Page 73 of The Dating Coach
"Of course you did. And I'm sure she nodded and smiled and then did what she thought best anyway." At my expression, she smiled sadly. "Gemma doesn't know how to be loved without cost. Everyone who's claimed to love her has demanded payment – perfect grades, hidden identity, sacrificed opportunities."
"I never demanded anything," I protested.
"No," Penelope agreed. "Which is probably why she's terrified. You're the first person to love her without conditions,and she has no framework for that. So, she creates conditions. Sacrifices herself before you can ask her to."
The truth of it hit like a slap shot to the chest. All those times Gemma had pulled back when things got too good, too easy. She'd been waiting for the catch—for the moment I’d demand she change, sacrifice, or perform to earn my love.
“What do I do?” I asked quietly. “She won’t answer my calls or reply to my messages. She’s decided I’m better off without her.”
"Here's what you need to understand," Penelope said, finishing her coffee. "Gemma has never had anyone fight to keep her. She's always been the one who fights – for Mia, for grades, for everyone else's happiness. No one has ever looked at her walking away and said 'no, you're worth fighting for.'"
"I tried—"
"Try harder," she interrupted gently. "My niece is brilliant and stubborn and absolutely convinced she's poison to everyone she loves. Prove her wrong. Show her that some people are worth keeping, even when they try to save you from themselves."
She stood, pulling on her coat. "The championship game is tomorrow, yes? She'll be there. Hiding in the nosebleeds, probably, but there. She can't help herself – she loves you too much to stay away entirely."
"How do you know?"
"Because she told me," Penelope said simply. "In between sobs about ruining your life, she admitted she can't breathe without you. That pushing you away feels like cutting off her own arm. That she watches your games on her laptop and cries when you don't smile after scoring."
My throat tightened. "She said that?"
"She said more, but that's the relevant part." Penelope squeezed my shoulder. "Fight for her, Liam. She's never had anyone think she was worth the effort. Change that."
She left me sitting there, staring at my cold coffee and reconsidering everything. Gemma hadn't left because she didn't love me. She'd left because she loved me too much to let me "sacrifice" anything for her.
Time to show her that choosing her wasn't a sacrifice – it was the easiest decision I'd ever made.
That night, I sat at my drafting table sketching plans. Not buildings this time, but a future. One that included both our dreams, our cobbled-together family, and a life built on mutual choice rather than sacrifice.
Tomorrow was the championship. Win or lose on the ice, I had a more important victory to claim.
The morning of the championship game, I woke to pounding on my hotel room door. The team had stayed at a downtown hotel to avoid distractions, but apparently, distractions had found me anyway.
My father stood in the hallway like an avenging angel in Armani, flanked by what looked like a small army – PR representatives, two men in suits who screamed "agents," and incredibly, a young woman who looked like she'd stepped out of a society magazine.
"Get dressed," Victor commanded. "We have a meeting in the conference room. Time to discuss your future properly."
"My game's in six hours," I said, not moving from the doorway. "Whatever this is can wait."
"This is your career," he said impatiently. "I've spent weeks doing damage control after your little stunt. These men are here to help salvage your prospects."
"I don't need salvaging," I said evenly. "I need to prepare for a game."
"The game is one day. Your career is forever." He gestured to the woman. "This is Astrid. Her father owns significant stakes in three NHL teams. She understands the importance of image in professional sports."
I stared at the woman – blonde, beautiful, and looking deeply uncomfortable with the situation. "Did you seriously bring me a replacement girlfriend?"
"I brought you an appropriate partner," Victor corrected. "Someone who understands our world, who won't drag you into controversy—"
"Get out." The words came out deadly quiet.
"Excuse me?"
"I said get out. All of you." I stepped back, ready to close the door. "I have a game to prepare for."
Victor's hand shot out, stopping the door. "We're not done discussing this. The conference room. Twenty minutes. Don't make me come get you."
