Page 36 of The Dating Coach (Hearts on Ice #4)

Six months in Montreal, and our tiny apartment near McGill had become everything I'd dreamed. Medical textbooks competed for space with architectural drawings. Gemma's study schedule synced with my practice times. Two lives intertwining without losing individual identity.

"Can you move your hip bone?" Gemma muttered from where she was using my stomach as a desk. "It's digging into my stomach."

"Can you not use me as furniture?" I countered, but shifted obligingly. "There's a perfectly good desk right there."

"Too far," she said, highlighting something in her anatomy textbook. "Besides, you're warm."

I smiled at the ceiling, one hand playing with her hair while the other held my tablet with building codes. This had become our Sunday routine – tangled together while studying separately, comfortable in shared silence.

My phone buzzed with a text from my mother. Over the months since the break with my father, she'd quietly maintained contact. Small messages of support, careful check-ins, proof that not all parental love came with conditions.

"Mom wants to know if we're coming for Thanksgiving," I said.

Gemma tensed slightly. "Both of us?"

" 'Please bring Gemma,' " I read. " 'I'd like to properly meet the woman who makes my son so happy.' "

"Your father—"

"Won't be there," I finished. "They're separated. Have been for two months."

She stood up, textbook forgotten. "What? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I'm still processing it," I admitted. "She says she's tired of living his dreams. Sound familiar?"

"Like mother, like son," she said softly. "She's choosing you over him. That deserves recognition."

I kissed her temple, grateful again for this woman who understood the weight of family dynamics. "I love you."

"Love you too," she murmured. "Now shh. I'm learning about ventricles."

The apartment buzzer interrupted her studying. Frank's voice crackled through the speaker: "Delivery! Open up! It's freezing!"

"It's October," I called back, but buzzed him in anyway.

Frank burst through our door minutes later, Henry, Karen and Mia trailing behind with bags of food and excited energy.

"Surprise!" Mia announced. "We drove up for the weekend!"

"You were here last weekend," Gemma pointed out, but she was already hugging her sister.

"That was for your birthday," Karen said. "This is just because we missed you."

"And because I have news," Henry added, producing a bottle of champagne. "I got in!"

"McGill?" Gemma squealed.

"Graduate program in education. Starting January." Henry grinned. "Turns out they liked my essay about teaching in underserved communities."

"And journalism program for me!" Karen added excitedly. "I'll finally get to write real stories instead of just campus gossip."

"This calls for Frank's special celebration pasta!" Frank declared, already taking over our kitchen.

"Everything calls for your pasta," I laughed, but I was already getting plates.

The evening dissolved into the controlled chaos of found family.

Frank cooked while providing running commentary.

Karen tasted his dishes and offered feedback.

Mia updated us on her classes and her girlfriend.

Henry outlined his plans for revolutionary teaching methods.

Gemma and I moved around each other with practiced ease, hosting the people who'd become essential to our existence.

"This is nice," Mia said during dinner. "All of us together again."

"It'll be even better when you’ll be here too," Gemma said. "McGill acceptance is basically guaranteed with your grades."

“Plus, we desperately need someone to challenge Frank at racing video games,” I declared. “He’s become insufferable.”

“I’m undefeated!” Frank crowed, chest puffed out like a peacock.

“That’s because you cheat,” Henry shot back, eyebrow raised.

“Strategic advantages aren’t cheating—they’re… creative competitiveness!”

“See what I’m stuck with all day long?” Karen chimed in, rolling her eyes.

“Pfft, tougher than it looks—why don’t you give it a shot?” Frank taunted, waving the extra controller at Karen.

Karen snatched it like a prize and declared, “I could play this blindfolded!” before promptly pressing every button at once and sending her car careening off a cliff in-game.

The room erupted: Frank howling in indignation, Henry snorting with laughter, and Mia practically spitting out her soda.

I leaned back, grinning. Few months ago, I'd been playing hollow hockey and fighting my father's expectations.

Now I was eating pasta with the people who mattered, building a life that actually fit.

My phone buzzed with a text from my team captain: Great practice today. You're playing like someone who loves the game.

He was right. Without the pressure of NHL dreams and my father's expectations, hockey had become fun again. I played because I loved it, not because I had to. The joy had returned, and I could see myself playing in local leagues for years to come, maybe even coaching someday.

"Stop staring and do your homework," Gemma said without looking up. "Your building codes won't memorize themselves."

"How did you know I was staring?"

"Because you always stare when you're planning our entire future." She glanced at me. "Want to share?"

"Just thinking about everything ahead of us. How many possibilities we have now."

"Yeah?" She set aside her book, giving me full attention.

"Six months ago, I couldn't see past the next game, the next disappointing conversation with my father.

" I pulled her onto my lap. "Now I wake up thinking about what we're building together.

The houses I'll design someday. You saving lives as an oncologist. Maybe a little place with a backyard where we can host everyone for holidays. "

"Getting ahead of yourself there," she teased, but I could see the soft look in her eyes.

“Am I? Because I’m already picturing residency applications, job interviews, and choosing a city that fits both our dreams.” I traced her hand.

“Where will we go next, after graduation?” she asked.

"Wherever you get matched for residency," I said simply. "I can build buildings anywhere. Hockey's flexible. But you're going to get into the best oncology programs, so we go where they are."

"That's still years away," she pointed out.

"I know. Plenty of time to plan." I kissed her nose. "Maybe we'll stay in Montreal. Maybe Boston or Toronto. Maybe somewhere totally new."

"As long as we're together," she said softly.

"Always together," I agreed. "No more noble sacrifices or protective pushing away."

From the living room, we heard Frank declare something about midnight pancakes. Henry's groan suggested this was a recurring theme.

A knock on our door interrupted. Mia poked her head in. "Frank's making pancakes and forcing us all to participate. Resistance is futile."

When we finally joined our friends for midnight pancakes, flour already coating most surfaces, I couldn't stop smiling. Mia was right – this was possible. Love without conditions, success by our own definitions, chosen family who showed up.

My architecture professor had asked me to design my dream project, something that represented my values and vision. Watching Gemma laugh as Frank tried to flip a pancake and failed spectacularly, I realized I'd already built it.

Not a building, but a life. Constructed from broken pieces and second chances, held together by trust and laughter and the absolute certainty that we'd chosen right.

"Earth to Liam!" Karen called. "You're on mixing duty!"

I joined the chaos, accepting my role in our beautiful, messy family. Gemma caught my eye across the kitchen, flour in her hair and joy in her smile, and mouthed "I love you."

"Love you too," I mouthed back.

"Stop being gross and help!" Frank commanded.

The pancakes burned. The smoke alarm went off. Henry accidentally flung batter on the ceiling. Karen documented everything for future blackmail. Mia laughed at the chaos unfolding around us.

It was perfect. Absolutely, chaotically, wonderfully perfect. Just like us.

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