Page 6 of The Dating Coach (Hearts on Ice #4)

But as I approached the building, I noticed lights reflecting off the water through the high windows. My first thought was that someone had forgotten to turn them off, but then I heard voices – one patient and instructive, the other younger and frustrated.

Curious and slightly concerned about potential vandalism, I used my athlete's keycard to slip inside. The chlorine smell hit me immediately, along with the echo of voices off the tiled walls. I moved quietly toward the pool, staying in the shadows of the bleachers.

What I saw made me freeze.

Gemma Spears stood at the pool’s edge in her team suit, hair pulled back in a messy bun, demonstrating arm movements to a teenage girl who looked like a younger version of herself—perhaps her sister.

The girl – she couldn't have been more than seventeen – was in the water, trying to replicate Gemma's movements with obvious frustration.

"It's all about timing, Mia," Gemma said, her voice gentler than I'd ever heard it. "The dolphin kick has to flow from your core, not just your legs."

"I'm trying," the girl—Mia—protested, "but I keep sinking on the second stroke."

"Because you're fighting the water instead of working with it. Here, watch again."

Gemma dove in with practiced ease, her body cutting through the water like she was born to it. She demonstrated the butterfly stroke in slow motion, each movement deliberate and graceful. When she surfaced, pushing wet hair from her face, I forgot how to breathe for a second.

"See how I keep my core engaged the whole time?" she said. "It's not about power, it's about efficiency."

I must have shifted because something caught Gemma's attention. Her head snapped toward my position, eyes widening when she spotted me. The transformation was immediate: her relaxed posture went rigid, her face cycling through panic, anger, and finally a kind of resigned dread.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, moving protectively between me and Mia, who had shrunk against the pool wall.

"I was just..." I stepped into the light, hands raised peacefully. "I saw the lights on and wanted to make sure everything was okay. I'll go."

"Gemma," Mia whispered, and I could hear the fear in her voice. "What if he tells—"

"He won't," Gemma said firmly, but her eyes on me were pleading in a way that made my chest tight. "Will you, Liam?"

"Tell anyone what?" I said carefully. "I didn't see anything except a swimmer getting some extra practice."

Mia made a small sound – relief or disbelief, I couldn't tell. Up close, the family resemblance was even stronger, though where Gemma was all sharp edges and defensive walls, this girl looked fragile, like she might shatter at a harsh word.

"I should go," I repeated, but something in Mia's expression stopped me. I'd seen that look before – the hollow-eyed fear of someone whose world had imploded. "Unless... you need help? I mean, I'm not much of a swimmer, but I could time laps or something?"

"And why would you do that?" Gemma asked, suspicion clear in every word.

I thought about Jesse, my teammate who'd spent six months pretending to date girls while slowly dying inside. I thought about my cousin Emma, who still flinched at certain biblical phrases after her parents' attempts to "fix" her. I saw the same fear in Mia that I saw in them.

"Because I have nothing better to do. And let's just say I have experience with family situations that require... discretion," I said carefully.

Something in my tone must have convinced them because Mia whispered, "They want to send me to conversion camp."

The words hit me like a slap shot to the chest. "Fuck. Sorry, I mean... that's..."

"Fucked up?" Mia supplied with a watery smile. "Yeah, that's what I said too."

"Mia ran away," Gemma explained, each word seeming to cost her. "Our parents found out she's gay. They gave her an ultimatum: conversion therapy or leave. So, she left."

The trust she was showing by telling me this – Gemma who'd assumed the worst of me just two days ago – wasn't lost on me. I sat on the bleachers, trying to look as non-threatening as possible.

"My cousin went through conversion therapy," I said quietly. "It nearly killed her. Literally. She..." I stopped, not wanting to traumatize Mia further. "She's okay now, living in Seattle with her wife and their two kids. But it took years of therapy to undo what those camps did."

"Wife?" Mia perked up slightly. "Your cousin has a wife?"

"Married three years ago. I was a groomsman." I smiled at the memory. "Her parents didn't come, but the rest of us made sure it was the best fucking day ever. Sorry, language."

"You apologize for swearing a lot for a hockey player," Gemma observed, some of her defensive posture relaxing.

"Trying to break stereotypes," I said, earning almost a smile.

We sat in silence for a moment, the pool filter humming in the background. Finally, I made a decision that Frank would probably call impulsive and Henry would call stupid.

"Look, I know you don't trust me, and I get why," I said to Gemma. "But if you need help – a place for Mia to crash sometimes, someone to cover for her, whatever – I'm around. My roommates are cool, and we have space."

"Why?" Gemma asked again, but with less suspicion this time. "What's in it for you?"

"Nothing," I said honestly. "I just can't stand seeing people forced to hide who they are. Life's too short for that bullshit."

Mia looked between us, then said to her sister, "He seems nice, Gem."

"Seeming nice and being nice are different things," Gemma said, but she was looking at me with something like consideration.

"Fair point," I conceded. "But for what it's worth, I'm offering actual nice, not performance nice. No strings, no expectations, just help if you need it."

I stood to leave, pulling out my phone. "I'm going to delete my keycard access log for tonight. Facilities management doesn't need to know about any after-hours swimming."

"You can do that?" Mia asked, impressed.

"Benefits of being hockey royalty," I said with a self-deprecating shrug. "Might as well use the privilege for good."

As I headed for the door, Gemma called after me. "Liam?"

I turned back.

"Thanks," she said simply. "For... for being cool about this."

"Always," I said, meaning it more than she knew.

Walking back to my car, I thought about the trust they'd shown me. Gemma wasn't just the defensive girl with a chip on her shoulder anymore – she was a sister trying to protect family, carrying burdens that would break most people.

I wanted to help. More than that, I wanted to earn the trust she'd started to show tonight. I felt like I had a purpose beyond skating and following my father's predetermined path.