any shocking revelations for cave time?"

My heart hammered against my ribs.

"I..." I started, then stopped. Tried again. "I put too much pressure on myself. To be perfect, to save everyone, to have all the answers. I'm terrified that if I'm not useful, if I'm not actively fixing things, people will realize I'm not worth keeping around."

It wasn't the confession Karen had been fishing for—that I was bi—but it was still true, still vulnerable. Liam's hand found mine in the dim light, squeezing gently.

"You're worth everything," he said quietly, and the certainty in his voice made my eyes burn. "Not for what you do, just for who you are."

"Careful, Delacroix," I managed through the tightness in my throat. "That almost sounds like feelings."

"Speaking of feelings," Henry interrupted, clearly trying to lighten the mood, "my confession is that I can't actually see the scoreboard during games. My contact prescription is two years out of date, but I'm too stubborn to admit I need new ones."

"That explains so much," Liam said. "Like why you keep passing to the ref."

"I thought he was Frank!"

The laughter that followed eased the tension, everyone sharing increasingly ridiculous confessions.

Karen admitted to writing fanfiction about her math professor ("He has salt-and-pepper hair, don't judge me!

"), Henry revealed his secret addiction to reality dating shows, and we discovered Frank had been running an underground collectible card trading ring since freshman year.

When it came to Liam's turn, he was quiet for a long moment. The rain had softened to a steady patter, creating a cocoon of sound around us.

"I've never felt like my own person," he said finally.

"Always Victor Delacroix's son, always the future NHL star, always what everyone expected me to be.

The architecture stuff, the dreams about building things that matter – that's the only part of my life that feels real.

Everything else is just... performance."

"Including hockey?" Mia asked quietly.

"Especially hockey." He laughed, but it sounded hollow. "Don't get me wrong, I love the game. But playing professionally, dedicating my entire life to it, living in the spotlight – that's my father's dream, not mine. I've just been too much of a coward to say it out loud."

"You're saying it in front of all of us," I pointed out. "That's brave."

"In a cave in the middle of nowhere," Liam countered. "Where it doesn't count."

"Everything counts," I said fiercely. "Every time you speak your truth, even if it's just to yourself, it matters."

He looked at me then, something soft and wondering in his eyes that made my breath catch. The space between us felt charged, full of unspoken things that had nothing to do with our arrangement and everything to do with the way my heart raced when he smiled.

"The rain's stopping," Henry announced, breaking the spell. "We should probably try to find our way back before it starts again."

"I have signal!" Mia held up her phone triumphantly. "Barely, but enough for GPS. We're... oh. We're like half a mile from the cabin."

"Half a mile?" Karen stared at her. "We've been wandering in circles this whole time?"

"In my defense," Frank said, "all trees look the same when you're panicking."

The walk back was soggy but filled with the kind of giddy energy that comes from shared adventure. Our clothes were ruined, we were covered in mud, and Karen's hair had indeed taken on a poodle-like quality, but everyone was laughing.

As we reached the cabin, Liam fell into step beside me. "Thank you," he said quietly. "For what you said in there. About speaking truth mattering."

"I meant it," I said. "You deserve to chase your own dreams, not live someone else's."

"So do you," he countered. "You know that, right? You don't have to be perfect or save everyone. You're allowed to just... be."

The simple support in his words hit me harder than any grand declaration could have. I blinked against sudden tears, overwhelmed by the gift of being seen so clearly.

"Gemma," he started, reaching for me.

"I should check on Mia," I said quickly, not ready for wherever that moment might lead. "Make sure she gets warm clothes."

I fled before he could respond, but I felt his eyes on me as I went. In the safety of the bathroom, I stared at my bedraggled reflection and tried to calm my racing heart. The careful boundaries I'd built were crumbling, washed away like the morning's trail.