Page 8 of Landing Liam

A chuckle escapes me, even as something aches deep in my chest. “It was… something.”

There’s a pause on her end, and I can almost picture her, sitting up, pulling her hair back with that same measured grace. “Look… I should have said this before, but I’m sorry. For everything. I’m not usually… I don’t know… crazy like that. I’m supposed to be the ambitious, level-headed one, not the girl who loses her mind over some guy.”

“It’s okay,” I say, hoping she hears that I mean it.

She sighs. “I miss you, Liam.”

There it is—the one thing I knew would eventually come. It’s never just sex. Not with her.

My phone buzzes in my hand again, and I glance down. Mom. Just in time.

“Sorry, Lyla,” I murmur. “I really have to go.”

I hang up, switching the line to Mom. “Hey.”

“Well, you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere. That’s a relief.”

“Alive and well,” I confirm, easing into my car with a tired smile.

“And not home,” she points out, her tone thick with that motherly mix of worry and exasperation.

“I’m on my way,” I laugh. “Literally two blocks from the house.”

“Drive safe,” she says as she lets out a relieved breath. “I’ll be here, waiting.”

“Ah, nothing like being treated like I’m sixteen again.”

“A hormone-raging sixteen-year-old,” she corrects with a chuckle.

I shake my head, grateful for her voice on the other end of the line. “I know it’s because you care.”

A pause, then, “Have you decided if you’re going to compete this weekend?”

I take a breath, my hand tightening on the steering wheel. “Yeah. I’m going to do it. One last run.”

“And after?” she prompts gently.

“We’ll figure it out after,” I say, though the uncertainty digs deep.

“I love you, Liam,” she murmurs, the sound soothing in a way only a mother’s can be. “And I know everything’s going to work out just the way it’s meant to.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I try to believe her. I really do.

But as I drive through the empty streets toward home, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m standing on the edge of something vast and unknown, with no clear way forward.

Chapter Four

Maggie

I hate driving on icy roads. Snow and cold? Love them. But driving this barely-hanging-together car in winter weather feels like tempting fate on a daily basis. It’s like strapping myself into a metal death trap and skidding along the edge of a cliff, hoping today isn’t the day it gives out.

Being a reporter isn’t for the faint of heart.

“How much longer?” Odie’s voice blares from my phone speaker in my lap, cutting through the engine’s groan and the sound of my teeth chattering. The heater quit an hour into this drive, and I’ve been shivering ever since.

“Twenty minutes,” I answer steadier than I feel.

“You’re almost there!” He cheers, ever the optimist.