Page 28 of The Dating Coach (Hearts on Ice #4)

The video had twenty thousand views by morning.

I watched it again on my phone, still in awe of Gemma's fierce bravery.

Someone had captured the whole thing – her parents' ambush, her protective stance in front of Mia, the moment she'd declared her truth to the world.

The comments ranged from supportive to vitriolic, but the overwhelming response was solidarity.

"You've seen it twelve times," Henry observed from across the kitchen. "It's not going to change."

“I know,” I replied, but I hit replay anyway, watching her say “ I’m bisexual ” one more time—still in awe of her courage.

My phone rang – my father. Again. I'd been ignoring his calls since yesterday, but the voicemails were getting increasingly unhinged. Time to face the music.

"Finally," he barked when I answered. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"Good morning to you too, Dad."

"Don't be glib. This video is everywhere. Three scouts have already called to express 'concerns' about your judgment. The Providence GM wants to know if you're planning any more 'public displays.'"

"Public displays of what?" I asked, though I knew exactly what he meant. "Supporting people I care about? Standing up to abusive parents? Being a decent human being?"

"Being associated with controversy," he corrected coldly. "Teams don't want drama, Liam. They want players who keep their heads down and produce."

"Then maybe I'm not the player they want," I said simply.

The silence stretched so long I wondered if he'd hung up. Finally: "I'm coming to campus. We need to discuss damage control. I'm bringing Bradley."

Bradley – PR consultant to hockey's elite, master of spinning scandals into redemption narratives. The fact that my father thought we needed him said everything about how he viewed the situation.

"Don't bother," I said. "There's no damage to control."

"Your draft stock—"

"Can plummet for all I care," I interrupted. "If teams don't want me because I support LGBTQ+ rights, then I don't want them either."

"You naive child," he spat. "You think principles pay bills? Especially when you're struggling to make ends meet because you threw away millions for a gesture?"

"It wasn't a gesture," I said firmly. "It was the right thing to do."

"I'll be there in three hours," he said, ignoring my response. "Bradley has strategies. We can spin this as youthful solidarity, distance you from the controversy—"

"I'm not distancing myself from anything," I said clearly. "Come if you want, but I won't be here. I have a life to live that doesn't revolve around your approval."

I hung up before he could respond, immediately blocking his number. Childish? Maybe. Necessary? Absolutely.

"That sounded fun," Frank said, entering with a stack of newspapers. "Speaking of fun, we made the news!"

He spread out the campus paper, the local news, even a mention in the Boston Globe's college sports section. "Hockey Team Stands Up to Homophobia" was the general theme, though some outlets focused more on the "draft prospect risks career" angle.

"Coach wants to see you," Henry said quietly. "Soon as possible."

I made my way across campus to Coach Jack’s office. He sat behind his desk, arms folded, face unreadable—and motioned for me to take a seat.

"Hell of a thing yesterday," he said finally. "That video's making rounds in athletic departments across the country."

"I don't regret it," I said immediately.

"Didn't say you should." He leaned back, studying me. "You know what this means though? The attention it brings?"

"Some teams won't want me," I said. "My father made that clear."

"Some teams are run by dinosaurs," Coach corrected. "Others will see a leader who protects his people. Question is – which do you want to play for?"

The simple reframing hit hard. I'd been so focused on what I might lose, I hadn't considered what I might gain.

"I had a call this morning," Coach continued. "From Montreal. They were impressed by the video. Said it showed character they want in their organization."

"Montreal?" I blinked. "But they weren't even scouting me."

"They are now." He smiled slightly. "Funny how standing up for what's right sometimes opens doors instead of closing them. Not always, mind you. But sometimes."

"My father's coming with a PR consultant," I admitted. "Wants to do damage control."

Coach snorted. "Only damage I see is to his ego. You did right, son. Don't let anyone convince you otherwise."

I left his office feeling lighter, but that weight returned when I found Gemma at the pool. She was swimming laps with mechanical precision, the way she did when anxiety threatened to overwhelm her.

I waited until she finished, handing her a towel as she emerged. "Your stroke's off. You're fighting the water."

"I'm fighting everything," she admitted, accepting the towel gratefully. "My parents are threatening legal action. Apparently coming out publicly is 'alienation of affection' or some bullshit."

"They don't have a case," I said firmly. "Mia's an adult. You can't alienate someone from people they chose to leave."

