Chapter Twenty-Eight
Maggie
I need to find Liam. I need to explain the text messages. I need to tell him the truth.
The thought repeats in my head like a mantra, each word heavier than the last. My fingers grip my phone tightly as I pace back and forth in the hotel lobby.
The ache in my chest twists with every passing second, gnawing at me with the possibility that he won’t believe me.
If he thinks I leaked the story—if he even doubts me for a second—I don’t know how I’ll prove my innocence.
The harsh reality of my industry slams into me.
I’ve been in this business long enough to know that people believe what they want to believe.
Sometimes, even when you lay out the facts, the truth remains buried beneath the weight of preconceived notions.
And if Liam is one of those people? If he’s already made up his mind about me?
I close my eyes, the thought stinging more than it should. No, Liam’s not like that. My instincts tell me he’s different. He’ll at least hear me out. He has to.
But what if I’m wrong?
I glance out the lobby window. The crowd at the base of the slopes has thickened, a sea of jackets and scarves moving like a restless tide.
Liam is out there somewhere, probably surrounded by his family, his team, his friends—all people who have his back.
People who are warning him to stay far, far away from me.
I wrap my arms around myself, the knot in my stomach tightening. You owe him the truth, Maggie. You owe him your side of the story.
Steeling myself, I take a deep breath and head for the door. Snowflakes swirl in the air as I step outside, the cold biting against my cheeks. The mountain looms ahead, and with it, the man who could either be the start of something incredible—or the end of everything I never knew I wanted.
I weave through the crowd, scanning every face, every cluster of people, hoping to find Liam. The murmurs and excitement of the competition buzz around me, but my focus is singular. My toes are starting to go numb as the snow seeps through my boots, and my patience wanes with each step.
He’s nowhere to be found.
I take a deep breath, frustration bubbling to the surface. Maybe trudging through the snow and hoping to stumble upon him isn’t the best plan. If I can’t find Liam here, then I need to regroup. I need a better strategy—one that doesn’t involve frostbite or aimless wandering.
You’ll help him more by finding answers, not by searching for him in a crowd.
The thought solidifies in my mind as I turn back toward the parking lot.
Back at the hotel, I can start looking into the story.
Who leaked it? What’s their motive? And, most importantly, how can we disprove these allegations?
There was a time when “innocent until proven guilty” was the standard.
Now, it feels like the court of public opinion delivers a guilty verdict long before any facts come to light.
The damage is swift, almost irreversible.
A single article, a single click, can destroy someone’s career, their reputation, their life.
I hate that it’s true. I hate that I’ve been part of the machine that lets this happen.
The drive back to the hotel is painfully slow. The roads are plowed, but the streets are crammed with cars. Tourists and locals alike inch forward in bumper-to-bumper traffic, the air thick with impatience. My fingers grip the wheel tightly, and I fight the urge to scream into the empty car.
My breath fogs the windshield, and I adjust my scarf.
The heater in my car that’s long since given up leaves me shivering and miserable.
Great, I think bitterly. What else could go wrong today?
But I know the answer to that: Liam’s future.
His career. His trust in me. All of it hangs in the balance.
By the time I finally pull into the lot at thehotel, my mind is racing with possibilities.
Focus, Maggie. Start somewhere. Anywhere.
I grab my bag and hurry inside, the warmth of the building hitting me like a hug.
It’s time to dig in, find answers, and maybe—just maybe—fix this mess before it’s too late.
When I reach my room, my breath catches. Standing outside my door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, is Liam. His dark hair is messy from the snow, and his expression is unreadable. The sight of him sends a jolt of relief through me, but it’s quickly replaced by apprehension.
“I went back to the room at the lodge,” he says, his words heavy and weighted. “But you weren’t there.”
My heart tightens as I take in the tension in his jaw, the storm brewing in his eyes.
Less than an hour ago, we were tangled together in bed, sharing moments I thought were real, unshakable.
Now, everything feels fragile, like a house of cards ready to collapse.
His entire world is unraveling, and somehow, I’m tied up in the chaos.
“I didn’t leak the story,” I blurt out, unable to hold back. “I would never do that to you.”
His gaze sharpens, and his posture stiffens. “Your text messages say otherwise,” he replies, his walls towering and impenetrable.
“Please.” My voice wavers, but I stand firm, meeting his guarded eyes. “Will you give me a chance to tell you the truth?”
I swipe my room card, the little green light blinking as the lock clicks open. I push the door ajar and wait for him to respond, holding my breath.
