Chapter 27 Liam
Liam
Usually, I mind when Pen knocks on all of our doors at five in the morning on Christmas, but usually, I don’t have Henri curled around me. I can’t complain about taking advantage of all the time that we have left.
“It’s still dark out,” she mumbles.
“She’s just trying to be the first family on the entire property to open presents.” I brush a hair off her face as she gazes up at me. “Can I ask for one thing today?”
“To pull me aside whenever you please and have your way with me? How did you read my mind?” She smirks and stretches before rolling onto me, her body trapping mine.
I laugh. “I love that mind of yours. That could be part of the wish.”
“A Christmas wish? Let’s hear it then, Liam Hughes.”
“Today, you are my girlfriend. Nothing more, nothing less. We don’t talk about tomorrow or flights or anything that’s going to happen. We have this Christmas together.”
“All right, boyfriend. I think I can agree to that.” She kisses me softly, taking her time with it, pressing her smile against my matching one before breaking away to say, “I’ve never had a boyfriend, not a real one.”
“Then I have my work cut out for me being your first.” And best, I can’t help but think.
I flip her over and kiss her some more between her fits of laughter until Pen pounds on the door, again.
By the time Henri and I straighten our clothes and untangle ourselves from each other, everyone else is already downstairs seated around the tree armed with mugs of coffee for what’s destined to be a long day.
The events of the fundraiser start at eight with the competitions and entertainment going until dark, when the gala will start for guests who purchased the exorbitantly-priced tables.
There’s some magic in how everyone turns into the childhood version of themselves when presents are involved. The air fills with the crinkling and tearing of wrapping paper. Mom attempts to capture it all on her phone while Dad and June shove the scraps into the waiting massive black bag.
“Here,” I say as I hand a box to Henri. I wrapped it before we flew out so the edges are scuffed white and the bow slides off as she takes it from me.
To my relief, she takes it without question. Instead of ripping the paper, she picks at the tape and removes it in one piece. Her hand flies to her mouth and tears clutter her eyes when the box pops open. I’ve been waiting for this moment since I talked to Fallon about the gift.
Henri reaches in and gingerly takes out the magazine in the plastic sleeve.
“It’s from the first-ever print run of Spitfire,” I explain. “Fallon signed the note from the editor’s page.”
“I can’t believe you got a hold of this,” she says.
I shove a hand through my hair. “To be honest, it wasn’t too hard since they had boxes in storage considering they didn’t sell all that well.”
“It’s perfect.” She punctuates her words with a quick kiss.
“Oh, June, isn’t that the magazine you like?” Mom asks, peering over Henri’s shoulder.
“You’re thinking of a different one,” June rushes to say.
“No it’s definitely that one,” Pen chimes in, a smirk curling her lips as her gaze darts between June and I.
Does that mean she’s read my articles? No that’s not possible. There’s no way she knows it’s me if she has.
“They have good human interest pieces and fun quizzes and stuff.” June flushes. “I grab them when I’m stuck in line at the store and buy them because print is dying. It’s good for the economy.”
Henri looks at me. “I couldn’t agree more.
The writers are incredibly talented.” I don’t know who else hears because Pen opens her next present and lets out an eardrum shattering whoop when she finds a blanket that has a pattern that looks an awful lot like Pedro Pascal’s face pasted over and over again.
“Speaking of.” Henri grabs a small box from behind the tree and gives it to me.
Inside, I find three new notebooks, the exact type I like because of how well they fit in my pockets, and a touristy I Love New York pen.
“You have to keep writing if you want to fill them up. If you don’t use them, you’ll hurt my feelings,” she says.
“There’s no way I’ll let that happen. Thank you.” I grab her in a hug. “For believing in me.”
Once all gifts are open, everyone moves to get ready, bundling up to face their responsibilities for the day. The lodge is already buzzing with activity when we all arrive.
With the intensity of a high school theater director with the casting list for the school’s spring musical, June posts the tournament bracket for the dual slalom at eight a.m. by the reception desk.
It’s not made public earlier because in the years when it wasn’t posted the day of, there were some mysterious incidents between competitors.
Henri and I hang back while the first wave of competitors fight to get to the front. Only one or two think to take a picture and slip away.
The sound system cracks. “All competitors for the adult women’s half-pipe please report to the registration tent if you have not done so already. We will start in thirty minutes.”
“Pen’s in that one, right?” Henri asks. I smile, which causes her brows to furrow. “What?”
“Nothing. It’s just that you called her Pen,” I say, then cock my head toward the emptying area next to the bulletin board. “Let’s go check who’s going to kick my ass.”