"Logic doesn't matter when they have lawyer money and righteousness on their side." She slumped on the bench, exhaustion evident. "I've destroyed your career. The things people are saying online—"

"Stop." I sat beside her, taking her chlorine-pruned hands. "You didn't destroy anything. If teams don't want me because I stood by you, then fuck them."

"You can't just fuck them," she protested. "This is your future."

"My future is different now," I said simply. "It includes you now. Non-negotiable."

She studied my face, searching for doubt or regret. "Your father must be livid."

"He's bringing a PR consultant to campus. Wants to spin this away." I squeezed her hands. "I told him not to bother. I'm not apologizing for caring about you or protecting Mia."

"Liam—"

"No arguments," I interrupted. "We're in this together. Your fight is my fight."

Her eyes filled with tears. "I don't deserve—"

I kissed her quiet, pouring certainty into the contact. When we broke apart, I rested my forehead against hers.

"You deserve everything," I murmured. "Love without conditions. Support without questions. Family who chooses you every single day."

"You could have anyone," she whispered. "Someone without baggage and bigoted parents and public drama."

"I don't want anyone," I said firmly. "I want the brilliant, brave woman who came out to protect her sister. Who fights for what's right even when it costs everything. Who makes me want to be better than I am."

"You're already pretty great," she said wetly.

I kissed her again, soft and sure. "Now come on. Frank's making celebration pancakes. Apparently, we're heroes who deserve carbs."

We walked back to the house hand in hand, ignoring the stares and whispers from other students. Let them look. Let them talk. We'd chosen our truth over their comfort.

At the hockey house, my father's luxury car sat in the driveway like a threat. Beside it, a sleek car that probably belonged to Bradley. I sighed, squeezing Gemma's hand.

"Want me to go?" she offered. "You don't need me making this worse."

"You make everything better," I corrected. "Besides, if we're doing this, we're doing it together."

Inside, Victor Delacroix held court in our living room, Bradley beside him with a tablet full of strategies. They'd clearly been waiting a while, impatience radiating from every line of their bodies.

"Liam," my father said coolly. "Ms. Spears. How convenient."

"Mr. Delacroix," Gemma replied with equal frost. "Come to threaten more careers?"

"I've come to salvage my son's future," he corrected. "Bradley has ideas—"

"I don't want to hear them," I interrupted. "There's nothing to salvage because nothing's broken."

"Your draft stock—"

"Is irrelevant if it requires me to hide who I am or who I like." I remained standing, Gemma beside me. "Some teams will pass. Others won't. That's their choice."

"Teams want stability," Bradley interjected smoothly. "Not players who court controversy."

"Standing against homophobia is controversial?" Gemma asked sweetly. "Interesting perspective."

Bradley's polished smile faltered. "That's not what I—"

"Then what did you mean?" she pressed. "Because from where I'm standing, you're suggesting Liam should distance himself from supporting LGBTQ+ people to make bigots comfortable."

"It's about marketability," my father said coldly. "Endorsements. Image."

"My image is fine," I said firmly. "I'm a hockey player who protects his family. If brands don't want to endorse that, I don't want their money."

"You ignorant—" My father started.

"Proud," I interrupted. "The word you're looking for is proud. Proud of Gemma for her courage. Proud of our friends for standing up. Proud of choices that prioritize people over profit."

"This is her influence," Victor pointed at Gemma like she was poison. "She's corrupted your priorities."

"She's clarified them," I said simply. "Shown me there's more to life than your narrow definition of success."

The argument that followed was vicious – accusations of manipulation, threats of withdrawn support, promises of a bleak future without family backing. Through it all, Gemma stood beside me, steady and sure, her presence anchoring me.

Finally, Victor delivered his ultimatum: "Walk away from her by Sunday, or I'll personally ensure no NHL team touches you."

"Then I guess I'll play in Europe," I said calmly. "They have architecture schools there too."

He left in a fury of slamming doors and screeching tires, Bradley trailing with apologies about "heated moments" and "room for negotiation." I didn't care. The bridge was burning, and I'd lit the match myself.

"You okay?" Gemma asked softly once they were gone.

"Free," I corrected, pulling her close. "For the first time in my life, completely free."

But that night, alone in my room while Gemma studied, I let myself feel the weight of what I'd potentially lost. The NHL future I'd worked toward my entire life was now hanging by threads because I'd chosen love over convenience.

Worth it, I decided, looking at architecture programs in Stockholm and Munich. Completely worth it. Some things were worth sacrificing for better ones.