Page 29 of The Dating Coach (Hearts on Ice #4)

The chlorine burned my eyes, but I kept swimming. Lap after lap, until my shoulders screamed and my lungs begged for mercy. The pool was my sanctuary, the one place where the world made sense in strokes and intervals.

It had been three days since the confrontation with my parents. Three days since Liam told his father to fuck off. Three days of watching him field increasingly dire phone calls about his evaporating NHL prospects.

Three days of suffocating guilt.

"That's enough," a voice called from the pool deck.

I surfaced to find Liam standing there in jeans and a henley, concern etched across his features. The bruises from last week's game had faded to yellow-green, making him look tired and worn.

"I have twenty more laps," I said, already positioning for another push-off.

"Gemma, you've been here for two hours. Your lips are blue."

"I'm fine."

"You're punishing yourself," he corrected. "And we need to talk."

Those four words sent ice through my veins that had nothing to do with the pool temperature. I hauled myself out, accepting the towel he offered.

"Let me guess," I said, aiming for casual and missing by miles. "Another team backed out? Your father made good on more threats? The Swedish league suddenly doesn't want controversial Americans?"

"Prague called," he said quietly. "Good team, full scholarship for their university architecture program. Everything I claimed to want."

"That's... that's great," I managed through the tightness in my throat. "Prague is beautiful. Amazing architecture to study."

"They want an answer by Monday."

Five days. Five days to decide whether to follow his dreams to a different continent, leaving behind everything and everyone here. Leaving me.

"You should take it," I heard myself say. "It's perfect for you."

"Is it?" His eyes searched mine. "Because it's 4,000 miles from my perfect."

The words hit like a physical blow. I turned away, burying my face in the towel to hide the tears threatening to spill.

"Don't," I whispered. "Don't make this about me."

"Everything is about you," he said simply. "About us. That's what you keep refusing to understand."

"Your entire future is imploding because of me!" The words exploded out, days of careful control shattering. "Every door closing, every opportunity vanishing – it's all because you stood by me. How am I supposed to live with that?"

"By letting me make my own choices," he said, frustration creeping into his voice. "By trusting that I know what I want."

"You want the NHL," I countered.

He shook his head. “My future doesn’t have to be hockey. I loved it—until my father piled his expectations on me. Now I want something different. Why is that so hard to believe?”

"Because I'm not worth it!" The admission ripped from my throat, raw and honest. "I'm not worth giving up your dreams. I'm complicated and damaged and I bring chaos everywhere I go. You could have anyone – someone simple, someone who doesn't come with bigoted parents and public drama and—"

"Stop." He caught my shoulders, forcing me to meet his eyes. "Stop deciding what I deserve. Stop making my choices for me. That's what my father does, and I won't accept it from him or you."

"I'm trying to protect you," I whispered, hating how my voice broke.

"From what? From caring about you more than I should?" He laughed, harsh and hurt. "Too late. That ship has fucking sailed."

We stood there in the echo of the empty pool facility, chlorine-scented air heavy between us. I could see our future stretching ahead – him sacrificing opportunity after opportunity, me drowning in guilt, both of us circling feelings we were too scared to name.

"I got into UC San Diego," I said quietly. "Early admission to their medical program."

His hands dropped from my shoulders like I'd burned him. "When?"

"Yesterday. Full scholarship. Top-tier oncology research." I forced myself to meet his eyes. "I'm taking it."

"San Diego," he repeated, his voice deadly quiet. "Three thousand miles away."

"Three thousand miles from here," I corrected. "Where you can rebuild without me dragging you down. Where teams might forget the controversy and remember your talent."

"You're running," he accused, and the betrayal in his voice cut deep. "Using geography to avoid whatever this is between us."

"There is no 'this,'" I lied, the words tasting like poison. "We're friends who got caught up in crisis mode. That's all."

"Bullshit." The word came out like a slap. "Look me in the eye and tell me that's all you feel."

I couldn't. We both knew I couldn't.

"It doesn't matter what I feel," I said instead. "I'm being practical. We both need to focus on our futures—"

"Our future," he interrupted, voice breaking slightly. "Together. That's what I've been hoping for."

