Chapter Nine
Liam
It’s a truth I’ve been avoiding, but tonight, in the silence of my childhood bedroom, there’s nowhere to hide from it.
I’ve spent my entire life working toward this—every grueling gym session, every snow-packed holiday, every sacrifice that pushed me further away from normalcy and closer to a dream I’m not sure I even want anymore.
Is it still my dream? Or just an echo of something I used to want?
I let out a frustrated sigh, tossing the covers off and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. Maybe a glass of water will help, though I doubt there’s a cure for the kind of restlessness running through me tonight.
The familiar creak of the stairs under my feet feels like a welcome distraction as I make my way to the kitchen. The house is dark, quiet, the kind of stillness that used to soothe me. Now? It just feels heavy.
When I round the corner, I’m not even surprised to find Mom sitting at the kitchen table, a steaming mug of hot chocolate in her hands. She looks up, her face softening with quiet concern only moms seem to master.
“I thought you might show up,” she says, motioning to a second mug waiting across from her.
Of course, she knew. She always knows.
I sink into the chair across from her, letting out a heavy breath. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Me either,” Mom sighs, cupping her mug with both hands. Her fingers tap idly against the ceramic as her gaze flickers to me. “I kept thinking, ‘What if I never get to see him compete again?’”
Her words hit harder than I expect, but I manage a chuckle, leaning back in the chair and stretching my arms behind my head. “I was always going to retire at some point, Mom. You know that.”
“I know,” she says, clicking her tongue the way she does when she’s trying not to argue. “I just thought it would be when you were ready—not because you had to.”
“Maybe my body is ready,” I say quietly, my words lingering in the space between us. It’s the first time I’ve admitted it out loud, and the truth feels surprisingly light.
She nods slowly, her expression unreadable. The golden glow of the kitchen nightlight highlights the strands of silver in her blonde hair, a subtle reminder of how much time has passed. “You’re right,” she finally says.
“I’ve had a good run,” I offer, trying to ease the tension. “It’s not like I have any regrets.”
“You’ve had an incredible run,” she agrees, her voice softening. “You’ve done some amazing things with your career, Liam. And your dad and I… we don’t say it enough, but we’re so proud of you.”
“Trust me,” I groan, resting my head against the back of the chair, “you say it plenty.”
She lets out a quiet laugh before taking another sip of her hot chocolate. “So, do you have any idea what you might want to do after…” She trails off, the words hanging unfinished.
“Brady offered me a job,” I say, testing the waters.
Mom’s eyebrows lift, her curiosity piqued. “Izzy’s doing?”
“Probably.” I can’t help but laugh. “You know how she is. She worries about me almost as much as you and Dad do.”
“That’s what cousins are for,” she says, smiling. But there’s a wistfulness in her eyes, like she’s not quite ready to let go of the version of me she’s always known—the one who’s spent his life chasing dreams on the snow.
For a moment, we sit in silence, the quiet of the house wrapping around us like a shared memory.
I can feel her watching me, her worry still lingering just beneath the surface, and I know this conversation isn’t over.
But for now, it feels good just to sit here, to let her warmth and presence remind me that no matter what comes next, I’ll never face it alone.
Suddenly, Maggie pops into my mind, and I can’t stop the slow grin spreading across my face.
I probably shouldn’t have conned her into agreeing to drinks, but there’s something about her indifference, her resistance, that made me want to try that much harder.
She’s a puzzle I can’t help but want to solve.
Mom notices the smile and raises an eyebrow. “What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing,” I deflect quickly, shaking my head. “Can I ask you something about Dad?”
Her curious expression deepens, and she leans in slightly. “About Dad? This should be good.”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Sure.” She folds her hands around her mug, her demeanor soft but intrigued. “Ask away.”
“How did he know you were the one?”
Mom sits up straighter, her eyebrows shooting up like she’s surprised by the question. “Don’t you think that’s something you should ask him?”
“Maybe,” I admit with a shrug. “But I’m asking you.”
She tilts her head, considering. “I think I was a bit of a challenge for your dad,” she finally says.
“When we were younger, he was always just out of reach—older, more focused. He’s also not exactly the wear-your-heart-on-your-sleeve type.
I didn’t even know he liked me until… well, let’s just say that’s a story for another time. ”
“Was he ever a challenge for you?”
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her lips curving into a soft smile.
