Page 33 of The Dating Coach (Hearts on Ice #4)

"You look like you're attending a funeral, not a championship game," Aunt Penelope observed, sliding into the booth across from me. We were at the pre-game gathering in the arena’s restaurant.

I forced a smile that felt like shattered glass. "Just nervous about the game."

"Bullshit," she said pleasantly, then turned to the server. "Whiskey sour, please. Make it a double. My niece is being a fool and I need fortification."

"Aunt Pen," I protested weakly.

"Don't 'Aunt Pen' me." She waited until the server left, then leaned forward. "I had coffee with a very broken-hearted hockey player yesterday."

My heart stuttered. "You what?"

"Lovely young man. Excellent bone structure. Absolutely destroyed by your noble martyrdom." She accepted her drink with a smile that turned sharp as she focused back on me. "Going to explain why you're sitting here looking miserable instead of with him?"

"It's complicated—"

"It's not," Uncle Mark interrupted, appearing with Mia and Karen. "It's actually quite simple. You love him. He loves you. Everything else is just noise."

"The noise is ruining his career!" I protested as they settled around me, clearly prepared for an intervention.

"His career, his choice," Karen said firmly. "But you don't trust him to make good choices, do you?"

"That's not—"

"It's exactly that," Mia cut in, steel in her voice. "You're doing what Mom and Dad always did. Deciding what's best for someone else without asking what they actually want."

The comparison hit like ice water. "I'm nothing like them."

"Really?" Aunt Penelope challenged. "They decided Mia needed to be straight for her own good. You decided Liam needs to be without you for his own good. Both based on the assumption that you know better than the person actually living the life."

I stared at my untouched water, throat tight. "I'm trying to protect him."

"From what?" Uncle Mark asked gently. "From loving someone who loves him back? From choosing a life that includes more than hockey?"

"From giving up his dreams for me," I whispered.

"Did he tell you he was giving them up?" Karen pressed. "Or did he tell you he was choosing different dreams? Dreams that included you?"

"Same thing—"

"It's not the same thing!" Mia's voice cracked. "God, Gemma, do you know what he told me a few weeks ago? That meeting you changed his life. That you showed him he could want more than what his father planned. That you gave him the courage to stand up to his father.”

"He would have stood up to his father anyway," I said weakly.

"No," Henry said, appearing at our table still in his game-day suit. "He wouldn't have. I've known Liam for four years. He was sleepwalking through life until you woke him up."

"Henry—"

"You think you're poison?" he continued, anger clear in his voice. "You're the antidote. To his father's bullshit, to the pressure, to the fake life he was living. Keep telling yourself you're bad for him while he plays like a robot and looks dead inside."

"He's playing brilliantly," I defended.

“He’s playing without joy,” Henry corrected. “Without purpose. Without heart—because you broke his heart.”

“Henry,” Karen warned.

"No, she needs to hear this." He focused on me with unusual intensity. "That man arranged safe houses for Mia. Stood up to his father for you. Chose love over millions of dollars. And you pushed him away because you were scared."

"I'm not—"

"You are scared," Aunt Penelope said quietly. "You're afraid of being happy. Of believing you deserve unconditional love. So, you create conditions. Create reasons why it can't work."

"His father—"

"Would still create problems even without you," Uncle Mark interrupted. "But he only has the power Liam gives him. And from what I hear, Liam's done giving him power."

"I've ruined everything for him!"

"You've ruined everything for yourself," Mia corrected. "And for him. But it’s still not too late."

The truth of it sat heavy on my chest. Around us, the restaurant buzzed with pre-game excitement, but our table felt suspended in its own bubble of intervention.

"We should head to the arena," Henry said, checking his phone. "Game starts in an hour." He looked at me. "You coming?"

"I have a ticket," I said quietly. "Section 314."

"The nosebleeds?" Karen frowned. "Why would you—"

"Because I'm a coward," I admitted. "Who wants to watch but not be seen."

"So stop being one," Aunt Penelope said simply. "Stop hiding. Stop deciding everyone else's future. Just... stop."

Easier said than done. But as we made our way to the arena, surrounded by my patchwork family, something loosened in my chest. Maybe I was a coward. Maybe I was terrified.

But I was here. That had to count for something.

The arena thundered with championship energy. Thousands of fans in Pinewood colors, ready to scream their team to victory. I huddled in my nosebleed seat, hood up, trying to become invisible while my heart hammered against my ribs.

"This is ridiculous," Karen muttered from beside me. "We could have good seats. Henry offered—"

“I can’t,” I interrupted. “I can’t sit where he might see me and distract him.”

“You think he isn’t already distracted?” Mia asked from my other side. “He’s been actively scanning the crowd for you.”

