Page 1 of Landing Liam

Chapter One

Liam

The symptoms started about nine months ago—just a nagging blur in my vision, a tightening around my chest that wouldn’t let go, headaches I shrugged off as stress. I had no idea my body was signaling something bigger, something that would alter the course of my life forever.

“There are treatment options,” the doctor says gently, his words firm but his expression soft. Mom squeezes Dad’s hand beside me, their fingers interlocked. They’ve been to every appointment, each lab result, every scan. At first, I was annoyed, swore I didn’t need an audience. But now, their presence feels like the only thing holding me together.

I clear my throat, steadying myself to ask the one question that terrifies me most. “What about snowboarding? When will…?” I don’t even know how to finish the sentence. I’ve lived and breathed this sport since I was a kid—my whole life has been about speed, freedom, control.

The doctor’s expression softens even more. “Multiple sclerosis is an unpredictable disease,” he explains carefully, crossing his arms. “Everyone experiences it differently, and it progresses at its own pace.”

Dad breaks in, his voice low but intense. “He has a competition in a few weeks. Should he…?” He doesn’t say it, but we all know what he means: Should I quit? Walk away from the sport that’s given me everything?

“He should live life as normally as possible,” the doctor replies. “We’ll address symptoms as they come, one step at a time.”

Mom’s eyes swim with unshed tears, her ocean-blue gaze locked onto mine. “Then that’s what we’ll do,” she whispers. Determination is splayed across her face even if her fingers shake.

After the doctor leaves, Mom and Dad stand, both hesitating, as if I might shatter right here in this sterile, impersonal room. Part of me wants to reach out, but another part craves solitude, a moment to breathe without anyone watching.

“I’ll meet you at home?” I lift my brows, the word feeling foreign, hollow. I moved back in a few months ago, boxing up my life, renting out my condo to my youngest sister. It’s been strange, sleeping in my old room, surrounded by posters of heroes who seem more distant now, more like ghosts.

Mom tries to smile. “We thought maybe we could grab lunch?”

I shake my head. “Another time.”

Dad opens his mouth, but I cut him off with a small, forced grin. “I’m good. Just have a few things to handle.”

If I were my older brother, the golden child, the one with an emotional vocabulary, maybe I’d let them in, let them hold this weight with me. But I’m not Taylor. I’m just me.

Mom reaches over, resting a hand on my shoulder. We’re here for you, okay? If you need anything.”

I let out a small laugh despite myself. “I know, Mom. You tell me at least three times a day.”

“Can you blame me?” She crosses her arms, shooting Dad a look. “This isn’t funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” Dad says, smirking. “You do say it a lot.”

Mom huffs, waving us off. “Fine. Laugh all you want. I’m just trying to cope here.”

I force a smile, the kind that says I’m still fine, still the guy they know. “I’ve had a good run, you know? Got the medals, the stats, and a long list of women who—”

Dad interrupts with a groan. “Let’s not go there.”

“Too late,” I say, winking. “So. Many. Women.”

Mom rubs her temples, exasperated. “Okay, we get it. Loud and clear.”

I pull her into a hug, a gesture more for her sake than mine, the scent of her perfume grounding me in a way I hadn’t expected. “I love you both.”

“Call us if you’ll be late for dinner,” Mom says, her face buried against my shoulder.

I roll my eyes, the familiar exasperation creeping in. “I’m thirty-one, Mom. Not thirteen.”

Dad nudges her toward the door, but she’s not quite ready to let go. “But do let us know if you’re with one of your many women,” she calls over her shoulder, fighting a smirk.

“Mom, seriously.” I chuckle, shaking my head. “You’re unbelievable.”

She just shrugs. “You’re still my baby.”