There are thirty-two competitors and sixteen match-ups—eight men’s pairings and eight women’s.
I trace my finger along the page, finding my name at the bottom.
Points are given as a collective, so even if one member of a team gets eliminated in the first round, the team still has a chance of placing, even if it’s unlikely.
“Okay, not bad. Mr. Bakshi is good, but I have a chance of winning.” I nod.
“Nice!” Someone slaps me on my shoulder and I snap my head up to find Kurt next to me. “Looks like if you don’t immediately fail, it’s you and me, man.”
“What a fun coincidence.” God. I just know June did this on purpose.
“Guess this is my chance to see how I stack up against a pro.”
“Don’t be stupid, Kurt. Liam is only a substitute. If you beat him, that doesn’t mean a thing.” Laura gives me a pitying smile. “Good to see you on more than the bunny hill after so long.”
Another announcement blares over the speakers for the half-pipe.
Henri tugs at my sleeve, taking a step toward the exit, as she talks to her old friends.
“Always so fun to run into you both. But we need to go get good spots to watch the half-pipe.” We push outside and she looks me dead in the eye.
“I take back everything I said. I need you to crush him and his ego.”
“Oh, baby, I’m planning on it.” I can’t fucking wait to cut that asshole down to size.
We get to the half-pipe run with time to spare, allowing us to get front row seats to Pen dominating the competition.
She wears her helmet and jacket, broadcasting her sponsorship deals, and gives cheeky thumbs-ups to the cameras.
A pair of commentators hunch over their mics, detailing the series of gravity stunts that cause the crowd to burst into cheers.
I snort at the end the first of her two runs, the higher of which will be used as her official score.
“What? Don’t tell me that was bad,” Henri says, eyes wide.
“She just treated it as a practice run. Watch the next one, she’ll add at least one full rotation to each of her moves,” I tell her.
Sure enough, that’s exactly what happens.
Pen runs up to us after a brief interview with a feral grin on her face.
“You were toying with them,” I say as I pull her into a firm hug. “You bailed on that first 1080 on purpose.” She’d done two and a half of the three full rotations before cutting it short and failing the trick.
She winks. “Gotta keep them guessing.”
“Show off.”
“Had to set the Hughes family standard high. Don’t lose and embarrass me later; I’ll be watching.”
“Rude.”
“I judge because I love you,” she says, skipping away. “I’m going to go touch up my hair so I look good wearing my gold medal.”
There’s no point in commenting on how there’s five more athletes who need to take their turn, because inevitably she does win. Henri screams and cheers with me, but the moment the ceremony is over, I go to change in my gear for my race.
The door to the family locker area swings open as I’m clicking the closures of my boots into place. When I look up, I blink, not expecting to see my dad there. His black coat is emblazoned with the resort’s mountain logo with his name embroidered underneath.
“Came to give me a pep talk?” I ask wearily, as years of discussions flood my mind.
“Just a quick reminder that when you’re on that mountain, you’re representing us as a family. We have fifty thousand people watching the livestream. That’s fifty thousand people who will see if the future owner of Dulcet Point is worth his salt as a skier or not. Understood?” he asks.
A moment is all it takes to feel sixteen again, waiting for a way out of a role I was expected to fill from birth, always ready to give a quick “Yes, sir.” But I don’t want to feel that way, especially not now when it will set the tone for my future here, working with him.
“You’re not my coach anymore. You’re not Pen or June’s either.
But you are our dad, so I would appreciate it if you would just go out there and act like it.
” I stand. I’m taller than him now, not a kid looking up to a hero.
“I’m going to go out there and enjoy the snow, the same way we encourage all of our guests to. ”
I walk past him, not waiting for a reply. Still, one comes as my hand lands on the door handle.
“Good luck out there, kid. I am proud of you, no matter what.”
I give him a sharp, curt nod and head to face my opponent.
Mr. Bakshi and I are locked into automatic gates at the top of the 180-meter incline, hands gripping our poles, ready to launch ourselves forward the moment we’re released.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The gates fly open and Mr. Bakshi flies out.
I’m off by a second, but that could make all the difference in the world.
I tuck myself, hands forward, elbows in, trying to pick up speed as the poles come at me.
My vision sharpens. I go wide on the first turn, but make up for it on the second, swatting away the red pole as I pass it.
The wind whistles in my ears over the roar of blood and adrenaline pumping through me. Mr. Bakshi clears the third to last poles just before me and I push even harder. I can’t lose this. I won’t.
We’re neck and neck at the final stretch toward the finish line, so I stop looking at him and focus on the only thing I can control.
Myself.