Liam exhales heavily, the sound thick with frustration and uncertainty. “I don’t think I have much of a choice, do I?” he says, stepping forward, his presence filling the space between us.
The words sting, but I nod, stepping aside to let him in. This is my chance—maybe my only chance—to explain. And I can only hope he’s willing to listen.
Liam sits on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees as his gaze locks onto the floor. I lean against the dresser, feeling like it’s the only thing holding me upright.
“My boss received a tip,” I begin, the words tumbling out faster than I can organize them.
“I didn’t want to do the story. I didn’t want to drive all this way in my crappy car with no heat to cover a sports competition about a snowboarder I’d never even heard of.
But… I needed something big, Liam. I can’t keep writing the same recycled articles if I want a promotion—or if I want a car that doesn’t require a screwdriver to start. ”
His head lifts slightly, his eyes darkening with something I can’t quite place.
“So, against my better judgment, I came here hoping you might be the story that changes everything for me. The story that alters the trajectory of my career. But then I met you.” My voice softens, cracking under the crushing weight of my emotions. “And you aren’t just a story, Liam. Not to me.”
He looks up at me now, fully, his expression undeniably intense.
“My gut instinct from the moment I saw you in that coffee shop was that you were a good guy,” I continue. “The kind of guy who would never risk his career. And I still believe that. I know that’s who you are.”
“Can you prove you didn’t leak it?” he asks, cautious.
I shrug, feeling the sting of his doubt.
“You can go through my emails, my laptop, whatever you want. I mean,” I pause, my tone sharpening, “you already went through my text messages.” I exhale heavily, trying to steady myself.
“But think about it, Liam—why would I give another news source the story I’m here trying to use to build my career?
Why wouldn’t I publish it with my own newspaper?
With my editor, someone I trust, at a reputable outlet? ”
He leans back slightly, nodding. “That’s a good point,” he concedes. “But… I trusted you, and now I don’t know if I can anymore.”
The words slice through me. I nod, forcing myself to acknowledge his feelings. “That’s fair. I should have just been honest. But I didn’t expect to like you so much.”
He looks at me, his eyes softening just a fraction. “My publicist is getting ready to release a statement. I have to go take a drug test to prove I’m clean,” he says. Then, his voice grows steadier. “But I need your help.”
“Me?” I ask, blinking in surprise.
“I need to find out who leaked this,” he explains. “Can you help me do that?”
I swallow hard, every nerve in my body screaming to close the distance between us. “I’ll do anything you need me to do.”
“What about your job?” he asks, the edges of his face filled with curiosity and concern. “What happens now that someone else leaked the story?”
I shake my head, shrugging lightly. “I’ll deal with my editor tomorrow. If we can disprove the allegations, it’ll look better for me anyway.”
A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, but it’s laced with something that feels like disbelief. “You really have to start your car with a screwdriver?”
I nod, laughing softly. “Yeah, and I’m going to be rooming with a bunch of boys when I get back because my salary is embarrassingly low.”
Something shifts in his expression. It’s subtle, but there’s a flicker of warmth in his eyes now—a glimmer of the Liam I’ve spent the last 24 hours falling for.
“You’ve been investigating,” he says, shifting the conversation. “What do you have so far?”
I close my eyes for a brief moment, collecting my thoughts, before meeting his gaze. “Not much. But I’ve noticed a pattern. Around the time you started dating your ex, Lyla, stories about your personal life started ramping up in the press. It’s… consistent. Someone’s been feeding them information.”
He clicks his tongue, nodding slowly. “Sounds like we’re on the same page then.”
“What do you want to do?” I ask carefully, unsure of how much he’s willing to involve me.
“I need to head back to the lodge,” he replies, his jaw tightening slightly. “But I’m going to drop you off at my parents’ house first. They’re gathering there to start digging into this. My cousin, Ava, and her husband, Jack, own the local newspaper, so they’ve got a lot of resources we can use.”
I blink, surprised. “I… I’m going to meet your family?” My voice wavers. I’ve already met some of them, but this feels different. It feels significant. Personal.
“Don’t read too much into it,” he says curtly, brushing off the implication as he stands. The sharpness in his tone stings, even though I know I deserve it. “You ready to go?”
“I need to change first,” I say, motioning to the rumpled clothes I wore on our date last night.
“I’ll wait in the hall,” he mutters, heading toward the door without another glance.
As the door clicks shut behind him, I release a shaky breath. His walls are back up—solid, unyielding, and suffocating. I can’t say I don’t deserve them, but that doesn’t mean I don’t hate every brick he’s stacking between us.