Chapter Twenty-Nine
Liam
I lean against the door, my head resting against the cool wood as I take a slow, measured breath.
My body feels heavy, sluggish. The familiar tingling in my left arm creeps in, like pins and needles, but deeper—almost bone-deep.
Stress triggers it, I know that, and this morning has been nothing but an endless stream of stress.
Maggie’s words keep running through my mind, her explanations fitting together like puzzle pieces I was too stubborn to see earlier.
She wouldn’t sell me out to some trashy gossip blog—not when her career is hanging by a thread.
And now, part of me wonders if she’ll lose everything because of this.
Because of me. Not that there ever was a real story.
Well, maybe there is one. Just not the one anyone expected.
I exhale heavily, shifting my weight against the door.
My legs feel shaky, like they might give out if I push too hard.
It’s not the first time this has happened, and it won’t be the last. The symptoms are manageable most days, but when I’m run down—when the stress piles on—it’s like my body turns on me.
I rub my hand over my thigh, hoping to quell the dull ache that’s begun to settle there.
This is my reality now. A reality I’ve been too scared to face head-on.
But today, with everything unraveling around me, I can’t ignore it anymore.
My snowboarding career, my carefully crafted life—it’s all teetering on the edge of collapse.
And this… this could be the thing that sends it tumbling over.
I need to focus. I can’t let this derail me. Not today. My final run down the mountain is this afternoon, and I need to be at my best. For my family. For the sport that’s given me everything. For myself.
Then? Then the rest of my life begins.
I take one more steadying breath before pushing off the door, ignoring the weakness in my limbs. There’s still work to be done, and I refuse to let this win. Not now. Not ever.
Maggie doesn’t take long to get ready. When she steps into the hallway, she’s wearing that same beanie she had on the day I met her, paired with a soft, new sweater that clings to her in all the right ways.
For a moment, I let myself take her in—her flushed cheeks, her determined expression—and I feel a pang of longing deep in my chest. But I shove it down.
I can’t afford to let my emotions cloud my judgment right now.
Not when my career is teetering on the edge.
Stay in control, Liam.
As we walk down the hall toward the stairs, Maggie’s phone buzzes in her hand. She glances at the screen, her brow tightening as she blows out a heavy breath. “I have to take this,” she says, looking up at me with an apologetic smile.
I nod, gesturing for her to go ahead. “Take your time.”
Her footsteps slow as she answers the call. “Hello?” she says softly, her voice suddenly more guarded.
I keep moving ahead, giving her space, but I can’t help catching bits of her tone—tense, clipped, and…
frustrated. Whoever’s on the other end of the line is giving her a hard time.
I don’t know if it’s her boss, whoever sent her those text messages, or someone else entirely, but it’s clear they’re pushing her buttons.
When I glance back, her free hand is gripping the strap of her bag tightly, her knuckles turning white.
I slow my pace, debating whether to interrupt or give her privacy, but I settle for staying close enough to be there if she needs me.
Her voice lowers, sharp and direct now, and I can tell she’s fighting to keep her composure.
“Of course, I understand,” she says into the phone, but her words are laced with an edge that makes my stomach twist. Whatever this call is about, it’s not good.
I don’t press her. Not yet. But a part of me is already running through worst-case scenarios. Who is she talking to? Is this about the story? About me? I hate the not knowing, but I’ve learned the hard way not to pry when someone’s walls are up.
By the time we reach the lobby, she hangs up with a curt, “I’ll take care of it,” and slides the phone back into her pocket. Her shoulders are tense, her jaw tight, and I know something’s weighing on her.
“Everything okay?” I ask, trying to keep things light.
She looks up at me, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Just work stuff,” she says quickly, brushing it off. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
But I am worried. And I don’t buy for a second that it’s nothing.
I hold the door open for Maggie, watching as she steps out of the hotel.
She’s careful not to get too close, keeping her distance as though there’s an invisible line between us she doesn’t want to cross.
Part of me hoped she’d accidentally brush against me, even just a fleeting touch, but she doesn’t.
I didn’t think it would bother me this much, but it does.
When we reach my car, I circle around to open the passenger door for her. The worry etched into her expression hasn’t softened, the corners of her mouth drawn tight, her brow faintly furrowed. Something about it makes my chest ache. I rest a hand lightly on her forearm as she moves toward the door.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask gently, my voice barely louder than the crunch of snow beneath our feet.
She bites her lower lip, hesitating for a moment before shaking her head. “Not right now,” she says softly. Then she slips into the passenger seat, her movements quick, almost defensive, as though she’s afraid of lingering too long.
I exhale through my nose, the cold air biting at my lungs as I make my way to the driver’s side.
She doesn’t owe me anything, I remind myself.
