Chapter Five
Liam
I’m already late for my training session with Zach, but some clumsy girl spilled an entire cup of coffee on me at the café, leaving me no choice but to stop by the house for a change of clothes.
Mom and Dad roped me into a family dinner with my siblings later, so this detour is eating into an already tight schedule.
As I pull up, I spot a familiar yellow jeep parked out front. Uncle Matt’s here. Of course he is. Dad’s younger brother has a knack for showing up unannounced and turning a quick stop into a full-blown event. If I’m lucky, I can sneak in and out before he notices.
The house looks the same as it always does: a cozy two-story log cabin-style with a wraparound porch, faded but sturdy from years of harsh winters and long summers.
Mom’s flower boxes hang under the front windows, even though nothing’s blooming this time of year.
The scent of pine from the massive tree in the front yard blends with the cold air, and a faint glow from the living room window suggests Dad’s already stoked a fire in the hearth.
I open the front door carefully, hoping to slip inside unnoticed, but the sound of raised voices immediately dashes that hope.
“Heave!” Uncle Matt’s voice booms from the staircase.
“Heave?” Dad groans in response. “It’s a cabinet, not an elephant.”
“Well, you’re not exactly a spring chicken anymore,” Uncle Matt shoots back.
“You’re only three years younger than I am, genius,” Dad snaps.
I round the corner to see them halfway up the stairs, both gripping an oversized cabinet that looks entirely too heavy for either of them. Typical Thompson brothers—bickering instead of strategizing.
“Hey!” Uncle Matt hollers the second he spots me. “There’s a strong young man who can help us get this thing upstairs faster than your dad’s geriatric pace.”
“I’m late for training,” I say, raising my hands defensively as I try to maneuver past them. “You’re on your own.”
“Liam, get back here,” Dad calls, but I’m already halfway up the stairs.
The familiar smell of home—cedarwood from the banister, hints of cinnamon and cloves from the candle Mom always keeps burning in the kitchen—greets me as I make my way to my old room.
It’s hardly changed in all these years. The walls are still the same deep blue, scuffed from too many posters I tacked up as a kid.
My snowboard trophies line the shelves, alongside framed pictures of me and my siblings growing up.
There’s even a patch of duct tape on the corner of the desk, a reminder of the time my younger sister Emmy knocked over a lamp during an argument about whose turn it was to do dishes.
I pull a fresh shirt and jacket from my old closet, grateful Mom insists on doing all my laundry since I’ve moved back home. As I head out of the room, the brothers are still at it.
“If Jenny didn’t insist on keeping every piece of furniture she can get her hands on…” Dad huffs.
“Say what you want, but this is vintage,” Uncle Matt argues. “And it’s going to look amazing in the guest room. Right, Liam?”
“Not my fight,” I say with a grin, grabbing my car keys. “Good luck, though.”
Uncle Matt shakes his head, muttering something about ungrateful nephews, while Dad just chuckles. It’s chaos, but it’s home.
My phone buzzes as I slide into the driver’s seat, the screen lighting up with a name I should’ve guessed. Lyla. Again. I run a hand over my face, already regretting the impulsive decision to answer the last time she called. With her, it’s never just anything—certainly not sex.
I hit the green button and press the phone to my ear as I put the car in reverse. “Yeah?”
“Oh good!” she chirps. “I wasn’t sure if you’d pick up.”
“What’s up, Lyla?” I ask, trying to keep my tone neutral. Not too warm, not too cold. Not encouraging.
“There’s a charity gala tomorrow night,” she says, her words rehearsed like she’s been waiting to drop this on me. “I have an extra ticket. Thought you might want to tag along.”
I let out a long, slow breath, easing the car out of the driveway. “Can’t. Sorry. I’ve got meetings with some sponsors for the competition tomorrow.”
“A rain check, then?” she asks, and I can almost hear the smile in her voice. Lyla never knows when to quit.
“Listen,” I start, keeping my tone firm but polite. “I think you’re great, but I’m not interested in a relationship.”
“It’s just dinner,” she replies breezily, but we both know that’s not true. With Lyla, dinner isn’t just dinner. It’s the implication of more, of expectations I’m not willing to meet.
“I’ve got to go,” I say, cutting the conversation short. “I’m late for training.”
There’s a beat of silence before she rallies, bright and cheerful again. “Good luck this weekend, Liam. I’ll be rooting for you.”
“Thanks,” I murmur, hanging up and tossing the phone onto the passenger seat.
The car hums around me as I pull back onto the road, the mountain air sharp and clear.
Lyla’s persistence used to be flattering, maybe even charming.
Now, it’s exhausting. I know I made a mistake letting her back in, even for a moment.
And if I’m being honest, I’ve got bigger things to worry about than a woman who can’t take no for an answer.
Zach is pacing outside the gym, his shoulders tight and his expression strained. The second he spots my car pulling into the lot, I see him visibly exhale, like he’s been holding his breath the entire time I’ve been late.
I park and hop out, jogging over to him. “Sorry I’m late.”
He shrugs, shoving his phone into the pocket of his sweats. “Not a big deal.”
“You sure?” I ask, catching the slight edge in his tone.
“Yeah,” he says, though his sigh says otherwise. “Just fielding calls on your behalf.”
