Chapter Twelve
Maggie
I take a deep breath before stepping into The Gallery, a beautiful building nestled at the edge of the town.
After some digging, I found out it’s Liam’s family business.
They host weekly art shows—mostly featuring local artists from the mountain—but the space is also rented out for weddings, parties, and other big events.
It’s warm and inviting, with its high-beamed ceilings, wooden floors, and walls lined with eclectic, colorful art.
I’m not sure poking around Liam’s family is the smartest move.
It feels like crossing an invisible line, but I’m desperate.
I can’t find a single shred of dirt on him aside from the glaring fact that his taste in ex-girlfriends leaves a lot to be desired.
Even Lyla, with all her smugness, painted Liam as a health-obsessed, clean-living guy.
It doesn’t add up. Why would someone so meticulous about their body and their career risk everything by doping?
Uh oh. The thought hits me like a speeding car. Am I starting to sympathize with Liam? That’s a slippery slope. I can’t do my job objectively if I’m… feeling things. Wait. Feelings? Do I have feelings for him?
Before I can spiral further, a cheerful voice pulls me out of my thoughts.
“Welcome to The Gallery,” a woman says, her voice warm and bright. I look up to find a dark-haired woman with a striking resemblance to Liam—same sharp cheekbones, same commanding presence, though hers is softer, more approachable. She extends her hand, her smile genuine and inviting. “I’m Mia.”
It clicks immediately—this is Liam’s sister. And, just like that, I feel like I’ve waded even deeper into dangerous waters.
“Hi, I’m…” I hesitate, debating whether to give her my real name or make one up. After a second too long, I settle on a version of the truth. “Margaret.”
Mia’s smile widens, warm and genuine. “Nice to meet you, Margaret.”
Up close, I notice faint dark circles beneath her eyes and a pallor that suggests she might not be feeling her best. Something about her feels… human. Relatable. It makes the whole undercover reporter act a little harder to stomach.
“How are you doing today?” I ask, genuinely curious.
She sighs softly, her shoulders slumping just a bit. “I’m hanging in there.”
“Everything okay?”
Mia waves me off with an elegant flick of her wrist, though the gesture feels more like deflection than dismissal. “Yes, I’m fine. Just feeling a bit under the weather.”
“Oh,” I say quickly, unsure if I should retreat. “I’m sorry to hear that. Should I come back another time?”
Her smile tilts slightly, a mix of amusement and reassurance. She leans in just a little, lowering her voice like she’s about to share a secret. “Can you keep something just between us?”
I nod, intrigued. “Of course.”
She glances over her shoulder briefly before leaning closer. “I’m pregnant.”
My eyes widen in surprise, but I quickly recover. “Really?”
Her grin grows brighter, more genuine. “Yeah.”
“Congratulations,” I say, meaning it.
“Thank you.” Her hand absentmindedly drifts to her stomach, the gesture so natural it tugs at something soft inside me.
For a moment, I forget why I’m here, the weight of my purpose pushed aside by the intimacy of the exchange.
Mia feels real, layered, and nothing like the type of person who would knowingly cover for something like doping.
But as much as I like her already, I have to remember—I’m not here to make friends.
“Is this your first?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation light and casual, though my mind is racing.
Mia shakes her head, her dark hair swaying with the motion. “No, no. I have a toddler.”
“You’re going to have a full house soon,” I say with a small smile.
“I am,” she beams, her hand brushing her stomach unconsciously. “And I can’t wait.”
The door behind me creaks open, and I instinctively glance over my shoulder, half-expecting Liam to walk in. My stomach tightens at the thought. Instead, a blonde woman who looks strikingly like Mia enters, carrying a harried energy with her.
“Hey, Mom,” Mia calls out, her smile softening further.
“Your father forgot his camera,” the woman groans, holding up a camera bag. “And with this possibly being your brother’s last competition, we have to have all the photos.”
“Last?” Mia clicks her tongue dismissively. “Highly doubtful.”
Liam’s last competition? My ears perk up. Why would it be his last?
“Is your brother a snowboarder?” I ask, trying to sound offhand as the woman disappears into what must be an office.
“Oh yeah,” Mia says, rolling her eyes dramatically. “And don’t tell him I said this, but he’s pretty good. He’s also got an ego the size of Antarctica.”
I chuckle at her bluntness. “Don’t all athletes?”
“Totally,” she agrees with a grin.
“I hope this doesn’t sound too forward,” I say carefully, testing the waters, “but why would this be his last competition?”
Mia doesn’t hesitate. “He’s old.” She says it so matter-of-factly that I burst out laughing.
“Old?” I repeat, raising an eyebrow. “How old are we talking?”
“Thirty-one.” She crosses her arms with mock seriousness. “Practically ancient.”
