Chapter Thirty-Seven
Liam
I’ve read Maggie’s article so many times I’ve lost count.
Every time, I imagine her voice narrating the words, soft and steady, but full of purpose.
It’s brilliant. It’s raw. And it’s everything I hoped it would be.
She captured the truth without sensationalism, told my story without pity, and somehow made me feel seen in a way I didn’t think was possible.
But it doesn’t make missing her any easier.
It’s not the usual kind of missing, either.
It’s not the passing ache I’ve felt after casual flings or failed relationships.
It’s deeper. It’s the absence of her warmth beside me, the quiet rhythm of her breathing when she sleeps.
It’s the memory of her hand in mine, like it belonged there, like it was meant to stay.
And that smile—God, that smile. The one she gets when she’s challenging me, her eyes lighting up with fire as she calls me out on my crap. I miss the way her laughter would sneak up on me, soft and unexpected, like she was caught off guard by her own joy.
But right now, my life is chaotic. Between the fallout from the doping allegations, the decision to retire, and the reality of my diagnosis, I feel like I’m standing in the middle of a storm, trying to hold it all together.
What kind of future can I offer her when I don’t even know what mine looks like yet?
I run a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply as I sit on the edge of my bed.
The article is open on my phone, the screen glowing faintly in the dim room.
Maggie wrote about my strength, my resilience, my determination.
She painted me as someone capable of overcoming anything.
But I don’t feel strong. I feel lost. And I hate that feeling more than anything.
For the first time in my life, I’m not chasing a win. I’m chasing stability. A new purpose. A way to rebuild my life without the sport that’s defined me for so long. I want to be the man Maggie deserves—the man she saw in me, even when I couldn’t see it in myself.
But how do I do that when everything feels like it’s slipping through my fingers?
There’s a soft knock at the door, pulling me from my thoughts. I glance up from my phone to see Mom standing there, her face warm but thoughtful.
“That was quite an article,” she says, her voice tinged with pride. She gives me a small nod of approval before stepping into the room and leaning a hip against the dresser. Her arms cross over her chest in that familiar, no-nonsense way that tells me she’s here to have one of those talks.
“Have you talked to her yet?” she asks, her gaze sharp but kind.
I shake my head, the weight in my chest growing heavier. “Not yet. I was thinking I’d reach out later tonight.”
Mom tilts her head, studying me like only she can. “Tell me what’s going through your head, son.”
I smile faintly, the corner of my mouth twitching up. “I was just thinking… I’ve never wanted to get my life in order more than I do now.”
Her lips curve into a knowing smile, the kind that says she’s been exactly where I am. “The right person will do that to you.” She chuckles softly, and there’s a warmth in her eyes that makes the knot in my chest loosen, just a little. “You’re not so different from your dad, you know?”
“We share awe-inspiring good looks and a head of artfully tousled hair?” I offer, trying to inject some levity into the moment.
Mom laughs, shaking her head. “No. When you fall, you fall hard. Just like he did.”
She steps closer, resting a hand on my shoulder. The squeeze she gives is firm, steadying, and full of that quiet reassurance only a mother can give. “I’m so proud of you, Liam. Not just for how you handled today, but for the man you’re becoming. Don’t lose sight of that, okay?”
“I won’t,” I promise.
“Good,” she says, giving me one last squeeze before letting go. “Dinner’s on the stove if you’re hungry. Come down whenever.”
As she leaves, I sit there for a moment, staring at the wall and letting her words sink in. My phone is still in my hand, Maggie’s article open on the screen. My thumb hovers over her contact, but I can’t quite bring myself to press it. Not yet.
Taking a deep breath, I stand and grab my jacket. If I’m going to get my life in order, I need to start somewhere. And right now, I think it’s time to pay my little sister a visit.
***
The second bedroom is Emmy’s sanctuary, a place where light barely dares to intrude.
The blinds are drawn, and the faint red glow of her darkroom lamp bathes the space in an otherworldly hue.
Shelves line the walls, crowded with jars of chemicals, photo paper, and rolls of film.
The faint smell of developer and fixer clings to the air, sharp and slightly metallic.
The centerpiece of the room is a table covered in a chaotic array of photographs, some pinned to a drying line that stretches from one corner of the room to the other.
Emmy, my youngest sister, is perched on a stool, her auburn hair spilling over her shoulder like a curtain as she examines a photograph in her hands.
She’s in her element here—quiet, focused, and completely absorbed.
I knock softly on the doorframe, and she practically jumps out of her skin, clutching the photo to her chest like a lifeline.
“What is wrong with you?” she gasps, her voice sharp as she presses a hand to her heart. “You scared me half to death! You could’ve been a murderer.”
I smirk, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Maybe you should start locking the front door.”