“Oh, absolutely. When we first started dating, he was like a vault—kept everything locked up tight. Then he left, and I had to decide whether or not to keep trying. But I feel like you’re asking me this because you’ve met a challenge of your own. ”
Her words hit uncomfortably close to home, and I debate whether to confirm it. After a moment, I give in. “Yeah, you’re pretty much on the right track.”
Her eyes light up, the curiosity in her expression now mixed with excitement. “What’s her name?”
“Let’s focus on the advice,” I say, redirecting the conversation with a smirk.
“Fine.” She holds up her hands in mock surrender. “Give me a second to collect my thoughts.”
“Wow,” I tease. “Never thought I’d see the day you didn’t have advice locked and loaded.”
“Well, you’re not exactly like Taylor or your sisters,” she points out. “You’ve been laser-focused on snowboarding, not your love life. This is uncharted territory.”
“And the advice?” I prompt.
Mom exhales heavily, and for a moment, I think she’s about to say something profound. Then she smiles slyly. “I’m not giving you any advice.”
“What?” I blink, taken aback.
She laughs softly. “You’ll figure it out on your own. You’ll be more motivated to do that without me spoon-feeding you the answers.”
“That’s not fair,” I protest. “You practically forced Taylor to marry Elle.”
Her laugh turns into a scoff. “I didn’t force anyone to marry anyone.
I encouraged Taylor to look beyond the surface.
That’s all. And besides,” she adds, pointing a finger at me, “you have great instincts. You don’t need me to tell you what to do.
The fact that you’re even asking means you already know the answer. ”
I lean back in my chair, mulling over her words. She’s probably right, but admitting that out loud would only encourage her smugness. Instead, I let out a noncommittal grunt and take a sip of the hot chocolate she’s poured for me.
Maggie’s face flashes in my mind again, and I feel that same tug in my chest. Maybe Mom is right. Maybe I do already know what I need to do. But that doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy.
“You should really get some sleep,” Mom says as she stands, her chair scraping softly against the tile floor.
“I’ll be fine,” I reassure her with a wave of my hand. “I used to stay out all night before big competitions and still crush it the next day.”
She gives me a knowing smile, her cheeky wink making me feel like a teenager again. “You’re not that boy anymore. You’ve met your match.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I roll my eyes, but her words settle in a little deeper than I’d like to admit.
Her smile softens, that unmistakable mom-glow of satisfaction taking over her face. “I can’t wait to meet her,” she says, her tone light but purposeful. And then she’s gone, heading up the stairs, leaving me alone in the quiet kitchen with my now-lukewarm cup of hot chocolate.
I stare at the mug for a moment, running my fingers over its smooth surface as the words “You’ve met your match” bounce around in my head.
The thought of Maggie sneaks back in, uninvited but persistent.
Despite the promise I made to myself not to look her up—not to dig any deeper—I can already feel my resolve crumbling.
Just a quick search, I tell myself, abandoning the mug and heading upstairs. The stairs creak under my weight, the sound familiar and comforting, even as my thoughts race ahead of me. By the time I reach my room, I’ve already made up my mind.
Plopping onto the bed, I grab my phone off the nightstand, the screen lighting up with a text from Lyla. I don’t even bother opening it. Instead, I swipe it away and open a browser, my fingers hovering over the keyboard for a split second before typing: Maggie Cooper.
The results load, and I settle back against the pillows, curiosity pulling me deeper into the rabbit hole.
Maggie Cooper—full name Margaret May Cooper.
She’s twenty-seven, living in Pine Cove, and working as a staff writer for The Pine Cone Chronicle.
Her portfolio mostly includes big news stories—politics, local scandals, investigative pieces.
So what the hell is she doing here covering a snowboarding competition?
Sports doesn’t exactly fit her usual beat.
Maybe she’s filling in for someone. Or maybe there’s something more to her being here.
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I click through a few of her articles.
As I skim the first, a smile tugs at my lips.
Then the next one, and the one after that.
She’s sharp, clever, and surprisingly empathetic in her writing.
Her words are equal parts incisive and fair, with just enough wit to keep things interesting.
She doesn’t sensationalize or take cheap shots; she digs for the truth and delivers it in a way that feels honest.
I like her even more now that I know what she does for a living.
But as the warm glow of my admiration settles, a sharper realization cuts through it. She’s a reporter. A good one, by the looks of it. And if she’s here covering the competition, that means she’s probably digging for something.
I set my phone down, my smile fading as the weight of it sinks in. She’s a reporter, I remind myself, the words heavy in my chest. If Maggie’s sniffing around for a story, I need to be careful. I’m not ready for the world to know my secret. Not yet.
And certainly not through her.