Page 13 of The Dating Coach
"Gem!" she called when she saw us. "Frank's been telling me about the time he accidentally dyed the entire team's jerseys pink!"
"It was for breast cancer awareness," Frank protested. "Eventually. After we figured out how to spin it."
I caught Liam watching me as I smiled at my sister's joy. When our eyes met, something passed between us – an acknowledgment of the trust I'd placed in him, a promise that it wasn't misplaced.
"So," Mia said, looking between us with interest. "How do you two know each other again?"
"I'm tutoring Gemma in organic chemistry," Liam said smoothly. "We should probably go over the schedule. Gemma, kitchen table?"
We left Mia to her pasta and newfound friends, spreading out at the large wooden table that dominated the breakfast nook. Liam pulled out his phone, then a planner that was color-coded within an inch of its life.
"Okay," he said, full business mode. "Between your swimming schedule and my hockey, we have windows here, here, and here." He pointed to various time slots. "If we meetevery day, even just for an hour, we can cover all the material twice before your exam."
"Every day?" I stared at the schedule. "Liam, that's... I can't ask you to—"
"You're not asking. I'm offering." He met my eyes steadily. "We made a deal, remember? I help you with chemistry, you teach me how to actually pursue what I want instead of waiting for life to happen to me."
"Okay," I agreed softly. "Every day."
From the living room, we heard Mia laugh again – bright and genuine. The sound made my eyes burn with sudden tears. Liam's hand covered mine on the table, warm and steady.
"She's going to be okay," he said. "You both are."
Chapter 8: Liam
My room had transformed into a chemistry lab. Molecular models covered every surface, whiteboards leaned against the walls filled with reaction mechanisms, and color-coded notes were arranged in what Henry called "serial killer levels of organization." Gemma sat cross-legged on my bed, her failed exam spread before her, defensive walls firmly in place despite the week that had passed since Mia moved in temporarily.
"The problem isn't that you don't understand the concepts," I said, watching her work through a practice problem. "You're overthinking everything, getting tangled in theoretical possibilities instead of trusting your instincts."
"My instincts are what failed me the first time," she shot back, erasing her work with enough force to tear the paper.
"No, exhaustion and stress failed you. Your instincts are solid." I moved to sit beside her, careful to maintain appropriate distance. "Look, try thinking about it like swimming. When you're in the water, do you consciously think about every stroke?"
"Of course not. That would slow me down."
"Exactly. You trust your muscle memory, your training. Organic chemistry is the same. You know this material, you just need to trust that knowledge instead of second-guessing every step."
She sighed, dropping her pencil. "It's not the same. In the pool, I'm in control. But Organic chemistry feels like chaos."
"Only because you're fighting it instead of flowing with it." I pulled out a fresh sheet of paper. "Let's try something different. SN2 reactions are like butterfly stroke – everything happens in one smooth motion. SN1 is more like freestyle – discrete steps that build on each other."
"Did you seriously just compare organic chemistry to swimming strokes?"
"Is it working?"
She paused, considering. "Actually... yeah. That makes sense."
We worked through several more problems using athletic metaphors, and I watched the tension gradually leave her shoulders as concepts clicked into place. She had a tell when she understood something – her eyes would widen slightly and she'd bite her lower lip, a gesture that was becoming dangerously distracting.
"How are you so good at this?" she asked after successfully completing a complex mechanism. "Most hockey players I know can barely spell chemistry, let alone understand it at this level."
"Stereotype much?" I teased, but there was less sting than when she'd made similar comments before.
"You know what I mean. Your schedule is insane, you're captain of the team, and yet you're maintaining a 4.0 in hard sciences. It doesn't compute."
I shrugged, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. "I like puzzles. Chemistry is just another kind of problem to solve."
She tilted her head, studying me. “You’re not what people expect.”
