Page 22 of The Dating Coach (Hearts on Ice #4)

The locker room buzzed with pre-game energy, but I couldn't focus on any of it.

My phone lay face-up on the bench beside me, set to vibrate the moment Gemma's organic chemistry exam results came through.

She'd find out during warm-ups, right when I needed to be focused on the game that could determine our playoff chances.

"Dude, you're vibrating," Henry said, not looking up from taping his stick. "Like, literally. Your nervous energy is making the bench shake."

"I'm not nervous," I lied, checking my phone for the dozenth time.

"Right. That's why you've checked your phone more times than Frank's made inappropriate jokes today."

"Hey!" Frank protested from across the room. "I've been very appropriate. I haven't made a single comment about how our captain is so whipped he's arranging video calls during games."

"That's literally a comment about it," Jesse pointed out.

"Semantics," Frank dismissed.

I ignored them and opened the text thread with Marcus—our substitute and unofficial tech wizard—whom I’d asked to skip the game and send me rea l- time updates on Gemma’s results.

He’d promised to have his phone ready to vide o- call the moment Gemma checked her results.

It was ridiculous, over the top, and probably a violation of several team rules. I didn't care.

"You know she's going to pass, right?" Henry said quietly, sitting beside me. "She destroyed that exam."

"I know," I said, but my chest remained tight. This wasn't just about passing – it was about vindication. About Gemma finally seeing what I'd known all along: she was brilliant, capable, unstoppable when she believed in herself.

Coach Jack entered, beginning his pre-game speech about heart and determination and playing full sixty minutes.

I tried to focus, but my mind kept drifting to Gemma.

She'd be at the library now, obsessively refreshing the portal where grades would appear.

Mia would be with her, probably trying to distract her with silly online videos.

Karen would be pacing, making everyone more nervous with her anxious energy.

"Delacroix!" Coach's sharp voice cut through my thoughts. "You with us?"

"Yes, Coach. Sorry."

"Good. Because Boston College is coming for blood tonight. They want payback for last time." His eyes swept the room. "But we're not giving them anything. We're playing our game, our way. Fast, physical, relentless. Questions?"

There weren't any. We'd beaten BC 6-2 earlier in the season, and they'd be looking to even the score. But that game felt like a lifetime ago – before Gemma, before everything shifted.

As we filed out for warm-ups, my phone buzzed. Not a call, just a text from Marcus: She's logging in now. Video call ready when you are.

My heart rate, already elevated from pre-game adrenaline, kicked into overdrive. I typed back: Ready

On my small phone screen, I could make out Gemma at a library computer, Mia and Karen flanking her. Even from this distance, through a crappy video connection, I could see her hands shaking as she typed.

"Come on," I muttered, stick forgotten as I watched her navigate to her grades.

She froze. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then Mia screamed, jumping up and down. Karen grabbed Gemma in a hug that nearly knocked her off her chair. And Gemma... Gemma was crying and laughing simultaneously, her face transformed by joy.

Marcus turned the phone so I could see him. "94%!" he mouthed, grinning.

Ninety-four percent. She hadn't just passed – she'd demolished it.

"YEAH!" The shout escaped before I could stop it, echoing across the ice. My teammates turned to stare as I pumped my fist, probably looking deranged.

"Good news?" Henry asked, skating over with a knowing grin.

"The best," I confirmed, feeling like I could take on the entire BC team single-handedly.

The energy carried into the game. Every shift felt electric, my passes crisper, my vision clearer. Knowing Gemma would hurry back into the stands to cheer me on – wearing jerseys Karen had bedazzled with my number – added extra fuel. This wasn't just another game; it was a celebration.

BC came out aggressive, trying to establish physical dominance early. Their checking line targeted me specifically, looking to throw me off my game. But I'd taken worse hits in practice, and nothing could dim the high of Gemma's success.

Midway through the second period, with the score tied 1-1, I found myself in a scrum along the boards. Their defenseman – a guy named Morrison with more penalty minutes than points – drove an elbow into my ribs.

"Heard you're getting soft, Delacroix," he sneered. "Too busy playing house with that swimmer to focus on hockey?"

The old me might have ignored it, taken the high road. But the new me – the one who'd learned to pursue what mattered – smiled coldly.

"Jealous?" I asked, then stripped the puck from him with embarrassing ease, leaving him flat-footed as I started a rush up the ice.

The play developed in slow motion. Henry on my left wing, Frank driving the net. Their goalie cheated toward Henry, anticipating the pass. Instead, I went five-hole, threading the puck between his pads with surgical precision.

The goal light flashed. The crowd erupted. And somewhere in those stands, I knew Gemma was cheering.

"That's what focus looks like," I told Morrison as I skated past their bench.

The game turned into a showcase after that. We rolled them 5-2, with me assisting on three more goals. But the score was secondary to the feeling – like everything was finally aligning, like the future I'd been afraid to want was suddenly possible.

By the time I made it to Maverick's bar, our usual post-game spot, the party was in full swing. The bar had been invaded by what seemed like half the swim team, all there to celebrate Gemma's triumph. She stood near the pool table, still wearing my jersey, laughing at something Karen was saying.

When she spotted me, her face lit up in a way that made every check I'd taken worth it. I crossed to her, not caring who was watching, and pulled her into a tight hug that was definitely too intense for public consumption.

"Ninety-four percent," I murmured to her. "You absolute genius."

"You saw?" She pulled back, surprised, breaking the hug. "During warm-ups?"

"Marcus streamed it," I admitted. "I may have yelled when I saw your results. Coach was not impressed."

"You're ridiculous," she said, but she was beaming. "How was the game? I was too nervous to watch properly."

