Page 78 of The Dating Coach
"I'm not sure," I said, second-guessing myself. "Maybe he…"
"Stop overthinking and just do it!" Karen nearly shouted. "Just go to him before I drag you down there myself!"
I nodded, already moving, pushing through celebrating fans toward Liam. I made it down to the entrance, stumbling blindly toward where I thought Liam might be.
In the tunnel, Liam was waiting. I knew it with certainty. Waiting for me to be brave enough to choose us over fear.
I took one step toward the tunnel. Then another. Then my phone buzzed with a text from my mother:Saw the game on TV. At least you didn't embarrass us by being there with him.
The words hit like cold water, reminding me of everything I'd been through in my life. Love meant sacrifice. Love meant pain. Love meant conditions and performance and never being enough.
I turned away from the tunnel and fled into the night, leaving Liam waiting for someone too broken to believe she deserved him. The coward's way out, again. Always.
Chapter 34: Liam
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.
She'd been there. In section 314, hiding but present. She'd seen the goal, seen me point to her, seen everything. And still she'd run.
I stood outside her door at 11 PM, water dripping onto the hallway carpet, trying to find words that hadn't already been said. My ribs ached from the hit, my heart ached from weeks without her, and I was so tired of pretending either would heal without 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?"
