Page 19 of The Dating Coach (Hearts on Ice #4)

My phone sat on the pool deck, face-up in case of emergency. I'd already checked it twelve times since arriving, drafting and deleting texts to Gemma. " Good luck " seemed insufficient. " You've got this " felt presumptuous. " I'm falling in love with you " was definitely off the table.

I pushed off the wall for another lap, trying to exhaust the nervous energy that had nothing to do with my own life and everything to do with a pre-med student who'd become essential to my daily existence.

The water was different from ice – more forgiving but less predictable.

Like Gemma herself, I thought, then immediately groaned at my own melodrama.

"You're thinking too loud," a voice called from the pool deck.

I surfaced to find Henry standing there in sweats, looking amused. "How did you know I'd be here?"

"Because you've been swimming every morning you're stressed about Gemma," he said, sitting on the bleachers. "Which is basically every morning."

"I'm not stressed about Gemma," I protested, then immediately undermined myself by checking my phone again.

"Right. That's why you made Frank and me practice organic chemistry problems last night to make sure your teaching methods were sound." Henry's grin was knowing. "Face it, Cap. You're invested."

Invested. Such a mild word for the way my chest tightened every time she smiled, how her struggles had become mine without conscious decision.

Three months ago, I'd been coasting through life, accepting whatever came my way.

Now I was actively fighting for someone else's success, and the transformation should have been jarring.

Instead, it felt like finally waking up.

"She's going to pass," I said, needing to voice the certainty. "She knows the material backwards and forwards."

"Of course she is," Henry agreed easily. "But that's not what you're worried about."

I hauled myself out of the pool, accepting the towel he offered. "Then what am I worried about?"

"That once she passes and Mia turns eighteen, your excuse for being in each other's lives disappears." He studied me with uncomfortable perception. "That you'll go back to being the passive guy who lets life happen to him instead of the one who's been actively pursuing something meaningful."

The accuracy of his assessment made me sink onto the bench beside him.

Over the past weeks, I'd changed in ways that had nothing to do with dating lessons and everything to do with choosing to show up.

For Gemma, for myself. The thought of reverting to my old patterns – waiting for others to make decisions, following paths laid out by my father – felt impossible now.

"I don’t even know how to start the conversation," I admitted.

Henry chuckled. "You need to address whatever this is between you two. Don't make the same mistake you did with Hailey."

"When did you get so insightful about relationships?"

"Since I started dating and realized that actually pursuing what you want is terrifying but worth it." He paused. "You know what your problem is?"

"I have a feeling you're going to tell me."

"You're treating this like you're still the same passive guy who watched Hailey choose Gabe.

But you're not." He gestured broadly. "Look at what you've done.

You offered your home to Mia without hesitation.

You learned organic chemistry teaching methods to help Gemma.

You stood up to Devon at the gala. You've been actively choosing her every day for months.

That's not passive, Liam. That's pursuit. "

My phone buzzed before I could answer. A text from Frank: Mia's freaking out about Gemma freaking out. Intervention needed. Bring coffee.

"Duty calls?" Henry asked, reading my expression.

"Always," I said, but I was already moving, purpose replacing anxiety.

Thirty minutes later, I stood outside Gemma's apartment with a tray of coffee and what the bakery had optimistically called "brain food" muffins. Mia answered the door looking frazzled.

"Thank god," she said, grabbing the coffee tray. "She's been pacing and muttering about electron configurations for an hour. I tried to help, but apparently, I don't understand the gravity of the situation."

I found Gemma in the living room, surrounded by a fortress of notes, still in her pajamas with her hair in a chaotic bun. She looked up when I entered, and the vulnerability in her expression made my chest tight.

"I can't remember anything," she said without preamble. "I'm going to fail. I'm going to lose my scholarship and disappoint everyone and—"

"Breathe," I interrupted, setting down the muffins and crossing to her. "When's the last time you ate?"

"I don't need food, I need a functional brain!"

"Your brain needs glucose to function," I countered, unwrapping a muffin and putting it in her hand. "Eat. That's not a request."

She glared but took a bite, and I saw Mia relax fractionally from the doorway. While Gemma ate, I surveyed the chaos of notes, recognizing my own handwriting mixed with hers. Evidence of our hours together, of knowledge built through patience and repetition.

"Quiz me," Gemma demanded through a mouthful of muffin. "SN1 versus SN2 reactions."

"No."

"No?" She stared at me. "Liam, the test is in two hours—"

"And you know the material," I said firmly. "What you need is confidence, not cramming."

"I need—"

"Get dressed," I interrupted. "Something comfortable. We're going for a walk."

"A walk? Are you insane? I need to study!"

"You need to get out of your head," I corrected. "Trust me. Humor me. Same thing."

She looked like she wanted to argue, but Mia piped up from the doorway. "Do what he says, Gem. Your current method is just making you spiral."

Twenty minutes later, we were walking through campus, Gemma vibrating with nervous energy beside me. The morning was crisp, cold air sharp enough to wake the senses. I led her toward the quieter paths, away from students rushing to early classes.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered. "I should be reviewing—"

"Tell me about your grandmother," I said, the non sequitur stopping her mid-complaint.

"What?"

"You mentioned once that she's why you want to be a doctor. Tell me about her."

Gemma was quiet for a moment, then: "She was everything.

Made the best chocolate chip cookies in existence.

Never missed a school play or science fair.

" Her voice softened. "When she got sick, I spent every afternoon at the hospital reading to her.

Medical journals, mostly. She said if I was going to be there anyway, we might as well learn something. "

"She sounds amazing," I said gently.

"She was. Even at the end, when the pain was.

.. She never complained. Just kept telling me she was proud of me.

That I was going to do great things." Gemma's voice caught.

"I promised her I'd become a doctor. That I'd find better treatments so other kids didn't have to watch their grandmothers fade away. "

"And you will," I said with complete certainty. "One organic chemistry exam isn't going to stop Gemma Spears from keeping a promise."

She looked at me then, really looked, and I saw the moment her spiral broke. "You really believe that."

"I've never believed anything more in my life," I said simply.

We walked in comfortable silence for a while, the campus waking up around us. When we circled back toward the science building, Gemma seemed calmer, the manic energy replaced with determination I recognized from her swimming competitions.

"Thank you," she said as we approached the building where her exam would be held. "For the walk. For everything. For—" She paused, seeming to wrestle with words. "For seeing me as more than my achievements or failures."

"That's what friends do," I said. Friends —such a wrong, inadequate word for what I felt for her.

"Two hours," she said, squaring her shoulders like she was preparing for battle. "I've got this."

"You absolutely do," I agreed, watching her confidence return.

She squeezed my hand once, then turned and walked into the building with the same determined stride I'd seen her use approaching starting blocks. I stood there watching until she disappeared, sending up a prayer to whatever deity watched over pre-med students and the idiots who fell for them.

My phone buzzed. A text from Frank: Mia wants to know if you kissed her good luck. I told her you're too respectful for that. She called me naive.

I typed back: Tell Mia her sister is going to ace this exam.

" That's not what she asked ," came the immediate response.

" I know ," I replied, then pocketed my phone.