"We won," I said simply. "But that's not the important victory tonight."

Someone started a chant of "SPEECH!" directed at Gemma. She tried to protest, but Karen and Mia physically lifted her onto a chair, the crowd cheering.

"I don't do speeches," Gemma protested, but she was laughing.

"Do it anyway!" Frank called out. "Henry made a PowerPoint about your success!"

"I did not," Henry protested, then admitted, "It's just a few slides."

"SPEECH!" the chant continued.

Gemma looked at me, helpless. I nodded encouragingly, and she took a breath.

"Fine! Okay. Um." She surveyed the crowd, her expression softening.

"Two months ago, I thought failing organic chemistry meant failing at life.

I was wrong. It meant finding out who really mattered.

Who would show up at midnight with flashcards.

Who would make terrible chemistry puns to keep me sane.

Who would offer their homes and hearts without asking for anything in return. "

Her eyes found mine. "Who would believe in me when I couldn't believe in myself."

The bar had gone quiet, everyone sensing this was more than a victory speech.

"So thank you," she continued. "All of you. For proving that chosen family is just as real as the other kind. For showing me that asking for help isn't weakness. For..." She paused, swallowing hard. "For supporting me through my worst and celebrating my best. This victory belongs to all of us."

The cheer that went up could probably be heard across campus. Gemma was mobbed with hugs, passed from person to person like a championship trophy. But her eyes kept finding mine across the crowd, promising later conversations and private celebrations.

"You know," Tyler said, appearing at my elbow with two beers, "I've never seen you play like that when scouts were watching. Usually you get all tight, overthink every pass."

"Yeah, well." I took the beer and watched Gemma trying to get away from Karen's excited hugging. "It turns out playing hockey to make someone else happy isn't as motivating as playing for what you actually want."

"And what you want includes her?"

"What I want IS her," I corrected him. "Hockey is just one part of my life now. Maybe not even the most important part anymore."

Tyler whistled. "Your dad is definitely going to lose his mind."

"Too bad it's my life, not his," I said, and I really meant it.

The celebration continued late into the night. At some point, Henry actually did reveal a PowerPoint, complete with graphs showing Gemma's grade progression. Frank led increasingly ridiculous toasts. Mia dominated at darts despite claiming she'd never played.

But the best moment came near the end, when I found Gemma outside on the patio, taking a break from the chaos. She stood at the railing, looking up at the stars, still wearing my jersey.

"Hey, champion," I said.

She turned toward me with a contented sigh. "Hey, yourself. Good game tonight. That second goal was beautiful."

"You watched that part?"

“I was too nervous to look,” she admitted. “Karen narrated everything for me while I kept my eyes closed.”

"And here I thought you didn't like hockey."

"I don't like hockey," she corrected. "I love watching you play hockey. There's a difference."

"Oh?" I moved closer. "What difference would that be?"

"Hockey is just a game," she said, her fingers now playing with the hem of her dress. "But watching you out there – intense and focused and completely in your element – that's art. Plus," she added with a grin, "you look really good in those pants."

"Just the pants?" I teased.

"The whole uniform works," she conceded. "But we both know you look best shirtless." She teased

The heat in her eyes hit me like a body check. “Gemma Spears, are you flirting with me?”

“Maybe,” she whispered, gathering her courage. “Would that be okay?”

I backed her against the railing, my arms framing her. “I’ve wanted to get you alone since you walked into the stadium in my number.”

“Just tonight?” she challenged.

“Not just tonight. Since you first glared at me over those molecular models,” I admitted. “You were fierce, determined—I had to know everything about you.”

Her brow arched. “And now?”

I leaned in, voice low. “Now I know you reorganize everything when you’re nervous, belt out terrible karaoke when you’re happy, and guard your heart like fragile glass—yet love with your whole soul when someone earns it.

” My lips brushed her ear. “I want to learn more. Everything. If you’ll let me. ”

Her breath caught. “That’s a dangerous proposition, Delacroix.”

“Good thing I excel in dangerous situations.” I closed the distance and kissed her.

It was different from our previous kisses – deeper, hungrier, full of promise and intent. Her hands fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer, and I forgot we were on a bar patio where anyone could see.

"Get a room!" someone – probably Frank – yelled from inside.

We broke apart, both breathing hard. Gemma's cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen, and the sight made me want to drag her somewhere private immediately.

"We should go back in," she said, not moving.

"We should," I agreed, also not moving.

"Or..." She bit her lip, looking up at me through her lashes. "We could go home. Celebrate properly. Just the two of us."

"Gemma," I groaned. "You can't say things like that when we're in public."

"Then take me somewhere private," she challenged.

I'd never moved faster in my life. Within minutes, we'd made our excuses, endured the good-natured teasing from our friends, and were in my car headed back to the house.

"Just to be clear," I said as I drove, probably too fast, "this is happening? We're doing this?"

"Unless you don't want to," she said, and despite her bold words earlier, I heard the vulnerability underneath.

I reached over, taking her hand. "I want everything with you, Gemma. But only if you're sure. No pressure, no expectations. We can just—"

She squeezed my hand. "Liam?"

"Yeah?"

"Stop talking and drive faster."

I did.

Later, as we lay tangled in my sheets, Gemma traced lazy patterns on my chest. The house was quiet, our friends still at the bar.

"So," she said, voice drowsy with satisfaction, "that was..."

"Incredible? Mind-blowing? Worth the wait?" I suggested.

"I was going to say educational," she teased. "Very thorough demonstration of physical chemistry."

"Just wait until you see my lesson plan for biochemistry," I said, rolling her beneath me again.