It was true—he was searching through the throngs just to find me.

The teams were out on the ice for war m- ups, and even from this distance, I could see the change in Liam.

"He looks exhausted," I whispered.

"Exhausted but still fighting," Karen corrected. Her assessment was indeed accurate. Despite the exhaustion, I could see determination in his eyes – the will to keep fighting, for something, for… someone.

During the national anthem, I watched him stand at center ice, still searching for me. Watching him steadily scan the crowds, my heart panged with guilt.

The game began with brutal intensity. Both teams came out flying, trading chances and hits with championship desperation. Liam won the opening faceoff, starting a rush that nearly scored, but his shot went wide. He didn't react, just skated back to position like a machine.

In the second period, he took a vicious hit along the boards—my heart stopped as he crumpled and stayed down longer than felt right. The trainer skated out to check him over, and even from the nosebleeds I could see Liam arguing to stay in the game.

“He’s hurt,” I said, hal f- rising from my seat.

“Easy now,” Karen said, placing a gentle hand on my arm. “You know you can’t sprint down the aisle in the middle of the game.”

She was right, but watching him skate gingerly to the bench made my chest ache. He paused to catch his breath, wincing, then swept his gaze once again across the crowd—down low first, and then higher.

When his eyes finally locked onto section 314—onto me, hood up and shoulders hunched—the world stopped.

We stared at each other across impossible distance. Even from here, I could see the recognition, the flash of something that might have been hope or hurt or both. Then he turned away, focusing back on the game with renewed determination.

"He knows you're here," Aunt Penelope said quietly. "What are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know," I said, even as my heart screamed otherwise. "I don't want to drag him down with me."

"Drag him down?" Uncle Mark asked. "Honey, you're the only one who can lift him up!"

For a moment, I wanted to believe him, believe them all. Maybe there could be a future for me and Liam.

On the ice, Liam returned for his next shift, moving differently. Still hurt, but with something like purpose. He won the faceoff cleanly, carried the puck through traffic, and set up a gorgeous scoring chance that hit the post.

"Better," Karen observed. "Knowing you're here woke him up a little."

"Maybe," I muttered.

"Hey, have a little faith in yourself, sis," Mia said cheerfully.

The third period began with the score tied 2-2. Championship hockey at its most intense – every shift mattered, every mistake magnified. Liam played through obvious pain, taking faceoffs, killing penalties, doing all the unglamorous work that won games.

With five minutes left, opportunity struck. Henry forced a turnover, finding Liam with a perfect pass at center ice. Time slowed as he accelerated, one defender to beat, the goalie coming out to challenge.

The move he made – a deke that sent the defender sprawling, then a roof shot that the goalie had no chance on – was pure poetry. The goal light flashed, the crowd exploded, and for the first time in weeks, Liam smiled.

Not the full, joyous grin I remembered. But something. A crack in the mask he'd been wearing.

He looked up at section 314 again, found me instantly, and pointed. Not the casual salute players gave crowds, but a specific, deliberate acknowledgment.

This one's for you, the gesture said. Even broken, even without you, for you.

Tears spilled down my cheeks before I even realized it, as his teammates swarmed him. Karen handed me tissues without a word, while Mia rubbed my back.

"Still think you're bad for him?" Aunt Penelope asked quietly.

The final minutes were defensive warfare, Pinewood protecting their slim lead against increasingly desperate attacks. Liam played every crucial shift, blocking shots with his body, winning vital faceoffs, leading by example despite the pain he was clearly in.

When the final buzzer sounded, confirming Pinewood's championship, the arena erupted. Players poured onto the ice, fans screamed, confetti fell from the rafters. A perfect moment of triumph.

Except for Liam, who stood apart from the celebration, looking up at where I sat. Even from this distance, I could read the question in his posture: Now what?

"Go to him," Mia urged. "He won. Go congratulate him. Talk to him. Something!"

"I'm not sure," I said, second-guessing myself. "Maybe he…"

"Stop overthinking and just do it!" Karen nearly shouted. "Just go to him before I drag you down there myself!"

I nodded, already moving, pushing through celebrating fans toward Liam. I made it down to the entrance, stumbling blindly toward where I thought Liam might be.

In the tunnel, Liam was waiting. I knew it with certainty. Waiting for me to be brave enough to choose us over fear.

I took one step toward the tunnel. Then another. Then my phone buzzed with a text from my mother: Saw the game on TV. At least you didn't embarrass us by being there with him.

The words hit like cold water, reminding me of everything I'd been through in my life. Love meant sacrifice. Love meant pain. Love meant conditions and performance and never being enough.

I turned away from the tunnel and fled into the night, leaving Liam waiting for someone too broken to believe she deserved him. The coward's way out, again. Always.