Page 12 of Landing Liam

My phone buzzes as I slide into the driver’s seat, the screen lighting up with a name I should’ve guessed. Lyla. Again. I run a hand over my face, already regretting the impulsive decision to answer the last time she called. With her, it’s never just anything—certainly not sex.

I hit the green button and press the phone to my ear as I put the car in reverse. “Yeah?”

“Oh good!” she chirps. “I wasn’t sure if you’d pick up.”

“What’s up, Lyla?” I ask, trying to keep my tone neutral. Not too warm, not too cold. Not encouraging.

“There’s a charity gala tomorrow night,” she says, her words rehearsed like she’s been waiting to drop this on me. “I have an extra ticket. Thought you might want to tag along.”

I let out a long, slow breath, easing the car out of the driveway. “Can’t. Sorry. I’ve got meetings with some sponsors for the competition tomorrow.”

“A rain check, then?” she asks, and I can almost hear the smile in her voice. Lyla never knows when to quit.

“Listen,” I start, keeping my tone firm but polite. “I think you’re great, but I’m not interested in a relationship.”

“It’s just dinner,” she replies breezily, but we both know that’s not true. With Lyla, dinner isn’t just dinner. It’s the implication of more, of expectations I’m not willing to meet.

“I’ve got to go,” I say, cutting the conversation short. “I’m late for training.”

There’s a beat of silence before she rallies, bright and cheerful again. “Good luck this weekend, Liam. I’ll be rooting for you.”

“Thanks,” I murmur, hanging up and tossing the phone onto the passenger seat.

The car hums around me as I pull back onto the road, the mountain air sharp and clear. Lyla’s persistence used to be flattering, maybe even charming. Now, it’s exhausting. I know I made a mistake letting her back in, even for a moment. And if I’m being honest, I’ve got bigger things to worry about than a woman who can’t take no for an answer.

Zach is pacing outside the gym, his shoulders tight and his expression strained. The second he spots my car pulling into the lot, I see him visibly exhale, like he’s been holding his breath the entire time I’ve been late.

I park and hop out, jogging over to him. “Sorry I’m late.”

He shrugs, shoving his phone into the pocket of his sweats. “Not a big deal.”

“You sure?” I ask, catching the slight edge in his tone.

“Yeah,” he says, though his sigh says otherwise. “Just fielding calls on your behalf.”

My stomach tightens. “What now?”

“The usual.” He motions toward the gym’s glass doors. “People wanting a comment on why you’ve been MIA for the last few months. Sponsors, reporters, a couple of brands. They’re all circling. Lon told me to keep it short and let them know you’re competing this weekend.”

I rub the back of my neck, the familiar wave of guilt creeping in. “I’m sorry,” I mutter. I feel like I’ve been saying that a lot lately. “I didn’t know Lon dumped all this on you.”

Zach waves me off, his tone softening. “It’s part of the job. But you know, at some point, they’re going to need answers. They’re noticing you’re easing up on a sport you’ve been dedicated to most of your life.”

“Yeah,” I say, swallowing hard. “I know.”

He holds the door open for me, and we step inside, the smell of rubber mats and sweat mixing with the faint metallic clang of weights being racked.

“So,” he says, his voice lighter now, “what made you late?”

I let out a short laugh. “Some girl dumped an entire cup of coffee on me at the café. Had to go home and grab a spare shirt for dinner with my parents after this.”

Zach arches a brow, his lips twitching into a grin. “Hopefully she was hot.”

“The girl or the coffee?” I shoot back.

He rolls his eyes. “The girl.”

“Yeah, she was cute,” I admit with a shrug, the memory of her wide-eyed apology flickering in my mind.