Page 13 of Landing Liam

“The clumsy ones always are,” Zach says with a laugh, clapping me on the shoulder as we head toward the weights. “You’ve got to watch out for those.”

I shake my head, smirking, but my thoughts linger on her for a moment longer than I expected. Cute, clumsy, and clearly not from around here. Maybe it’s nothing. Probably nothing. But still, the memory of those big, apologetic blue eyes and the way she stammered out her apology sticks with me.

I refocus as Zach starts talking about today’s session, pushing the distraction aside. I’ve got bigger things to worry about. Always do.

***

“You’re late,” Mia snaps the second I walk into the private dining room. My sister is balancing a toddler on her lap, her tone sharp enough to cut through the ambient clatter of the resort’s luxury restaurant. “As usual.”

“How do you do it?” I ask, sliding into a chair across from her.

“Do what?” She narrows her eyes, clearly bracing for whatever’s coming.

“Sit down with a stick shoved so far up your—”

“Liam.” Mom’s glare cuts me off mid-sentence, her voice carrying that universal tone all moms have when they’re two seconds from snapping.

“What?” I say innocently, throwing her a grin.

“Let’s try to have a nice dinner,” she warns. “Given everything going on.”

“What’s going on?” Mia asks, her suspicion immediate.

“We’ll wait for your siblings,” Mom replies with a click of her tongue, her expression calm but firm. She’s always had a knack for making you feel like a child, even when you’re a grown adult.

The private dining room feels worlds apart from the snowy chill outside. The fireplace crackles softly, filling the space with warmth that contrasts with the modern elegance of the room. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame a breathtaking view of the mountain, the sun sinking low and painting the snow in shades of gold and orange. The polished wood table gleams under the soft glow of overhead pendant lights, and the menu in front of me reads like a masterclass in indulgence—handcrafted pastas, locally sourced steaks, and desserts that probably cost as much as my monthly grocery bill.

Mia exhales heavily, readjusting the toddler squirming in her lap. “Why is everything always about Liam?”

“Because,” my older brother’s voice booms as he strides into the room, “it’s the curse of the Thompson brothers. The youngest one is always a disaster.”

“Har har,” I mutter, rolling my eyes.

Taylor claps me on the back as he sits down, a grin plastered on his annoyingly perfect face. Always the golden child, always one step ahead. If anyone’s a disaster, it’s me—today more than ever.

“Emmy should be here any minute,” Dad announces, checking his phone. “She just texted. Said she’s finishing up an engagement shoot on the mountain.”

“Of course, she is,” I mutter under my breath. Emmy, the youngest, always late but somehow never catching heat for it.

As small talk swirls around the table, I stare out the window, watching the sun dip lower. I should be thinking about the competition this weekend, but my mind is stuck on something heavier. How do I even start? How do I tell my siblings that I’m not… me anymore?

The door swings open, and Emmy bursts in, cheeks pink from the cold and her camera bag still slung over her shoulder. “I’m here!” she announces breathlessly, flashing everyone a bright smile.

“Perfect timing,” Mom says with a mix of relief and exasperation.

The waiter arrives seconds later, taking our orders with a practiced efficiency that matches the restaurant’s upscale vibe. Plates of bread and small appetizers begin to appear, and the table hums with conversation.

“Well?” Mia raises a brow, turning her focus on me. “What is it you need to tell us? Mom said this dinner was about you.”

The table goes silent. I glance around, their faces expectant—Mia with her usual sharpness, Taylor leaning back like this is just another Liam mess to deal with, Emmy pulling off her gloves and looking genuinely curious.

I take a breath, the words heavy on my tongue. “I have MS.”

The room stills. The faint clink of silverware from nearby tables is the only sound as my siblings process what I’ve just said. For once, Mia doesn’t have a retort. Taylor’s grin slips into something more serious, and Emmy’s eyes go wide with concern.

It’s out there now. No taking it back. I just hope they see me as more than this diagnosis—because right now, it feels like that’s all I am.

Chapter Six