Page 34 of The Dating Coach (Hearts on Ice #4)

The rain had soaked through my jacket by the time I reached Gemma's apartment building, but I barely felt it. The championship trophy sat in our locker room, my teammates were celebrating somewhere, and all I could think about was the empty tunnel where I'd waited for her.

I knocked. Waited. Knocked again.

"Gemma, I know you're in there," I said to the door. "Karen texted me. Please."

Silence.

"I can't do this anymore," I continued, leaning my forehead against the wood. "I can't pretend I don't love you. Can't pretend I'm better off without you. Can't keep living this half-life where I go through the motions and nothing means anything."

The lock clicked. The door opened six inches, revealing Gemma in oversized sweatpants and my old Providence Bruins shirt, eyes red and swollen.

"You shouldn't be here," she said, voice wrecked. "You should be celebrating. You won."

"I didn't win anything that matters," I said simply. "Not without you."

She stared at me, taking in my soaked appearance, and something cracked in her expression. "You're dripping on my hallway."

"Then let me in."

For a moment, I thought she'd close the door. Then she stepped back, opening it wider. I entered before she could change her mind, not caring that I was creating puddles on her hardwood floor.

"You're going to catch pneumonia," she said, wrapping her arms around herself. "I'll get you a towel."

"I don't want a towel," I said. "I want to know why you ran. Why you were there but couldn't come to the tunnel. Why you've decided I'm better off miserable without you than happy with you."

"You're not miserable," she said weakly. "You just won a championship. Your draft stock is recovering. Teams are interested again—"

"I don't give a fuck about teams!" The words exploded out, weeks of suppressed frustration finally breaking free. "I don't care about draft stock or championships or any of it if you're not there!"

"You have to care," she shot back. "It's your future. Your dreams—"

"You're my dream!" I stepped closer, watching her retreat until her back hit the wall. "You. Us. A life we build together. That's what I dream about. Not contracts or trophies or my father's approval."

"Your father—"

"Tried to set me up with a replacement girlfriend this morning," I interrupted. "Blonde, connected, understood the importance of image in professional sports."

Her face went pale. "What?"

"Turns out, she loved someone else too. She told me to go get my girl. Smart woman." I laughed humorlessly. "Even strangers can see what you refuse to: we belong together."

"It's not that simple—"

"It's exactly that simple!" I was close enough now to see the tears gathering in her eyes. "I love you. You love me. Everything else is just noise."

"The noise is ruining your life!"

"You leaving ruined my life!" I caught her shoulders, gentle despite my frustration. "Do you know what these weeks have been like? Playing hockey like a robot because I don't know what else to do? Waking up every morning and remembering you chose fear over us?"

"I chose your future over my selfishness," she said, but her voice shook.

"Bullshit." The word came out harsh. "You chose what you thought was best without asking what I wanted. Just like your parents. Just like my father. Deciding for others because you think you know better."

She was crying now, silent tears streaming down her face. "I was trying to protect you."

"From what?" I gentled my voice, thumbs wiping away tears. "From loving you? From choosing a life that includes you? From being happy?"

"From giving up everything for me," she whispered.

"Like my mom did for my dad. She was different then—kinder.

She had dreams of art school in New York.

But she met him, and suddenly those dreams didn't matter anymore.

Only his vision, his ministry, his needs mattered, and she changed because of him. "

"So, you're punishing us for their dysfunction?" I asked. "Gemma, I'm not your father. You're not your mother. We're not doomed to repeat their mistakes."

"Aren't we?" She looked up at me, eyes devastating in their pain. "You're already sacrificing—"

"I'm not sacrificing anything," I said firmly. "I'm choosing. There's a difference."

I pulled out my phone, showing her the email I'd screenshot. “Montreal’s affiliate team—partial schedule so I can take architecture classes at McGill. It pays less than the NHL, but enough. A life where I can play hockey, pursue my dreams, and maybe come home to you. McGill also has a top oncology program. We could both study there.”

She stared at the screen. "When did you—"

"Over the past few days. While you were busy deciding I couldn't make my own choices." I pocketed the phone. "I also told my father about the trust fund. Reminded him that in two weeks, I'll have access to money he can't touch. Enough to be free."

"Liam..."

“I’m not done.” I pulled out the notebook I’d been carrying, its pages filled with plans.

“I’ve mapped out every architecture program near a medical school nationwide.

Hockey leagues with flexible schedules. Cities where we could build a life together.

Wherever you go, I’ll be there. I’ve done the research, Gemma—planned for us, even when you were planning without me. ”

She took the notebook with shaking hands, flipping through pages of possibilities. "You did all this?"

