Page 25 of The Dating Coach (Hearts on Ice #4)

Consciousness returned slowly, like swimming up from the bottom of a warm lake. The first thing I registered was the solid warmth beneath my cheek – Liam's chest, rising and falling with steady breaths. The second was the golden morning light streaming through his windows, which meant...

"No," Liam mumbled, eyes still closed as he tried to pull me back. "Stay. Skip practice."

"Can't skip," I said, but I let myself be tugged back for a moment, weak to his sleepy persuasion. "Some of us aren't star athletes who can coast on natural talent."

"I don't coast," he protested, cracking one eye open. "I work very hard. Ask my ribs."

The bruising across his torso had darkened overnight, purple and black painting abstract art on his skin. I traced the edges carefully, medical interest warring with something softer.

"Does it hurt?"

"Everything hurts," he admitted. "But this makes it better." He caught my hand, pressing it flat against his chest. "Last night..."

"Was nice," I finished, because it was true. "But I really do have to go. Coach will murder me if I'm late again."

"Again?" His grin was far too knowing. "Gemma Spears, have you been distracted lately?"

“Shut up,” I muttered, smiling as I searched for my shoes. “Some of us have demanding, handsome idiots who insist on injuring themselves and needing medical attention.”

The words slipped out without thought, and I froze. Liam's eyebrows shot up, his grin turning absolutely wicked. Before he could comment on my very revealing word choice, I grabbed my bag and headed for the door.

"Practice," I said firmly, pulling away. "I'll come by after?"

"I'll be here," he promised. "Probably haven't moved. Very injured. Might need extensive care."

"Drama queen," I accused, but I was grinning as I slipped out.

The walk of shame across campus in yesterday's clothes was worth it for the memory of waking up in Liam's arms. I made it to my apartment with just enough time to throw on practice gear and attempt to tame my hair into submission.

Karen was in the kitchen, coffee mug paused halfway to her lips as she took in my appearance. "Well, well. Someone didn't come home last night."

"I was providing medical care," I said primly, grabbing my swim bag.

"Is that what we're calling it now?" She grinned. "About fucking time, honestly. The sexual tension was killing us all."

"Nothing happened," I protested. "He's injured. We just slept."

"Uh-huh. And that hickey on your neck is from... medical care?"

My hand flew to my neck. "There's no—"

"Made you look," she sang. "But seriously, Gem. You look happy. Like, actually happy. It's a good look on you."

I wanted to deflect, to minimize, to protect myself with sarcasm. Instead, I found myself saying, "I am happy. Terrifyingly, irrationally happy."

"Good," Karen said firmly. "You deserve terrifying happiness. Now go to practice before Coach makes you swim extra laps."

Practice was brutal, my distraction evident in every missed interval. But I couldn't stop smiling, even as Coach lectured about focus and commitment. My phone had three texts from Liam by the time I finished – increasingly dramatic descriptions of his suffering that made me laugh despite myself.

I was still grinning as I walked back to my apartment, which made the sight of the familiar car in our parking lot that much more jarring.

A luxury car, similar to Karen's parents' car, sat there like a warning, all sleek lines and judgment.

My stomach dropped as I remembered her panicked text from last week about them potentially visiting.

We'd laughed it off then, sure they'd never follow through on their threat to "check on their investment. "

I flew up the stairs, bursting into our apartment to find chaos. Karen was shoving Mia's belongings into closets while Mia herself stood frozen in the living room, clutch of textbooks against her chest like a shield.

"They called from the road," Karen said frantically. "Twenty minutes out. Help me hide everything!"

We flew into action, three people practiced in the art of hiding truth from parents. Mia's pride flag came down, replaced by Karen's innocuous landscape print. Photos from our chosen family dinners disappeared into drawers. Every trace of my sister's existence was erased with painful efficiency.

"I can go to the library," Mia offered, voice small. "Study there until—"

"No," I said firmly. "You live here. You're my cousin visiting for college tours, remember? We've used that story before."

