Page 63 of Landing Liam

“I know,” he says quietly, the words laced with regret. “But, Maggie, that doesn’t mean I can’t admit I messed up. I never should have let you go. I was stupid. I—” He stops, his words catching. “I love you, okay? I always have.”

I laugh bitterly, the sound surprising even me. “You have a funny way of showing it, Ryan. Sleeping with your coworker while we were still together? That was quite the declaration of love.”

“Maggie,” he pleads, his tone growing more desperate, “it was a mistake. A huge mistake. I wasn’t thinking clearly. But I’ve been thinking ever since, and I can’t stop wondering what it’d be like if we could just go back. Try again.”

“Go back?” I echo, my voice sharp now. “Ryan, there is no going back. You’re having a child with another woman. That’s not something you can just ‘figure out later.’”

“Why not?” he asks, the rawness in his voice catching me off guard. “We were happy together. I know we can be happy again.”

“No,” I say firmly, my grip on the phone tightening. “We can’t. Because you didn’t just hurt me, Ryan. You broke something that can’t be fixed. And whether you want to admit it or not, you’ve already made your choice. You need to move forward. Focus on being a good father. That’s what matters now.”

He’s silent for a long moment, and I can almost feel his frustration through the phone. “You’ve moved on,” he finally says.

“Yes,” I answer, and this time, I don’t hesitate. “I have.”

We exchange a strained goodbye, and I hang up, my hand trembling slightly. I stare out the window at the snow-covered mountain, Liam’s face flashing through my mind. A pang of uncertainty tightens my chest.

Could there really be a future for me here—with him?

The thought lingers, both thrilling and terrifying, as the sun rises high over the snowy peaks.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Maggie

I need to find Liam. I need to explain the text messages. I need to tell him the truth.

The thought repeats in my head like a mantra, each word heavier than the last. My fingers grip my phone tightly as I pace back and forth in the hotel lobby. The ache in my chest twists with every passing second, gnawing at me with the possibility that he won’t believe me. If he thinks I leaked the story—if he even doubts me for a second—I don’t know how I’ll prove my innocence.

The harsh reality of my industry slams into me. I’ve been in this business long enough to know that people believe what they want to believe. Sometimes, even when you lay out the facts, the truth remains buried beneath the weight of preconceived notions. And if Liam is one of those people? If he’s already made up his mind about me?

I close my eyes, the thought stinging more than it should. No, Liam’s not like that. My instincts tell me he’s different. He’ll at least hear me out. He has to.

But what if I’m wrong?

I glance out the lobby window. The crowd at the base of the slopes has thickened, a sea of jackets and scarves moving like a restless tide. Liam is out there somewhere, probably surrounded by his family, his team, his friends—all people who have his back. People who are warning him to stay far, far away from me.

I wrap my arms around myself, the knot in my stomach tightening. You owe him the truth, Maggie. You owe him your side of the story.

Steeling myself, I take a deep breath and head for the door. Snowflakes swirl in the air as I step outside, the cold biting against my cheeks. The mountain looms ahead, and with it, the man who could either be the start of something incredible—or the end of everything I never knew I wanted.

I weave through the crowd, scanning every face, every cluster of people, hoping to find Liam. The murmurs and excitement of the competition buzz around me, but my focus is singular. My toes are starting to go numb as the snow seeps through my boots, and my patience wanes with each step.

He’s nowhere to be found.

I take a deep breath, frustration bubbling to the surface. Maybe trudging through the snow and hoping to stumble upon him isn’t the best plan. If I can’t find Liam here, then I need to regroup. I need a better strategy—one that doesn’t involve frostbite or aimless wandering.

You’ll help him more by finding answers, not by searching for him in a crowd. The thought solidifies in my mind as I turn back toward the parking lot. Back at the hotel, I can start looking into the story. Who leaked it? What’s their motive? And, most importantly, how can we disprove these allegations?

There was a time when “innocent until proven guilty” was the standard. Now, it feels like the court of public opinion delivers a guilty verdict long before any facts come to light. The damage is swift, almost irreversible. A single article, a single click, can destroy someone’s career, their reputation, their life. I hate that it’s true. I hate that I’ve been part of the machine that lets this happen.

The drive back to the hotel is painfully slow. The roads are plowed, but the streets are crammed with cars. Tourists and locals alike inch forward in bumper-to-bumper traffic, the air thick with impatience. My fingers grip the wheel tightly, and I fight the urge to scream into the empty car.

My breath fogs the windshield, and I adjust my scarf. The heater in my car that’s long since given up leaves me shivering and miserable. Great, I think bitterly. What else could go wrong today? But I know the answer to that: Liam’s future. His career. His trust in me. All of it hangs in the balance.

By the time I finally pull into the lot at thehotel, my mind is racing with possibilities. Focus, Maggie. Start somewhere. Anywhere. I grab my bag and hurry inside, the warmth of the building hitting me like a hug. It’s time to dig in, find answers, and maybe—just maybe—fix this mess before it’s too late.

When I reach my room, my breath catches. Standing outside my door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, is Liam. His dark hair is messy from the snow, and his expression is unreadable. The sight of him sends a jolt of relief through me, but it’s quickly replaced by apprehension.