Page 15 of The Dating Coach (Hearts on Ice #4)

The chlorine stung my nostrils as I stood behind the starting blocks, trying to shake off the knowledge that Liam might be somewhere in the crowded stands.

I hadn't invited him to the swim meet against State – hadn't invited anyone except Karen, who was obligated as my roommate to show up and cheer obnoxiously. But after the Winter Formal incident and the way he’d defended me against Devon, I couldn’t stop scanning the crowd.

"Spears! Head in the game!" Coach Martinez barked from the pool deck. "You're up in two heats!"

"You're being weird," Karen observed from where she stood holding my towel. "Weirder than usual pre-race weird. This is advanced weird."

"I'm fine," I lied, adjusting my cap for the fifth time.

"Sure you are. That's why you've checked the stands approximately forty-seven times in the last ten minutes." She followed my gaze. "Looking for anyone in particular? Perhaps a certain hockey player with excellent cheekbones?"

"No," I said too quickly. "Why would I be looking for Liam?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because you two have been making heart eyes at each other for weeks? Maybe because he's been playing the role of elder brother to Mia? Maybe because—" She cut off, her expression shifting to surprise. "Well, speak of the extremely attractive devil."

My heart leaped as I spotted him—impossible to miss, really, given that he was accompanied by Mia, Frank, and Henry, who had apparently made signs.

Frank's sign read "SWIM FAST OR THE KRAKEN GETS YOU" with a crude drawing of a sea monster.

Henry's was more subdued: "GO PINEWOOD SWIMMING" in neat block letters.

Mia didn't have a sign, but she was enthusiastically cheering, shouting, "Go, Gemma, go! "

But it was Liam who made my breath catch. He was watching me with that focused intensity he usually reserved for hockey games. When our eyes met across the pool deck, he smiled—not his public, golden-boy smile, but the soft, private one I'd started thinking of as mine.

"Gemma!" My teammate Delia appeared at my elbow. "Did you see? Some of the hockey team is here. They said they came to support us. Can you believe it?"

"Shocking," Karen said dryly. "Athletic solidarity. Definitely nothing to do with our captain being tutored by their captain."

I was saved from responding by the whistle calling my heat to the blocks.

I stripped off my team jacket, trying to ignore how Liam's presence had transformed from distraction to motivation.

I wanted to swim well. I wanted to show him this part of me – the confident part, the part that knew exactly who she was in the water even when everything on land felt uncertain.

"Heat three, step up!"

I positioned myself on the block, rolling my shoulders and shaking out my arms. The pool stretched before me, blue and inviting and familiar in a way nothing else in my life was right now. Here, I knew what to do. Here, I was in control.

"Swimmers, take your mark!"

I bent into position, every muscle coiled and ready. The starting signal seemed to echo forever before—

BEEP!

I dove, muscle memory taking over as I hit the water. The first fifty meters were always about finding rhythm, establishing the dolphin kick that would carry me through. I surfaced into my stroke, arms moving in perfect synchronization, breathing every other stroke.

The world narrowed to the essentials: pull, breathe, kick, glide. My shoulders burned by the hundred-meter turn, but that was normal, expected. Pain was just information, and right now it was telling me I was on pace.

The final fifty was where races were won or lost. I could feel the swimmer in lane five closing in, matching me stroke for stroke. This was the moment that separated good from great – who could push through the lactate burn, who could find that extra gear when their body screamed for mercy.

I thought about Liam watching. About Mia cheering. About proving I was more than my failures and fears. My stroke rate increased, arms moving faster, legs driving harder. The wall rushed up and I drove for it, hitting with both hands and immediately turning to check the scoreboard.

Second place. By three hundredths of a second.

The number hit me like a physical blow. I'd lost. I'd lost my signature event to a sophomore from State who was already celebrating in lane five. My conference record stood, but barely, and the knowledge that I'd failed with Liam watching made shame burn hot in my chest.

"Hey, good race," the State swimmer said, reaching across the lane line for a sportsmanship handshake.

I forced a smile, shook her hand, and escaped the pool as quickly as possible. Karen met me with my towel and a concerned expression.

"Gem, that was amazing—"

"I lost," I interrupted, yanking off my cap. "I don't lose the butterfly. I haven't lost the butterfly in two years."

"You took second by a fraction against someone having the race of her life," Karen corrected. "While dealing with family drama and chemistry disasters and whatever is happening with Hockey Hottie. Cut yourself some slack."

But I couldn't. In the water, I was supposed to be perfect.

It was the one area of my life where effort equaled outcome, where I could control the results through sheer force of will.

Losing felt like confirmation of what Devon had said – I was too scattered, too complicated, too unable to focus on what mattered.

Coach Martinez pulled me aside for a quick debrief, his tone understanding but firm about technical adjustments needed.

I nodded at the right moments, but my mind was already spiraling.

If I couldn't even win my best event, how was I going to pass chemistry?