My stomach tightens. “What now?”
“The usual.” He motions toward the gym’s glass doors. “People wanting a comment on why you’ve been MIA for the last few months. Sponsors, reporters, a couple of brands. They’re all circling. Lon told me to keep it short and let them know you’re competing this weekend.”
I rub the back of my neck, the familiar wave of guilt creeping in. “I’m sorry,” I mutter. I feel like I’ve been saying that a lot lately. “I didn’t know Lon dumped all this on you.”
Zach waves me off, his tone softening. “It’s part of the job. But you know, at some point, they’re going to need answers. They’re noticing you’re easing up on a sport you’ve been dedicated to most of your life.”
“Yeah,” I say, swallowing hard. “I know.”
He holds the door open for me, and we step inside, the smell of rubber mats and sweat mixing with the faint metallic clang of weights being racked.
“So,” he says, his voice lighter now, “what made you late?”
I let out a short laugh. “Some girl dumped an entire cup of coffee on me at the café. Had to go home and grab a spare shirt for dinner with my parents after this.”
Zach arches a brow, his lips twitching into a grin. “Hopefully she was hot.”
“The girl or the coffee?” I shoot back.
He rolls his eyes. “The girl.”
“Yeah, she was cute,” I admit with a shrug, the memory of her wide-eyed apology flickering in my mind.
“The clumsy ones always are,” Zach says with a laugh, clapping me on the shoulder as we head toward the weights. “You’ve got to watch out for those.”
I shake my head, smirking, but my thoughts linger on her for a moment longer than I expected. Cute, clumsy, and clearly not from around here. Maybe it’s nothing. Probably nothing. But still, the memory of those big, apologetic blue eyes and the way she stammered out her apology sticks with me.
I refocus as Zach starts talking about today’s session, pushing the distraction aside. I’ve got bigger things to worry about. Always do.
***
“You’re late,” Mia snaps the second I walk into the private dining room. My sister is balancing a toddler on her lap, her tone sharp enough to cut through the ambient clatter of the resort’s luxury restaurant. “As usual.”
“How do you do it?” I ask, sliding into a chair across from her.
“Do what?” She narrows her eyes, clearly bracing for whatever’s coming.
“Sit down with a stick shoved so far up your—”
“Liam.” Mom’s glare cuts me off mid-sentence, her voice carrying that universal tone all moms have when they’re two seconds from snapping.
“What?” I say innocently, throwing her a grin.
“Let’s try to have a nice dinner,” she warns. “Given everything going on.”
“What’s going on?” Mia asks, her suspicion immediate.
“We’ll wait for your siblings,” Mom replies with a click of her tongue, her expression calm but firm. She’s always had a knack for making you feel like a child, even when you’re a grown adult.
The private dining room feels worlds apart from the snowy chill outside.
The fireplace crackles softly, filling the space with warmth that contrasts with the modern elegance of the room.
Floor-to-ceiling windows frame a breathtaking view of the mountain, the sun sinking low and painting the snow in shades of gold and orange.
The polished wood table gleams under the soft glow of overhead pendant lights, and the menu in front of me reads like a masterclass in indulgence—handcrafted pastas, locally sourced steaks, and desserts that probably cost as much as my monthly grocery bill.
Mia exhales heavily, readjusting the toddler squirming in her lap. “Why is everything always about Liam?”
“Because,” my older brother’s voice booms as he strides into the room, “it’s the curse of the Thompson brothers. The youngest one is always a disaster.”
“Har har,” I mutter, rolling my eyes.
Taylor claps me on the back as he sits down, a grin plastered on his annoyingly perfect face. Always the golden child, always one step ahead. If anyone’s a disaster, it’s me—today more than ever.
“Emmy should be here any minute,” Dad announces, checking his phone. “She just texted. Said she’s finishing up an engagement shoot on the mountain.”
“Of course, she is,” I mutter under my breath. Emmy, the youngest, always late but somehow never catching heat for it.
As small talk swirls around the table, I stare out the window, watching the sun dip lower. I should be thinking about the competition this weekend, but my mind is stuck on something heavier. How do I even start? How do I tell my siblings that I’m not… me anymore?
The door swings open, and Emmy bursts in, cheeks pink from the cold and her camera bag still slung over her shoulder. “I’m here!” she announces breathlessly, flashing everyone a bright smile.
“Perfect timing,” Mom says with a mix of relief and exasperation.
The waiter arrives seconds later, taking our orders with a practiced efficiency that matches the restaurant’s upscale vibe. Plates of bread and small appetizers begin to appear, and the table hums with conversation.
“Well?” Mia raises a brow, turning her focus on me. “What is it you need to tell us? Mom said this dinner was about you.”
The table goes silent. I glance around, their faces expectant—Mia with her usual sharpness, Taylor leaning back like this is just another Liam mess to deal with, Emmy pulling off her gloves and looking genuinely curious.
I take a breath, the words heavy on my tongue. “I have MS.”
The room stills. The faint clink of silverware from nearby tables is the only sound as my siblings process what I’ve just said. For once, Mia doesn’t have a retort. Taylor’s grin slips into something more serious, and Emmy’s eyes go wide with concern.
It’s out there now. No taking it back. I just hope they see me as more than this diagnosis—because right now, it feels like that’s all I am.