After everything—the text messages, my distrust, my own mistakes—I shouldn’t expect her to let her walls down for me.
Still, the distance between us feels heavier with every passing second.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, I glance over at her.
Maggie’s staring out the window, her eyes tracking the people trudging through the thick snow outside.
The scene is bustling despite the lingering storm—locals and tourists bundled in coats, hauling gear, and laughing as they navigate the icy sidewalks.
It’s the same mountain chaos I’ve seen every season of my career, but Maggie seems transfixed, her mind clearly somewhere else.
I grip the steering wheel, the leather cool beneath my fingers. “You know,” I start, keeping my tone casual, “I’ve never seen the mountain this packed during a blizzard. You’d think the weather would scare people off.”
She hums a noncommittal response, her gaze never leaving the window. I know she’s not really seeing the snow or the crowd—her mind’s somewhere far away, tangled in whatever she’s trying not to talk about.
The silence stretches, heavy but not uncomfortable. I want to reach for her hand, to close the growing chasm between us, but I stop myself. Instead, I start the car, the engine rumbling softly beneath us, and wait for her to decide if she wants to let me in.
Maggie stays quiet the entire drive to Mom and Dad’s.
The silence isn’t heavy, but it’s not exactly light either—it feels like she’s trying to keep her thoughts to herself, and I don’t blame her.
Normally, I wouldn’t even consider bringing someone home like this.
Lyla barely set foot past the driveway when we were together, and that was by design.
I’ve always kept my family separate from my relationships.
Not because I don’t care what they think—far from it.
I care too much. Their opinions matter more than I let on, and one wrong word from Mom or Dad could have sent any past fling running for the hills.
But Maggie? For some reason, I know Mom’s going to love her, even if—or when—she finds out about the story.
That realization feels both comforting and dreadful.
It makes me like her even more than I already do, which is saying something, considering how much space she’s taken up in my head these past few days.
Dad used to tell me how he “just knew” Mom was the one from the moment he met her.
I’ve always thought that was a load of romanticized garbage.
How could anyone just know something like that?
But now, as I glance at Maggie out of the corner of my eye, I wonder if there’s more to it than I ever gave him credit for.
I’ve had my fair share of… let’s call them conquests over the years.
Not one of them made me feel the way Maggie does.
Not one of them made me want to take her home and let my family get to know her.
And yet, here I am. Driving her to my parents’ house.
Hoping they’ll see what I see in her. Wishing I understood it myself.
Because if she’s not the one, then why does this feel so monumental?
Why do I want her to like my family as much as I already know they’ll like her?
Why do I want her to stick around when she has every reason to walk away?
Maybe I’m being too hard on her. She said she didn’t even know who I was before this story landed in her lap.
I’ve spent all morning questioning her intentions, questioning if she’s the one who leaked the story.
But what if she really is just someone trying to prove herself?
To keep her job, better herself, and make something out of her career?
Can I really blame her for that? Don’t I risk everything for my career every time I strap into my board and hurl myself down the side of a mountain?
The thought hits me like a gust of wind, sharp and sudden. Maybe we’re not so different after all.
As I pull into the driveway, I feel Maggie’s body go rigid beside me.
Her shoulders tense, and she grips the edge of her seat, her gaze fixed on the house looming ahead.
Despite the invisible walls we’ve both been trying to keep up, I instinctively reach across the center console and take her hand.
Her fingers are cool against mine, and for a moment, she doesn’t respond.
But then, slowly, she threads her fingers through mine and squeezes—firm, steady, like she’s trying to anchor herself.
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly, her voice cracking just enough to tug at my chest. “I’m sorry if anything I’ve done or said has hurt you. That was never my intention.”
I exhale, letting the tension I’ve been holding melt away. “It’s okay. I think I understand more than I thought I would.”
Her head tilts toward me, her blue eyes wide and searching. “You do?”
“Yeah,” I say, giving her hand another squeeze. “Really.”
She glances back at the house, her lips parting as if she wants to say more, but she doesn’t. Instead, she licks her lips nervously and nods toward the front door. “I’m nervous.”
Her honesty catches me off guard, but I smile, trying to put her at ease. “Don’t be. They know you’re here to help. And, not to brag, but my family’s pretty great. You’ll see.”
Her smile is faint but real, like a crack of sunlight through heavy clouds. “Okay,” she whispers, her grip on my hand tightening briefly before letting go.
As we step out of the car, the sound of crunching snow fills the air, and I feel a strange sense of calm wash over me.
Maggie walks beside me, her hands buried deep in her coat pockets, and even though she’s nervous, I can feel her determination radiating off her.
I can’t help but hope that whatever happens in the next few hours, this moment—the two of us walking toward something together—means more than either of us is ready to admit.