How was I going to protect Mia? How was I going to—

"Gemma."

I turned to find Liam standing a respectful distance away, having clearly waited for Coach to finish. He was in jeans and a Pinewood Hockey henley, looking unfairly good for someone who'd just watched me fail.

"I need to warm down," I said, not meeting his eyes. "Team meeting in twenty."

"Can I walk with you to the warm-down pool?"

I wanted to say no, to hide my disappointment in private. But his tone was so carefully neutral, so free of the platitudes I expected, that I found myself nodding.

We walked in silence to the smaller pool used for warm-downs. I slipped back into the water, and to my surprise, Liam sat on the deck, feet dangling in the pool.

"That was incredible," he said quietly as I began easy laps. "I've never seen anyone move through water like that."

"I lost," I said between strokes.

"You took second in a field of conference champions," he corrected. "While carrying more stress than anyone should have to handle."

I stopped mid-pool, treading water to look at him. "Is this the part where you tell me winning isn't everything?"

"No," he said simply. "Winning matters to you, so it matters. I'm not going to minimize that. But Gemma..." He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. "You're allowed to be human. You're allowed to have off days. It doesn't make you less impressive."

"You don't understand," I said, resuming my laps to avoid his too-perceptive gaze. "In the water, I'm supposed to be perfect. It's the one thing I can control."

"Is it though?" He shifted, and I caught sight of his expression – thoughtful, not pitying. "Can you control the other swimmers? The pool conditions? Whether you slept well the night before?"

I didn't answer, but my stroke faltered slightly.

"You know what I noticed during your race?" he continued. "Your technique was flawless. Textbook butterfly form. But in the last fifty, when that other swimmer started closing? You didn't tighten up or panic. You dug deeper. You fought. That's not about control, Gemma. That's about heart."

I reached the wall and stopped, hanging on the edge near his feet. "Since when are you a swimming expert?"

"Since I started watching film to understand what you do." He said it casually, like it wasn't a confession that made my chest tight. "There are a surprising number of butterfly technique videos online."

"You watched swimming technique videos?" I stared at him. "Why?"

"Because it matters to you," he said simply. "Because I wanted to understand why you light up when you talk about the water. Because..." He paused, color rising in his cheeks. "Because I like a swimmer and I figured I should at least try to speak her language."

Around us, other swimmers moved through their warm-down routines, but I felt suspended in this bubble of chlorine-scented possibility.

"Liam," I started, not sure what I was going to say.

"I know," he interrupted gently. "Timing, complications, all of it. I'm not pushing. Just... being honest."

"GEMMA!" Karen's voice echoed across the pool deck. "Team meeting! Also, Mia's here and she's crying happy tears about something!"

The moment shattered, but the warmth in my chest remained. I hauled myself out of the pool, hyperaware of Liam's eyes tracking the movement.

"I should go," I said, reaching for my towel.

“We’re heading to the diner afterward,” he said, standing as well. “Mia set a personal record in the fift y free at her school swim meet this morning. Frank's declaring it a celebration. You should come. Both of you."

"I'll think about it," I said, but we both knew I'd be there. Somewhere between his defense of me to Devon and watching swimming videos to understand my world, saying no to Liam Delacroix had become impossible.

The team meeting was a blur of Coach's technical notes and upcoming meet schedules.

But I kept thinking about what Liam had said – about heart mattering more than control, about being human not being a failure.

It went against everything I'd taught myself, but sitting in that chlorine-soaked meeting room, I wondered if maybe my worldview needed adjusting.

Later, squeezed into a booth at the diner between Liam and the wall, watching Mia glow as Frank recounted her race and mine with dramatic embellishments, I felt that dangerous warmth again.

Henry had ordered half the menu, Karen was stealing fries from everyone's plates, and Liam's thigh pressed against mine under the table in a way that felt intentional.

"You're smiling," he murmured, low enough only I could hear.

"Mia's happy," I deflected.

"And you?" He turned slightly, creating a private moment in the chaos. "Are you happy?"

I thought about it – really thought about it. My organic chemistry exam was in a week, my sister was still technically a runaway, I'd just lost my signature swimming event, and I was falling for someone at the worst possible time.

But Mia was laughing. Karen was threatening Frank with a french fry sword. Henry was explaining some obscure hockey rule with passionate intensity. And Liam was looking at me like I'd hung the moon, even after watching me fail.

"Yeah," I admitted quietly. "I think I am."

His hand found mine under the table, and this time I didn't think about control or complications. I just held on.

"Good," he said softly. "You deserve to be happy, Gemma Spears. Even when you take second place."

"Especially then?" I suggested.

"Especially then," he agreed, and sealed it with a squeeze of my hand that felt like a promise.

The booth erupted as Frank accidentally launched a mozzarella stick across the table, hitting Henry square in the forehead. In the chaos that followed, Liam and I stayed connected under the table, a secret anchor in the storm of flying appetizers and laughter.