Her dry delivery catches me off guard, and I laugh again. “Well, that’s as good a reason as any to retire, I guess.”
Before Mia can respond, the blonde woman reappears with the missing camera bag in hand. “Got it,” she announces triumphantly before walking over to us. She extends her hand with an easy smile. “I’m Jenny.”
Her warmth takes me by surprise. It’s not every day the family of someone you’re writing about feels this… genuine. “Margaret,” I reply, shaking her hand. “So nice to meet you.”
“What brings you to the mountain?” she asks, her tone polite but curious.
“Work,” I say vaguely. “But I couldn’t pass up the chance to check out the local art.”
“Then you’ve come to the right place,” Jenny says with a wink.
“I’m going to take a look around, if that’s alright?” I ask, eager for a chance to breathe and digest everything I’ve overheard.
Mia nods. “Of course. Let me know if you have any questions.”
As I move toward a display of paintings, I hear Jenny’s voice drop to a more maternal tone. “How are you feeling? Nauseous? Can I get you anything?”
Mia lets out a soft laugh. “I’m fine, Mom. Just tired.”
Jenny seems like a good mom—attentive, warm, supportive. Just like my mom was. A pang of nostalgia tugs at my chest, but I shake it off, focusing instead on the artwork in front of me.
Then I hear Mia, quieter now, but still clear enough for me to catch. “Can we talk about the family group chat?”
Jenny sighs. “I don’t know why you kids all have to gossip about each other. Can’t Liam like a girl without the entire family putting their two cents in?”
Like a girl? My heart stutters. Could they be talking about… me?
“What do you know?” Mia presses, her curiosity palpable.
“Nothing,” Jenny exhales. “He wouldn’t tell me anything.”
“Figures,” Mia grumbles. “He must really like her, though. He’s never been so wound up before.”
“I think it’s sweet,” Jenny says, her tone soft with affection. “He’s always been so focused on snowboarding. It might be good for him to focus on something else for a change.”
My cheeks flush, and I duck my head, pretending to study the painting in front of me as their conversation continues to unfold within earshot.
“He wouldn’t even tell Iz anything,” Mia adds. “And she’s his best friend. If he’s not spilling to her, it’s serious.”
I wrack my brain, trying to piece together who “Iz” might be in their family lineup. My mind races, replaying every scrap of information I’ve learned about Liam and his family. If they’re talking about me—and I’m not even sure they are—I’m in deeper than I ever intended to be.
Iz must be Izzy, I think, piecing it together—Liam’s cousin who’s married to the tech billionaire and, as my research revealed, the owner of the fancy lodge hosting the competition this weekend. The web of connections between Liam’s family and this mountain grows tighter the more I learn.
“Let him be,” Jenny gently admonishes Mia. “After the last six months, he deserves some happiness.”
Six months? The phrase hooks me like a fish on a line. What happened over the last six months?
Jenny straightens, brushing imaginary lint from her coat. She turns toward the door but pauses, her eyes finding mine again. “It was nice to meet you, Margaret!” she calls warmly. “I hope you enjoy Windwood for however long you’re here.”
I give her my best reporter smile, the one that hides how much my mind is spinning. “Nice to meet you, too.”
Jenny waves a final goodbye before disappearing out the door. As the sound of it clicking shut echoes through The Gallery, I exhale a long breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
Turning back to the artwork, I wander through the space, taking in more details about the Thompsons.
The place feels like a time capsule of their lives—stories and memories framed in gilt edges and stretched across canvases.
One section in particular catches my attention: a collection of photographs taken by Kyle Thompson, Liam’s father.
His style is raw yet polished, capturing not just moments but emotions, lives in motion.
One image draws me closer. A girl in a polka-dot bathing suit sitting in the sand with a beach behind her, a wide-brimmed floppy hat pulled low over her ears. The scene is simple but evocative, and when I notice the plaque beneath it, my heart tugs.
The stars and the moon, the comets and asteroids, the milky way. The whole freaking galaxy.
I run my fingertips lightly along the edge of the frame, struck by the sentiment. The words feel intimate, a love letter to someone treasured. I wonder who she is, what her story might be, and whether it ties into the six-month mystery looming over Liam’s family.
The sharp ache of longing twists in my chest, unearthing feelings I haven’t let surface in years.
For all the warmth radiating from the Thompsons’ world, it shines a glaring light on everything my family wasn’t.
There’s a sense of loss and yearning buried in me, and being here, surrounded by this proof of love and connection, brings it to the surface.
I pull myself away, shaking my head. Focus, Maggie. This isn’t about my past. It’s about uncovering Liam’s story.
But even as I try to ground myself in my purpose, I can’t stop wondering what exactly the last six months have cost Liam—and why his family seems so determined to shield him from more pain.