Page 18 of The Dating Coach (Hearts on Ice #4)

My hands wouldn't stop shaking. The practice problem in front of me blurred as I tried for the fourth time to balance a simple oxidation-reduction equation. Two days until the makeup exam, and my mind had chosen now to abandon me completely.

"Maybe we should take a break," Liam suggested from his spot across his bedroom floor, where we'd spread out notes and molecular models in what Henry called "organized chaos."

"I don't need a break," I snapped, immediately hating myself for the harsh tone. "I need to remember how to count electrons like a functioning human being."

He was quiet for a moment, and I could feel him studying me. One week had passed since the gala—a week of careful distance and unspoken truths. We'd maintained our tutoring schedule, but something had shifted. Every accidental touch felt loaded, every shared laugh tempered by awareness.

"Gemma," he said gently. "You know this material. You've aced every practice test for the past week."

"Practice tests aren't real tests," I muttered, erasing my work so aggressively I tore the paper. "Real tests are in a room full of people where Professor Hartley watches and judges and—"

"And where you'll do exactly what you've trained to do," Liam interrupted. "Just like swimming. You don't forget how to do a butterfly stroke just because it's a meet."

"This is different."

"How?"

"Because I could never fail at swimming!" The words exploded out of me. "Swimming makes sense. The water doesn't change its mind or trick you with similar-looking problems. It's just physics and muscle memory and—"

"And organic chemistry is just patterns and logic," he countered. "Which you understand better than anyone I know."

I laughed bitterly. "Right. That's why I'm here, isn't it? Because I'm so naturally gifted at organic chemistry."

"You're here because one bad test taken under extreme stress doesn't define your abilities," he said firmly. "And because sometimes even brilliant people need support."

"I'm not brilliant," I muttered, but his words loosened something in my chest.

"Come here," he said, patting the space next to him. "Let me show you something."

I moved reluctantly, careful to maintain distance as I settled beside him. He pulled out his phone, scrolling to what looked like a voice recording app.

"What's this?"

"My pre-game ritual," he said, hitting play.

His recorded voice filled the room, calm and steady: " You've prepared for this. Trust your training. Trust your instincts. The crowd doesn't matter. The scouts don't matter. Just you and the ice and what you know you can do."

"You record pep talks for yourself?" I asked, oddly touched.

"Started sophomore year after a panic attack before a crucial game." He stopped the recording. "Turns out, telling yourself you're capable when you're calm makes it easier to believe when you're not."

"A panic attack?" I stared at him. "But you're always so..."

"Confident? Put together? That's practice, Gemma. And a lot of therapy." He smiled ruefully. "Want to try it? Record what you'd tell yourself if you were calm?"

"That's..." I wanted to say stupid, but the earnestness in his expression stopped me. "Okay. What do I say?"

"Whatever you need to hear. Pretend you're talking to Mia before a big race. What would you tell her?"

I thought about it, then held out my hand for his phone. He opened a new recording, and I took a breath.

"You know this material," I said, feeling silly but pushing through.

"You've worked harder than anyone. One test doesn't determine your worth.

You're going to be an amazing doctor whether this goes perfectly or not.

But it will go perfectly, because you're prepared and you're capable and you don't give up. Ever."

I stopped the recording, face burning. "That was ridiculous."

"That was perfect," Liam said softly. "I’ll send it to you. Play it whenever the anxiety hits. Remember that you believe in yourself, even when fear tries to convince you otherwise."

Our eyes met, and for a moment, the careful distance we'd maintained threatened to collapse. I could see it all in his eyes—the gala, the kiss, the words we'd both been avoiding for weeks.

My phone rang, shattering the moment. Karen's name flashed on the screen.

"Hey," I answered. "What's—"

"Don't panic," Karen said, which immediately made me panic. "But Mia never showed up at school. They just called asking where she is."

The world tilted. I was on my feet before conscious thought, gathering my things with shaking hands. "What do you mean she never showed up? Frank drove her this morning—"

"Frank dropped her at the front entrance like always. But she never made it to first period."

Every worst-case scenario flooded my mind. Our parents finding her. Mia hurt or scared or—

"I've got my keys," Liam said, already moving. "We'll find her."

I hadn't even realized he'd heard, but I was too panicked to question his use of 'we.' We ran for his car, my mind racing through possibilities. Had someone from home seen her? Had our parents somehow tracked her down? Was she hurt? The not knowing made me want to scream.

"Henry's checking the library," Liam said, phone pressed to his ear as he drove. "Frank's heading back to the school to retrace her route."

"What if—" I couldn't finish the thought.

"We'll find her," he said firmly. "She's smart, Gemma. If something scared her, she'd go somewhere safe."

Somewhere safe. I forced myself to think like my sister. Where would Mia go if she was scared? Not the apartment – too obvious. Not the pool – too public.

“The LGBTQ+ center on our college campus,” I said suddenly. “She mentioned wanting to check it out but felt too nervous to go alone.”

Liam was already changing direction, taking corners fast enough to make me grip the door handle. The ten-minute drive felt like hours, my imagination conjuring increasingly terrible scenarios.

The Rainbow Resource Center sat in a converted house on the edge of campus, pride flags visible from the street. I was out of the car before Liam fully stopped, racing up the front steps.

