Page 11 of The Dating Coach
"Henry! Frank!" Liam called toward the stairs. "Come meet Gemma's sister! She'll be staying with us for a while."
"Are they trustworthy?" I whispered, surprised.
“Absolutely,” he said quietly.
Two guys appeared, one tall and lanky with disheveled brown hair, the other shorter and built like a truck. They took in Mia with her obvious family resemblance to me, her nervous posture, and her duffel bag, and something passed between them.
Liam stepped forward slightly. "Look, I need you guys to keep this quiet, okay? Mia's staying here for a while, but we need discretion about it."
"Done," the taller one said immediately, no hesitation in his voice.
"Not a word from us," the shorter one agreed with a firm nod.
The silent understanding that passed between them made my chest tight with unexpected gratitude. Then the taller one's expression shifted to something warmer.
"Hey, sis!" he said easily. "I'm Henry, that's Frank. You hungry? Frank just made enough pasta to feed an army."
"I'm stress-cooking," Frank explained. "We have a game against BC tomorrow. But this works out great – now I don't have to eat carbs for six people by myself."
"I could eat," Mia admitted, and I watched some tension leave her shoulders as Frank immediately started describing the three different sauces he'd made.
While they headed to the kitchen, Liam touched my elbow gently. "Want to see where she'll be staying?"
I nodded, following him upstairs. The house was bigger than I'd realized, with multiple bedrooms along a long hallway. He led me to a room at the end, opening the door to reveal a space that was clearly used for storage but had been hastily cleared.
"I know it's not much," he started apologetically. "But there's a bed, and the window locks, and—"
"It's perfect," I interrupted, overwhelmed by the evidence of preparation. There were fresh sheets on the bed, a small lamp on the nightstand, even a phone charger coiled neatly beside it. "You did all this?"
"After Sunday night, I figured..." He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly shy. "I wanted to be ready in case you needed it."
The thoughtfulness undid something in me. I sank onto the bed, the stress of the past few days catching up all at once. "I don't know how to do this," I admitted. "How to protect her and maintain my grades and keep swimming and pretend everything's fine when it's all falling apart."
Liam sat beside me, careful to leave space between us. "You don't have to do it alone."
"I've always done everything alone," I said, then caught myself. "That came out wrong. I have Karen, and she's amazing, but..."
"But you're used to being the one who helps, not the one who needs help."
I looked at him, surprised by the understanding in his voice. "Yeah. Exactly."
"I get it," he said simply. "Being the responsible one, the one everyone depends on. It's exhausting."
“You?” I asked, surprise coloring my voice. “The hockey star with the perfect life?”
His laugh was humorless. "Perfect. Right. You want to know what perfect looks like? It's spending every summer since I was six at hockey camps instead of family vacations. It's choosing a major based on what fits around practice schedules instead of what I actually want to study. It's being groomed for the NHL since before I could spell it and being too much of a coward to admit I'd rather design buildings than play professional hockey."
The bitterness in his voice shocked me.
"Buildings?" I prompted softly.
"I like architecture and urban planning. Haven't told anyone except Henry and Frank."
"Why not?"
"Because Liam Delacroix, son of Victor Delacroix, hockey legend and current minority owner of the Boston Bruins, doesn't throw away his NHL prospects to play with blueprints." He stood abruptly, pacing to the window. "Sorry. You've got enough problems without listening to my poor-little-rich-boy complaints."
"Hey." I stood too, moving closer without really thinking about it. "Pain isn't a competition. Your struggles don't diminish mine or vice versa."