"While you were protecting me from happiness?

Yeah." I cupped her face, making her meet my eyes.

"I'm twenty-one years old. I've been making decisions for other people my whole life.

Let me make this one for myself. Choose me.

Choose us. Choose the life we could build instead of the fear that keeps us apart. "

"I already hurt you," she whispered. "Pushed you away. Ruined everything."

"Then fix it," I said simply. "Stop running. Stop deciding. Stop being so fucking noble. Just love me back."

"I do love you," she said, the words breaking on a sob. "I love you so much it terrifies me. Makes me want to protect you from everything, including myself."

"I don't need protection," I said. "I need you. Complicated, brilliant, fierce you. The woman who stands up to bigots and protects her sister and overthinks chemistry problems. The one who makes me want more than what's expected."

"I turned down San Diego," she admitted quietly. "Couldn't imagine being that far from you. Even though I'd ended things. How stupid is that?"

"As stupid as me turning down every European team because they were too far from someone who wouldn't talk to me," I replied. "We're quite a pair."

"The worst," she agreed, and finally smiled. Small and watery, but real. "Liam?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry. For deciding for you. For running. For being too scared to believe I was worth fighting for."

"You're worth everything," I said firmly. "And I'll spend however long it takes proving that to you."

She kissed me then, salt from tears mixing with rain from my soaked clothes. It was desperate and apologetic and full of weeks of missed opportunities. When she pulled back, we were both breathing hard.

"I missed you," she whispered against my lips. "Every second. Watched all your games. Cried when you didn't smile."

"Couldn't smile without you there," I admitted. "Nothing felt real. Just going through motions until I could figure out how to fix this."

"I'm so sorry," she said again. "Can you forgive me? For being a coward? For pushing you away?"

"Already forgiven," I said immediately. "Just promise to stop running. To trust me to know my own heart. To let us try again."

"No more running," she promised. "No more deciding for you. No more fear winning over love."

I kissed her again, deeper this time, trying to pour weeks of loneliness and want into the connection. She responded with equal desperation, hands fisting in my soaked shirt.

"You're really wet," she mumbled against my mouth.

"You're wearing my shirt," I countered, tugging at the Providence Bruins logo. "The one you stole weeks ago."

"Borrowed," she corrected. "And never gave back because it smells like you and I'm pathetic."

"You're perfect," I said, then proved it by kissing her until she couldn't argue.

When we finally broke apart, she took my hand. "Come on. You need dry clothes before you actually do get pneumonia."

"Is that your medical opinion?"

"That's my girlfriend opinion," she said, then froze. "I mean, if we're... Are we?"

"Gemma Spears," I said formally, "will you please be my girlfriend? Will you stop sacrificing yourself for my supposed good? Will you trust me to make my own choices? Will you let me love you without conditions or limits?"

"Yes," she whispered. "To all of it. Yes."

I spun her around the small living room, ignoring my protesting ribs and her startled laugh. "She said yes!"

"Put me down, you're injured!"

"Don't care," I said, but set her down anyway. "Too happy to feel pain."

We stood there grinning at each other like idiots, soaking wet and emotionally wrung out but together. Finally together with all cards on the table.

"I love you," she said simply. "No conditions. No sacrifices. Just love."

"I love you too," I replied. "Forever. Non-negotiably. Even when you're being a self-sacrificing martyr."

"Even when I make terrible decisions based on fear?"

"Especially then," I confirmed. "Though maybe fewer of those going forward?"

"I'll work on it," she promised. "Be patient with me? I'm new to unconditional love."

"We have time," I said, pulling her close again. "All the time in the world."

Later, after I'd changed into dry clothes and we'd curled together on her couch, she asked quietly, "What happens now?"

"Now?" I pressed a kiss to her temple. "Now we build the life we want. Together. Montreal for your medical school and my architecture classes. Mia visiting whenever she wants. Our ridiculous found family staying close. No more letting other people's opinions matter more than our happiness."

"It sounds perfect," she said softly. "Too perfect. I keep waiting for something to ruin it."

"Only thing that can ruin it is us," I pointed out. "And we're done with that. Right?"

"Right," she agreed. "No more self-sabotage. No more noble sacrifices. Just us."

"Just us," I echoed, and sealed it with a kiss that promised forever.

In the morning, Mia would find us at the kitchen table sharing coffee from the same mug. Her delighted squeal would wake half the building. Karen would claim credit for the reunion. Frank and Henry would arrive with celebration breakfast.

But for now, in the quiet aftermath of a championship and a reconciliation, we held each other and chose love over fear.