Page 31 of The Dating Coach (Hearts on Ice #4)

The arena buzzed with Frozen Four energy, thousands of fans dressed in Pinewood colors, ready to watch their team battle for a spot in the championship game. I sat in the nosebleed section, hood pulled up, trying to blend into the chaos while my heart hammered against my ribs.

I shouldn't be here. I'd promised myself I wouldn't do this – wouldn't torture myself by watching him play. But Mia had begged, Karen had insisted, and my traitorous heart had overruled my brain.

"He looks terrible," Mia whispered beside me, tracking Liam during warmups.

She wasn't wrong. Even from this distance, I could see the exhaustion in his movements. He went through the motions – stick handling, shooting, stretching – but there was no fire in it. No joy. Just mechanical precision that made my chest ache.

"He's playing the best hockey of his career," I said weakly.

"He's playing like a robot," Karen corrected from my other side. "All skill, no soul."

On the ice, Liam won the opening faceoff cleanly, starting a rush that led to an early goal. The crowd erupted, but his celebration was muted – a simple fist bump with Henry before skating back to center ice.

"Remember when he used to smile after scoring?" Mia asked pointedly.

I did. Remembered the pure joy that used to light up his face, the way he'd search the crowd for people who mattered. Now he kept his eyes on the ice, focused on the next play, the next shift, the next meaningless moment.

The game was brutal – playoff hockey at its most intense. Every hit rattled the boards, every shot carried season-ending potential. Liam played through it all with that same detached excellence, racking up points while looking dead inside.

"Is this what you really wanted?" Karen asked during the second intermission. "Him focused on hockey? Living his dream?"

"Shut up," I muttered, but the words hit their mark.

This wasn't what I'd wanted. I'd wanted him happy, fulfilled, chasing dreams that actually mattered to him. Instead, I'd turned him into exactly what his father had always demanded – a hockey machine without purpose beyond the next game.

The third period was scoreless, tension ratcheting higher with each passing minute. Then, with five minutes left, Liam took a vicious hit along the boards. He went down hard, slow to get up, and my heart stopped.

"Get up," I whispered, hands clenched. "Please get up."

He did, eventually, skating slowly to the bench. The trainer examined him, and even from here I could see him arguing to stay in the game. Of course he was. Playing through pain was all he had left.

"You know what Frank told me?" Mia said quietly. "He turned down meetings with three European teams last week. Said there was no point if he was going alone."

"He should take them," I said automatically. "Prague has an excellent—"

"Stop," Mia interrupted. "Just stop. You turned down San Diego. He's turning down Europe. You're both sacrificing everything to avoid admitting you're miserable without each other."

With two minutes left, Coach put Liam back on the ice. He won the crucial defensive zone faceoff, cleared the puck, and helped kill the remaining time. When the final buzzer sounded, Pinewood had won 2-1.

The crowd went wild – their team was heading to the championship game. Players mobbed each other on the ice, celebration erupting everywhere. Except for Liam, who stood apart, stick raised perfunctorily before skating toward the tunnel.

"He didn't even look happy," Karen observed. "They're going to the championship and he looks like someone died."

Someone had, I thought. The version of him who smiled freely, who dreamed beyond hockey, who believed love was worth more than draft positions. I'd killed that person with my noble stupidity.

"I need to go back to my apartment," I said, standing abruptly.

"Gem—" Mia started.

"I can't do this," I said. "I can't watch him be miserable because of me. I can't—"

"Can't what?" Karen demanded. "Can't admit you were wrong? Can't fight for something that matters? Can't stop being a self-sacrificing martyr long enough to be happy?"

"You don't understand—"

"We understand perfectly," Mia interrupted. "You're so terrified of ruining his life that you're ruining both your lives instead. It's not noble, Gem. It's just sad."

I fled before they could say more, pushing through celebrating fans toward the exit. But the universe had one more cruelty in store – the team was conducting interviews in the corridor, and I found myself trapped behind a crowd of reporters.

"Liam, talk about that defensive play in the final minutes," someone asked.

"We executed our system," he said flatly. "Did what we needed to do."

"You're heading to the championship game. How does it feel?"

"Good," he said, with all the enthusiasm of someone describing paint drying. "It's what we worked for."

"There've been rumors about European teams interested in you. Any truth to that?"

For the first time, something flickered in his expression. "I'm focused on finishing the season. Whatever comes after... comes after."

"What about the controversy from a few weeks ago? The video? Has that affected—"

"Next question," the moderator interrupted, but Liam was already speaking.

"The only thing I regret about that video," he said clearly, "is that it cost me someone important. Standing up for what's right is never wrong. Loving people without conditions is never wrong. If teams have a problem with that, it's their loss."

My heart cracked at the pain buried in his professional tone. A reporter pressed further: "So you don't regret the relationship? Even with how it affected your draft stock?"

Liam looked directly at the camera, and for a moment it felt like he was looking at me. "I regret letting fear win. I regret not fighting harder. I regret accepting someone else's definition of what's best for me. The relationship? Never. That was the best thing that ever happened to me."

He walked away before they could ask more, leaving reporters scrambling and me frozen in place. As I watched him disappear into the tunnel, I realized I'd turned him into exactly what I'd tried to prevent – someone going through the motions, achieving success that meant nothing.