"But what if they—"

The doorbell cut her off. Karen's parents had arrived.

What followed was forty minutes of polite torture. Mr. and Mrs. Lopez were everything parents were supposed to be on paper – successful, attractive, concerned about their daughter's wellbeing. They were also masters of subtle disapproval, each comment designed to cut without seeming cruel.

"Such a... cozy apartment," Mrs. Lopez observed, making 'cozy' sound like 'squalid.' "Though I suppose it's adequate for temporary student housing."

"The neighborhood seems very... diverse," Mr. Lopez added, which in his vocabulary was not a compliment. "Are you sure it's safe? We could help you find something in a better area."

"This is perfect," Karen said through gritted teeth. "Close to campus and affordable."

"Affordable," her mother repeated with a delicate shudder. "Well, I suppose that's important when you insist on pursuing journalism instead of something practical."

They questioned everything – why Karen needed a roommate ("Couldn't you budget better?

"), why said roommate's "cousin" was staying with us ("Doesn't she have proper accommodations?

"), why there were men's hoodies in our coat closet ("Those are mine," I lied quickly, shoving Liam's Providence hoodie deeper into the pile).

The real torture came with their pointed observations about "appropriate priorities" and "focusing on the right things." Every comment dripped with implication – that Karen was wasting her potential, that her choices were disappointments wrapped in polite concern.

"We just worry," Mrs. Lopez said, touching Karen's hand with false warmth. "You're so talented. We'd hate to see you waste that on... fleeting college experiences."

The weight of unspoken accusations pressed down on us all. Mia grew quieter with each passing minute, shrinking into herself in a way that made my chest ache.

Finally, blessedly, they left with promises to "check in more often" and reminders about "staying focused." The moment the door closed, Karen collapsed on the couch.

"I'm sorry," she said, voice thick. "I'm so fucking sorry. I thought they'd given up on surprise inspections."

"It's not your fault," I said, but my hands shook as I retrieved hidden photos. "They're your parents. You can't control them."

"I hate this," Mia said quietly, retrieving her pride flag with careful hands. "Hiding who we are. Pretending we're something we're not. When does it end?"

I wanted to promise it would get better, that someday we'd be free from parental judgment and societal expectations. Instead, I pulled her into a hug, Karen joining us until we were a pile of exhausted women clinging to each other.

My phone buzzed. Liam: Everything okay? You were supposed to come by after practice.

The simple concern in his text made my eyes burn. I typed back: Karen's parents visited. Bad scene. Need to decompress.

His response was immediate: On my way.

" You don't have to— " I started typing, but he was already sending follow-ups.

Bringing food. And Frank. He claims his presence repels judgmental parents. Something about his aura.

Despite everything, I smiled. Twenty minutes later, Liam arrived with Chinese takeout and, indeed, Frank, who immediately declared the apartment needed "cleansing from parental negativity" and started burning sage he'd produced from somewhere.

"Is that even real sage?" Karen asked, but she was fighting a smile.

"It's definitely some kind of herb," Frank said confidently. "The smoke is what matters. We're creating a barrier against judgments."

"That's not how sage works," Mia pointed out.

"That's not how any of this works," Frank agreed cheerfully. "But it's making you smile, so it's working perfectly."

Liam settled beside me on the couch, his presence grounding. When I leaned into him, he wrapped an arm around me carefully, mindful of his ribs.

"You okay?" he murmured.

"Better now," I admitted. "Today was just... a lot. Seeing Mia have to hide again. Watching Karen shrink under their disapproval. It's exhausting."

"I know," he said simply. "But you're all here. Together. That's what matters."

We ate Chinese food and let Frank's ridiculous sage ceremony lift our spirits. But underneath the laughter, I felt the familiar weight settling on my chest. The fear that happiness this perfect couldn't last, that external forces would always threaten what we'd built.