The reception area was warm and welcoming, covered in affirmational posters and event flyers. A woman with kind eyes and silver-streaked hair looked up from the desk.

"I'm looking for my sister," I said breathlessly. "Mia Spears. About five-four, probably crying—"

“You must be Gemma,” the woman—her nametag reading Dr. Sarah—said gently. “Mia’s here and safe. She had a panic attack after seeing someone who looked like your father. She came running here about an hour ago.”

Relief hit me so hard my knees almost buckled. Liam's hand on my back steadied me as Dr. Sarah led us to a quiet room in the back.

Mia sat curled in an oversized armchair, clutching a mug of what smelled like chamomile tea. Her face was blotchy from crying, but she was whole and safe and here.

"Gem," she said, voice small. "I'm sorry. I know I should have gone to class, but I saw him and I couldn't breathe and—"

I crossed the room in two strides, pulling her into a fierce hug. "Don't apologize. Never apologize for keeping yourself safe."

"It wasn't even him," she whispered into my shoulder. "Just some random dad dropping off his kid. But for a second I thought..."

"I know," I murmured, holding her tighter. "I know, butterfly."

Behind us, I heard Liam talking quietly with Dr. Sarah, his voice low and respectful. When I finally pulled back from Mia, wiping tears I hadn't realized I'd shed, Dr. Sarah approached with a gentle smile.

"Mia and I were just discussing resources available for students in similar situations," she said. "We have support groups, counseling services, even emergency housing assistance if needed."

"She'll be eighteen next week," I said, the date hitting me with sudden clarity. "Legally an adult. They can't..."

“No, they can’t,” Dr. Sarah confirmed. “And we will support you in every way we can. You’re not alone in this.”

Mia squeezed my hand, and I squeezed back, something loosening in my chest. We weren't alone. We had resources, support, people who understood.

"Thank you," I managed, throat tight with emotion.

As we prepared to leave, Dr. Sarah pulled me aside. "Your sister is remarkably resilient," she said quietly. "We're here if either of you need support."

I nodded, filing the information away. Another thing to worry about, another potential crisis to navigate. The list never seemed to get shorter.

Back at Liam's car, Mia curled in the backseat while I sat frozen in the front, adrenaline finally catching up with me. My hands shook as I tried to buckle my seatbelt.

"Hey," Liam said softly. "She's okay. You're okay. Everyone's safe."

"For now," I whispered. "Until the next crisis. Until something else goes wrong. I can't—" My voice broke. "I can't keep almost losing her."

"You won't," he said firmly. "Because she has you, and you have..." He paused, seeming to wrestle with words. "You have people who care about you both. Who won't let anything happen to her."

"Why?" The question slipped out before I could stop it. "Why do you care so much? This isn't your problem, your family drama. You could be living your perfect life without all this chaos."

He was quiet for a long moment, navigating traffic while I tried to remember how to breathe normally.

Finally, he said, "My life isn't perfect, Gemma.

It's managed. Controlled. Every decision made for optimal outcome.

But you and Mia? You're real. Messy and complicated and absolutely real.

That's worth more than perfect any day."

I turned to study his profile, this boy who'd become so essential to our survival without my noticing. "Liam..."

"I know," he said quietly. "Timing. Complications. You need to focus on the exam. But Gemma?" He glanced at me, eyes serious. "I'm not going anywhere. No matter how many crisis calls or panic attacks or terrible parents. I'm here."

"That's a dangerous promise," I whispered.

"Good thing I'm excellent at dangerous situations," he replied, with a small smile that made my chest tight.

From the backseat, Mia spoke up: "Are you two going to kiss now? Because I'm traumatized, not blind, and the tension is suffocating."

"Mia!" I twisted to glare at her, face flaming.

"What? It's obvious you're in love with each other. Even Dr. Sarah asked if Liam was your boyfriend." She paused. "I said yes, by the way. Seemed easier than explaining... whatever this is."

I turned back around, unable to look at Liam. The careful distance we'd maintained since the gala felt paper-thin, ready to tear at the slightest pressure.

"Let's get you home," Liam said, saving me from having to respond. "Both of you need rest. And Gemma, you have an exam to ace in two days."

The exam. Right. In the panic over Mia, I'd almost forgotten the test that would determine my entire future. The competing pressures – academic, family, whatever was happening with Liam – threatened to overwhelm me.

That night, after making sure Mia was settled with Karen watching over her, I lay in bed replaying the day. The crisis had passed, but more would come. They always did. And through it all, Liam had been there – steady, supportive, asking for nothing in return.

I pulled out my phone, playing the voice recording we'd made earlier. My own voice filled the darkness: " You're capable and you don't give up. Ever."

I wondered if that applied to more than just chemistry exams. Maybe it was time to stop running from the complicated, messy, absolutely real thing building between us.

After the exam, I promised myself. After I proved I could handle the academic pressure. After Mia's birthday made her legally safe. After, after, after.

As I drifted toward sleep, I could still feel the phantom pressure of Liam's hand on my back, could hear the certainty in his voice when he promised he wasn't going anywhere. Maybe 'after' was just another word for 'afraid.' And maybe I was tired of being afraid.