Page 28 of Landing Liam

“I know I’m right,” she replies, her voice full of certainty.

As I step away, the familiar tightness creeps into my chest. An unwelcome wave of panic starts to bubble beneath the surface. What if I choke out there? What if my body fails me before I even get halfway through?

No. I push the thoughts aside. I’m not doing this to myself today. My body might not be what it once was, but it’s still strong enough to carry me down the slopes. Today, I’m going to do the thing I love most in the world. One last time.

“And even if you monumentally fail,” Izzy adds, her teasing tone cutting through my spiral, “you still get to have drinks with your new girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” I say firmly, even as the thought stirs something I’m not ready to admit.

Izzy smirks, that knowing glint in her eye impossible to ignore. “Sure, Liam. Whatever you say.”

I let out a low laugh, shaking my head as I leave her behind. The moment I step outside, the brisk mountain air cuts across my face, sharp and invigorating. It’s a reminder that life doesn’t always go as planned, but that doesn’t mean I can’t adapt. Sometimes, you just have to roll with the punches—or swerve when life throws you a curveball.

Sliding into my car, I turn on the engine, the familiar hum a small comfort. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out, groaning when I see Lyla’s name lighting up the screen. Seriously? She’s relentless.

I set the phone down on the passenger seat, letting it ring and ring until it finally gives up. I’ve got bigger things to focus on today than whatever Lyla wants.

***

After signing in, I glance around the lodge, taking in the scene. The room hums with energy—nervous anticipation from the newcomers and quiet confidence from the veterans. Familiar faces catch my eye: Bryce Lopez, Carter Yanz, and Floyd Rawlings. We’ve all been at this for years, carving out careers and friendships in the competitive chaos of this sport. And then there are the new faces: Gregory Pond and Lance Bend. The ones to beat.

Greg and Lance look eager but tense, shifting their weight from foot to foot as they size up the competition. They remind me of myself back when I was the young gun, ready to prove myself against seasoned pros.

My gaze falls on Bryce, Carter, and Floyd gathered in a tight circle, shooting the breeze like it’s any other day on the mountain. With a small smile, I meander over, and Bryce immediately smirks as I approach.

“You think you’ve got it in you to beat the young bloods?” Bryce teases, his voice dripping with playful mockery.

I shrug casually, though my smile widens. “Not sure. Starting to feel my age.”

“Aren’t we all,” Carter chimes in, rubbing the back of his neck as if the years have weighed him down too.

“Remember when we were that age?” Floyd chuckles, his weathered face lighting up. “Green and naive. Thought we’d be invincible forever.”

“You three sound like this is the final act,” I quip, shaking my head at them.

“Greg’s runs yesterday were…” Bryce trails off, his expression serious now.

“Better than yours, Liam,” Floyd finishes for him, his voice tinged with grudging admiration. “Kid’s got something special. He’s gonna give you a run for your money.”

“Already throwing in the towel?” I raise an eyebrow, letting the jab land lightly.

“Greg’s good,” Carter admits. “But he’s still got a lot to learn. He never delivers quite as well under pressure. The crowd gets to him.”

“And Lance?” I add with a sly grin. “He’s got a sprained ankle. Competition might not be as fierce as you think.”

Floyd narrows his eyes at me. “How do you know about Lance’s ankle?”

“Zach,” I reply. “He’s friends with Lance’s trainer. We’ve got this, you guys.”

Bryce exhales heavily, though his smile returns. “Whatever you say, old man.”

As we share a round of laughter, the camaraderie feels bittersweet. I watch the new guys stealing glances at the veterans, their nerves barely hidden beneath a layer of bravado. Their excitement, their hunger—it’s contagious. But it’s also a sharp reminder of something I’ve been avoiding.

A pang shoots through my chest, and for the first time, I let myself acknowledge it. I think I’ve made my decision. This is it. My final competition. It’s time to bow out while I still love the sport, while my body still allows me to leave on my own terms.

“I’ll catch you guys later,” I say, clapping Carter on the shoulder as I head for the door.

Stepping outside, the crisp mountain air hits me like a reset button, clearing my head and filling my lungs. This mountain has been my life, my identity, for so long. But now, it feels like the right time to let it go.