Page 65 of The Dating Coach
"I'm fighting everything," she admitted, accepting the towel gratefully. "My parents are threatening legal action. Apparently coming out publicly is 'alienation of affection' or some bullshit."
"They don't have a case," I said firmly. "Mia's an adult. You can't alienate someone from people they chose to leave."
"Logic doesn't matter when they have lawyer money and righteousness on their side." She slumped on the bench, exhaustion evident. "I've destroyed your career. The things people are saying online—"
"Stop." I sat beside her, taking her chlorine-pruned hands. "You didn't destroy anything. If teams don't want me because I stood by you, then fuck them."
"You can't just fuck them," she protested. "This is your future."
"My future is different now," I said simply. "It includes you now. Non-negotiable."
She studied my face, searching for doubt or regret. "Your father must be livid."
"He's bringing a PR consultant to campus. Wants to spin this away." I squeezed her hands. "I told him not to bother. I'm not apologizing for caring about you or protecting Mia."
"Liam—"
"No arguments," I interrupted. "We're in this together. Your fight is my fight."
Her eyes filled with tears. "I don't deserve—"
I kissed her quiet, pouring certainty into the contact. When we broke apart, I rested my forehead against hers.
"You deserve everything," I murmured. "Love without conditions. Support without questions. Family who chooses you every single day."
"You could have anyone," she whispered. "Someone without baggage and bigoted parents and public drama."
"I don't want anyone," I said firmly. "I want the brilliant, brave woman who came out to protect her sister. Who fights for what's right even when it costs everything. Who makes me want to be better than I am."
"You're already pretty great," she said wetly.
I kissed her again, soft and sure. "Now come on. Frank's making celebration pancakes. Apparently, we're heroes who deserve carbs."
We walked back to the house hand in hand, ignoring the stares and whispers from other students. Let them look. Let them talk. We'd chosen our truth over their comfort.
At the hockey house, my father's luxury car sat in the driveway like a threat. Beside it, a sleek car that probably belonged to Bradley. I sighed, squeezing Gemma's hand.
"Want me to go?" she offered. "You don't need me making this worse."
"You make everything better," I corrected. "Besides, if we're doing this, we're doing it together."
Inside, Victor Delacroix held court in our living room, Bradley beside him with a tablet full of strategies. They'd clearly been waiting a while, impatience radiating from every line of their bodies.
"Liam," my father said coolly. "Ms. Spears. How convenient."
"Mr. Delacroix," Gemma replied with equal frost. "Come to threaten more careers?"
"I've come to salvage my son's future," he corrected. "Bradley has ideas—"
"I don't want to hear them," I interrupted. "There's nothing to salvage because nothing's broken."
"Your draft stock—"
"Is irrelevant if it requires me to hide who I am or who I like." I remained standing, Gemma beside me. "Some teams will pass. Others won't. That's their choice."
"Teams want stability," Bradley interjected smoothly. "Not players who court controversy."
"Standing against homophobia is controversial?" Gemma asked sweetly. "Interesting perspective."