She gives me a tight smile, her narrowed eyes promising retribution. “I meant to.”
“What’s that?” I ask, nodding toward the photo she’s clutching like it’s top secret.
Her lips press into a thin line, and she swallows hard before slowly lowering the photo. “It’s an exposure shot I took at the top of the mountain a few nights ago.”
I take a step closer, the dim red light making the shadows shift across her face. “Can I see?”
She hesitates for a moment before handing it over.
The glossy paper feels cool and smooth between my fingers as I hold it up to the faint light.
The image is hauntingly beautiful—an ethereal shot of the mountain at dusk, the sky streaked with deep blues and purples, the snow glowing softly like it’s lit from within.
There’s something raw and vulnerable about it, like the mountain itself is baring its soul.
“This is incredible, Em,” I say, genuinely impressed.
She crosses her arms, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush. “It’s not finished. I was just checking it before I make adjustments.”
“Well, finished or not, it’s amazing,” I insist, handing it back to her. “You’ve got an eye for this.”
Her lips twitch, but she doesn’t smile fully. “Thanks. What are you doing up here anyway?”
“I needed to get away for a bit,” I admit, glancing around the room. “Thought I’d check in on you.”
Her gaze softens, and she tilts her head. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, though my voice lacks conviction. “Just… a lot going on.”
“Did you talk to Zach and Lyla?” Emmy asks.
I swallow hard. “Yeah, talked to Zach. Turns out he needed the cash to pay for his mom’s medical bills.”
“And Lyla?” She raises an unimpressed eyebrow.
“My lawyer dealt with her.” I smirk. “If she sells anymore stories about me, or anyone in the snowboarding world, let’s just say she’ll be in a lot of trouble.”
Emmy doesn’t press, just nods and sets the photo back on the table. “You know where to find me if you need to talk.”
The weight in her words, the way she doesn’t push but offers her quiet support, is exactly what I need right now.
For a moment, we just stand there in the glow of her world, the silence stretching comfortably between us.
It’s a reminder that, even in the chaos, there’s still a place where things can feel steady.
“Actually,” I exhale heavily, my fingers nervously fidgeting at my sides, “there is something I wanted to talk to you about.”
Emmy turns to me fully, her brow arched. “Are you kicking me out?”
“No.” I shake my head firmly. “I was kind of hoping the opposite.”
Her head tilts slightly, her blue eyes narrowing with curiosity. “What do you mean?”
“I want to sell you the condo,” I say, letting the words hang in the air.
She blinks, clearly caught off guard. Then, she laughs softly. “I can’t afford this place, Liam. Let’s be real.”
“You can,” I reply gently, my voice steady. “I want to sell it to you at a price you can afford. I don't care about the loss.”
Her expression shifts, her amusement fading into something more serious. “Why are you doing this?” she asks, her voice softer now. “Is this about the MS?” Her eyes widen in concern. “You’re not planning to live with Mom and Dad permanently, are you?”
I shake my head quickly. “No, nothing like that. I just… I think it’s time I start acting like an adult. No more bachelor pad for me.”
She studies me, her sharp gaze searching my face for answers. “Why are you doing this for me?”
I clear my throat, the words feeling heavier than I expected. “Mom and Dad paid for my snowboarding career. They gave Mia The Gallery. They helped Taylor and Elle get into a house. I… I want to do something nice for you.”
Her lips part slightly, but no words come at first. Then, she smiles, though there’s a hint of vulnerability in her expression. “I’ll talk to the bank on Monday,” she offers. “Then I’ll get you a number.”
“Make sure it’s a number that works for you,” I counter, my voice firm but kind. “You seem happy here.”
She nods, her smile growing softer. “I like my space.”
I chuckle, the familiarity of her statement hitting home. Emmy’s always been like this—valuing her privacy, her independence. She hated growing up in a house where everyone knew everyone else’s business. In so many ways, she’s always been more like Dad than Mom.
“You coming to my retirement party?” I ask her, leaning casually against the doorframe.
She sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes. “I guess I have to now that you’re selling me your condo in a prime mountain tourist zip code.”
“Good,” I say with a smirk, nodding in approval. “One less thing to nag you about.”
She laughs lightly before turning back to her photograph, her long auburn hair spilling over her shoulder. “You better go before I start charging you for interrupting my workflow.”
“Fine,” I reply with mock seriousness. “But lock the door this time, Em. Anyone could have walked in.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she waves me off with a flick of her wrist, her attention already back on her work.
I linger for just a moment longer, watching her. There’s a quiet contentment in her face that makes me feel like I’m doing the right thing. One more check off the list. Tomorrow, I’ll start looking for a new house—something that feels like the next chapter of my life.
And then? Then I go see Maggie.