Landing Liam (Firsts #8)

Chapter One

Liam

The symptoms started about nine months ago—just a nagging blur in my vision, a tightening around my chest that wouldn’t let go, headaches I shrugged off as stress. I had no idea my body was signaling something bigger, something that would alter the course of my life forever.

“There are treatment options,” the doctor says gently, his words firm but his expression soft.

Mom squeezes Dad’s hand beside me, their fingers interlocked.

They’ve been to every appointment, each lab result, every scan.

At first, I was annoyed, swore I didn’t need an audience.

But now, their presence feels like the only thing holding me together.

I clear my throat, steadying myself to ask the one question that terrifies me most. “What about snowboarding? When will…?” I don’t even know how to finish the sentence. I’ve lived and breathed this sport since I was a kid—my whole life has been about speed, freedom, control.

The doctor’s expression softens even more. “Multiple sclerosis is an unpredictable disease,” he explains carefully, crossing his arms. “Everyone experiences it differently, and it progresses at its own pace.”

Dad breaks in, his voice low but intense. “He has a competition in a few weeks. Should he…?” He doesn’t say it, but we all know what he means: Should I quit? Walk away from the sport that’s given me everything?

“He should live life as normally as possible,” the doctor replies. “We’ll address symptoms as they come, one step at a time.”

Mom’s eyes swim with unshed tears, her ocean-blue gaze locked onto mine. “Then that’s what we’ll do,” she whispers. Determination is splayed across her face even if her fingers shake.

After the doctor leaves, Mom and Dad stand, both hesitating, as if I might shatter right here in this sterile, impersonal room. Part of me wants to reach out, but another part craves solitude, a moment to breathe without anyone watching.

“I’ll meet you at home?” I lift my brows, the word feeling foreign, hollow. I moved back in a few months ago, boxing up my life, renting out my condo to my youngest sister. It’s been strange, sleeping in my old room, surrounded by posters of heroes who seem more distant now, more like ghosts.

Mom tries to smile. “We thought maybe we could grab lunch?”

I shake my head. “Another time.”

Dad opens his mouth, but I cut him off with a small, forced grin. “I’m good. Just have a few things to handle.”

If I were my older brother, the golden child, the one with an emotional vocabulary, maybe I’d let them in, let them hold this weight with me. But I’m not Taylor. I’m just me.

Mom reaches over, resting a hand on my shoulder. We’re here for you, okay? If you need anything.”

I let out a small laugh despite myself. “I know, Mom. You tell me at least three times a day.”

“Can you blame me?” She crosses her arms, shooting Dad a look. “This isn’t funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” Dad says, smirking. “You do say it a lot.”

Mom huffs, waving us off. “Fine. Laugh all you want. I’m just trying to cope here.”

I force a smile, the kind that says I’m still fine, still the guy they know. “I’ve had a good run, you know? Got the medals, the stats, and a long list of women who—”

Dad interrupts with a groan. “Let’s not go there.”

“Too late,” I say, winking. “So. Many. Women.”

Mom rubs her temples, exasperated. “Okay, we get it. Loud and clear.”

I pull her into a hug, a gesture more for her sake than mine, the scent of her perfume grounding me in a way I hadn’t expected. “I love you both.”

“Call us if you’ll be late for dinner,” Mom says, her face buried against my shoulder.

I roll my eyes, the familiar exasperation creeping in. “I’m thirty-one, Mom. Not thirteen.”

Dad nudges her toward the door, but she’s not quite ready to let go. “But do let us know if you’re with one of your many women,” she calls over her shoulder, fighting a smirk.

“Mom, seriously.” I chuckle, shaking my head. “You’re unbelievable.”

She just shrugs. “You’re still my baby.”

As they leave, I exhale, letting the mask slip a little. There’s a place I need to be, a spot where I don’t have to be the strong son, the invincible athlete. Just me—alone with everything I’m too afraid to say out loud.

The drive through the winding streets of my hometown feels like a loop I can’t break out of. Every turn, every familiar landmark whispers that no matter how far you go, some places never truly let you leave. They just tug you back, right to where you started.

I pull up to my cousin Izzy’s sprawling white mansion, perched on a hill overlooking the valley.

A few years ago, Iz married a tech billionaire, and now she’s raising their kids and running part of his empire.