"No," I said, hating myself for the word. "What we've been building is a disaster. Look around, Liam. Your career is in shambles. My family is threatening lawsuits. We're destroying each other."

"We're the best thing that's ever happened to each other," he shot back desperately. "Everything good in my life right now exists because of you. Because of whatever this thing is that you won't admit."

"Everything bad too," I pointed out, wrapping my arms around myself. "The lost opportunities, the family rifts—"

"You sound like my father," he said, voice turning cold. "Reducing everything to profit and loss. I thought you were different."

"I am different. I'm realistic." The lies felt like swallowing glass. "This was always temporary, Liam. A crisis response that got out of hand."

"Temporary?" He stared at me like I'd stabbed him. "Is that what you tell yourself? That whatever's happening between us is temporary?"

"What's happening between us is unsustainable," I forced out, even as my heart screamed in protest. "We both know it. Better to end it now before—"

"Before what?" he demanded, stepping closer again. "Before I fall completely for you? Before I rearrange my entire life around the hope of something more? Too fucking late, Gemma. All of that already happened."

The confession hung between us, raw and desperate. I wanted to reach for him so badly my hands shook.

"Then undo it," I whispered. "Take Prague. Take Sweden. Take whatever gets you away from here and back on track."

"You mean away from you."

"Yes." The word came out steady despite the way it destroyed me. "Away from me."

The silence stretched between us, filled with everything we couldn't say. That I was falling for him so hard it terrified me. That the thought of him in Prague made me want to scream. That I was doing this because I cared too much, not too little.

"You're a coward," he said finally, voice hollow. "You're so terrified of letting yourself have something good that you're sabotaging us rather than fighting for what we could be."

"Maybe," I admitted. "But at least you'll have a future."

"Without you, I don't want one," he said simply, and the honesty in his voice nearly broke my resolve.

"You say that now—"

"I'll say it forever," he interrupted. "But you won't hear it. You've already decided I'm better off without you, evidence be damned."

He turned to leave, then paused at the door. "You know what the worst part is? You're doing exactly what our parents do – making decisions for others based on fear. Controlling the narrative because you can't trust people to choose for themselves."

"That's not—"

"It is," he said firmly. "And until you stop running from whatever this is between us, until you trust me to know my own heart, we're stuck."

He left without another word, the door closing with a finality that echoed through my bones. I stood there in my chlorine-soaked suit, shivering in the artificial light, and wondered if protecting someone from heartbreak meant breaking your own heart first.

Back at my apartment, I found Karen and Mia waiting with wine and tissues, clearly prepared for emotional triage.

"That bad?" Karen asked, taking in my destroyed expression.

"I ended it," I said numbly. "Told him to take Prague."

"You did what?" Mia shot upright. "Gem, no. You can't—"

"I can and I did." I collapsed on the couch, too exhausted to cry. "He's better off without me."

"That's bullshit," Karen said bluntly. "That's fear talking, not truth."

"His entire future—"

"Is his to decide," Mia interrupted. "Just like mine was. You don't get to make choices for other people, Gem. Even out of love."

"Especially out of love," Karen added. "That's just control wearing a protective mask."

Their words echoed Liam's accusation, hitting with doubled force. But I was too deep in self-justification to listen.

"It's done," I said firmly. "He'll take Prague or Sweden or wherever. He'll play hockey and study architecture and meet someone simple. Someone who doesn't destroy everything she touches."

"You don't destroy things," Mia said fiercely. "You saved me. You protected me. You stood up to our parents for me."

"And look what it cost," I gestured broadly. "Everyone who gets close to me pays the price."

"The price of being loved?" Karen demanded. "Of being chosen? God, Gemma, you're so wrapped up in martyrdom you can't see what's right in front of you."

"I see clearly," I said. "That's the problem."

They argued with me for an hour, but I'd made my choice. San Diego by summer. Three thousand miles between us. Enough distance for him to rebuild without my shadow.

That night, I lay in bed scrolling through the UC San Diego website, trying to feel excited about palm trees and research opportunities. Instead, I felt hollow, carved out.

My phone buzzed. A text from Liam: I'm not taking Prague. I'm not taking anything that doesn't include you. Ball's in your court, Spears. Choose us or choose fear. But choose.

I turned off my phone without responding. Choose fear, apparently. Every time.