Page 71 of Landing Liam

“I’ve got everything to prove,” I counter, tightening the strap on my helmet. “This run isn’t just about me anymore.”

Zach doesn’t respond, but the look in his eyes lingers as I turn and approach the edge of the slope. The mountain stretches out before me, a pristine canvas of untouched snow. The crowd below is a distant blur, their cheers muffled by the wind. I take a deep breath, steadying myself, and push off.

The first few seconds are smooth, the familiar rhythm of carving through the snow settling into my muscles. But as I pick up speed, the strain in my legs becomes harder to ignore. My balance wavers slightly on a sharp turn, and I have to throw my weight into the movement to avoid veering off course.

The limb fatigue is relentless, a subtle thief stealing precision and control. My thighs burn with every turn, my movements slower and less fluid than they should be. The tremor in my legs grows more pronounced as I hit a patch of uneven snow, and I barely manage to correct my course in time to avoid wiping out.

Come on, Liam. You’ve done this a thousand times before.

I force myself to breathe through the discomfort, my eyes locked on the path ahead. The next jump looms, a high arc that requires perfect timing and balance. I crouch low, gathering momentum, and launch myself into the air.

For a brief moment, I’m weightless, the world falling away beneath me. But as I come down, my legs falter on the landing, and I have to throw my arms out to steady myself. My heart pounds as I regain control, the adrenaline masking the pain shooting up my calves.

The rest of the run is a blur of grit and determination. Every turn feels like a battle, my body fighting against the very thing it’s trained to do. By the time I reach the bottom, my lungs are burning, my legs trembling with exhaustion. The cheers of the crowd are distant and hollow, drowned out by the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears.

Lon is waiting for me at the edge of the run, his expression vacant. I unstrap my board and lean on it for support, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice loud with concern.

“Yeah,” I lie, wiping the sweat from my brow. “Just need a minute.”

Lon nods but doesn’t look convinced. He steps closer, lowering his voice so only I can hear. “Liam, if something’s wrong—”

“Nothing’s wrong,” I cut him off, sharper than I mean to. “I’ve got this.”

The man who has coached me my whole career studies me for a moment, his jaw tightening. Then he steps back and gestures toward the lodge. “Let’s get you inside. You need to rest before your final run.”

As I follow him toward the lodge, the unease from earlier floods my system. Zach’s behavior, my struggling performance, the weight of everything riding on today—it all swirls together, a storm I can’t quite shake.

But I push it aside. There’s still one run left, one chance to prove to myself—and to everyone else—that I’m not done yet.

Chapter Thirty Two

Maggie

My eyes blur as I scroll through the endless stream of articles on Liam. Each headline feels like a jab, each paragraph another twist of the knife. I’ve read through all of them at least three times, but exhaustion doesn’t stop me from combing through them again. This time, though, something new catches my attention—something I didn’t notice before.

“Jack!” I call out. The room goes quiet for a moment, heads turning toward me, but I keep my eyes on Liam’s cousin-in-law.

Jack saunters over, a steaming cup of coffee in hand and a curious look on his face. “What is it?” he asks, his tone calm but tinged with urgency.

I swivel my laptop toward him, tapping on a highlighted section of text. “Take a look at this,” I say, struggling to keep my voice steady. “There’s the usual stuff about Liam’s personal life—his diet, his routines, the stuff you’d expect—but then there’s this…” I point to a specific paragraph. “Details about him struggling in the weight room, not keeping up with the other guys like he used to. That’s not public information. Is it even true?”

Jack frowns, lowering his coffee to focus on the screen. “You’re right,” he mutters, skimming the article. “That’s... pretty detailed. Way more specific than anything Lyla could’ve given them.”

I nod, my mind racing. “Exactly. Lyla might’ve had access to his personal life, but this? This feels like it came from someone who’s seen him train. Someone who’s been there.”

Jack leans back, his arms crossing over his chest. “So, what are you thinking? Someone on his team? His coach? A trainer, maybe?”

I hesitate, biting my lip. “I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but… a trainer would know about his struggles in the gym, wouldn’t he?”

Jack tilts his head, considering it. “Zach? That’s a bold accusation, Maggie. You really think he’d sell Liam out like that?”

“I don’t know,” I admit, shaking my head. “But it makes sense, doesn’t it? Zach would have firsthand knowledge of Liam’s routines—of his highs and lows. If someone wanted to make these allegations believable, they’d need something concrete. And this? This is concrete.”

Jack nods slowly, his expression grim. “You’ve got a point. But we can’t just go around accusing people without proof.”

“I know,” I say, rubbing my temples. “But we’re running out of options. It could still be Lyla, but we have to consider that all the information leaking might not be coming just from one source.”