Out here, her life looks like something off a magazine cover, but Izzy’s always been more than that to me.

She’s the one person who keeps me grounded, who doesn’t care about my fame, my bank account, or my occasional lack of a filter.

It’s a family curse—second-born sons like me are genetically inclined to say the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time.

“Pass me those potatoes?” Iz asks, motioning with her elbow while balancing a squirming toddler on her hip. Another kid clings to her leg, his big eyes trained on me. “Dinner’s not going to make itself.”

I raise a brow. “You don’t have a chef or a nanny or something? I know you can afford it.”

Iz rolls her eyes. “I can do it all,” she says with a laugh that tells me she knows it’s a lie. “Now hand me that potato peeler.”

“Here, let me,” I say, grabbing a potato and getting to work.

She glances over, her eyes sharper than I’d like. “What’s going on?”

“Got my official diagnosis today.” My voice catches, and I swallow down the tightness.

Her eyes soften. “And?”

“MS.” The word feels foreign, like it belongs to someone else.

“Multiple sclerosis,” she says barely above a whisper. “Liam, I’m so sorry.”

I shrug, attempting a smile. “I’m fine.”

“Of course you are.” She nods, playing along. “You’re Liam. You’re always fine.”

But we both know that’s just a story I’ve been telling myself, one that’s getting harder to believe.

Snowboarding was the one thing that was mine, the thing that set me apart.

Taylor, my perfect older brother, has always been Mom’s pride, and Mia’s taken over the family business and added a grandchild to the mix, giving her even more reason to celebrate.

Emmy, my little sister and the artist, has Dad’s talent and shares weekends with him behind a camera.

And me? I’m just the snowboarder—now the snowboarder with a diagnosis and a career dangling off the edge.

“You staying for dinner?” Iz asks, offering me a small, sympathetic smile.

I shake my head. “I’ve got somewhere to be.” The lie slips out effortlessly.

“If you need anything…” She pauses, swallowing back her own emotion. “Just remember, we Thompsons stick together.”

I chuckle softly. “Yeah, Mom’s mentioned that once or twice.”

She tilts her head, giving me one of her classic pep talks. “I know you think snowboarding is all you have, but you’re more than that. You’re funny, you’re smart, you’re strong. You can do anything you set your mind to.”

“Anything my body lets me do,” I correct, half smiling.

“Snowboarding’s been incredible for you,” she says. “Even if this is the end, you’ve had a hell of a run, Liam.”

I raise an eyebrow, smirking. “Now you’re using puns?”

“I couldn’t help it,” she laughs, nudging me with her shoulder.

I glance down, setting the potato peeler aside. “It just feels unfair, you know? I’ve spent years taking care of myself—early mornings, clean eating, training, and enough sleep to make a grandma proud.”

Iz laughs, cutting me off. “Yeah, except for those bar nights.”

“That doesn’t count,” I protest, raising an eyebrow. “I was there for… other reasons.” I glance at her son clinging to her leg, careful with my words.

“Women,” she snorts. “You were there for the women.”

I give a rueful chuckle. “It’s been a while since I went looking for something to take the edge off.”

“Maybe you’re done with flings and one-nighters.”

“Maybe Mom’s right,” I cringe. “Maybe I am ready to settle down.”

Iz pats my shoulder with her free hand. “Well, grab that potato peeler, big shot. Lesson one starts now.”

“I can cook,” I grumble, rolling my eyes.

“Sure, sure,” she laughs. “Sometimes things fall apart so better things can fall together, right?”

I groan. “You stole that from Mom’s entryway sign.”

Iz shrugs, unbothered. “Hey, just because it’s from a sign doesn’t mean it’s not true. Look at me—I thought my life was over when my first marriage fell apart. But here I am: three kids, a tech business, and… well, the mansion.”

I smirk. “Right, the mansion.”

She huffs. “It’s not that big.”

“You have two wings in your house, Iz. It’s a mansion.”

“Well, we need two wings,” she whispers conspiratorially as if her mother-in-law might be lurking nearby. “She lives with us, remember?”

“Whatever you say, Iz,” I laugh. “Whatever you say.” And for the first time in a while, I feel just a little bit lighter, reminded that maybe there’s more to me than the mountains and the medals.