That evening, back at Liam's house while Mia helped Frank with calculus and Henry taught her card tricks, I found myself standing in Liam's doorway, watching him work on architecture sketches despite his injuries.

"You're thinking too loud," he said without looking up. "I can hear it from here."

"Just processing," I said, entering and closing the door behind me. "Today reminded me how fragile everything is. How easily people can make us feel small for being ourselves."

He set down his pencil, turning to face me fully. "Come here."

I went, settling carefully beside him on the bed. He cupped my face with gentle hands, thumbs stroking my cheekbones.

"What we have isn't fragile," he said firmly. "It's been tested by chemistry failures and family crises and my asshole father. We're still here."

"But what if—"

"No what-ifs," he interrupted. "Just this. Just us. Just choosing each other despite the people who think they know better."

His words, so achingly simple and defiantly hopeful, washed over me. I kissed him, pouring all my fears and hopes into the connection.

When we broke apart, I admitted quietly, "I'm terrified of losing this. Of something ruining it."

"Then we'll face the something together," he said simply. "Whatever comes. Together."

The word 'together' settled around us like a promise. We fell asleep that way, curled into each other despite his injuries, choosing connection over fear.

But I should have known the universe wasn't done testing us.

I woke to Liam's phone buzzing insistently. He groaned, fumbling for it in the darkness. "What?" he muttered, picking up the call.

Henry's voice was audible even from where I lay. "Your father's here. In the living room. He's... it's not good, man."

Liam was up immediately, pulling on proper clothes with grim efficiency. "Stay here," he told me.

"No," I said, getting out of bed.

"Gemma—"

"Together," I reminded him. "Whatever comes, remember?"

His expression softened for a moment before hardening into something I'd never seen before. "Okay. But let me handle him."

We descended to find Victor Delacroix holding court in the living room like he owned it. Henry and Frank flanked the doorway like bodyguards, clearly uncomfortable but unwilling to leave Liam alone with his father.

"Liam," Victor said, his tone arctic. "We need to discuss your future. Privately."

"Anything you need to say can be said here," Liam replied evenly. "These are my friends. My family."

"Family," Victor repeated, the word dripping disdain. His eyes found me. "And I suppose she's family too?"

"Yes," Liam said simply.

What followed was twenty minutes of careful verbal warfare. Victor had spreadsheets showing Liam's "declining draft stock," quotes from scouts about his "divided attention," projections of lost earnings if he didn't "refocus immediately."

"You're throwing away millions," Victor said finally. "For what? A girl who'll move on when she realizes you gave up your dreams for her?"

"I'm not giving up my dreams," Liam said quietly. "I'm choosing different ones. Ones that are actually mine."

"Architecture." Victor spit the word like profanity. "You want to waste your talent building—"

"I want to build homes for families who accept their children unconditionally," Liam interrupted. "I want to create spaces where people can be themselves without judgment. I want a life where success isn't measured in goals scored or contracts signed."

"And you think she'll still want you when you're not the hockey star? When you're just another graduate student struggling to make ends meet?"

"Yes," I said, before Liam could respond.

Both men turned to stare at me. "I'll want him when he's covered in drafting pencil smudges at 3 AM.

When he's stressed about sustainable building materials.

When he's fighting city planning committees for affordable housing initiatives.

Because I fell in love with Liam, not his jersey number. "

Victor's face went through several expressions before settling on cold dismissal. "Think about what you're throwing away," he told Liam, his voice dangerously quiet. "Everything we've worked for. Everything you've built. Think very carefully about whether this is worth destroying your career."

"I have thought about it," Liam said calmly. "I've been thinking about it for months. Drive safe, Dad."

Victor's jaw tightened. "When you realize what a mistake this is, don't come crying to me. I won't clean up this mess twice." He left in a cloud of expensive cologne and disappointment.

The moment the door closed, Liam sagged against me.

"Did I just throw away my entire future?" he asked quietly.

"No," I said firmly. "You just chose a different one."