Page 81 of Landing Liam

Zach opens his mouth as if to say something else, but I raise a hand, cutting him off. “In the future, when your mom needs some help, you don’t sell false stories to Lyla. You come to me.”

“Liam,” he starts, his voice pleading. “I am truly very sorry.”

I stare at him, feeling a mix of anger and sympathy. He needed help, and he went about it all wrong. What’s done is done.

“You won’t be training me anymore.” I shrug. “But, uh, I won’t be snowboarding anymore. So, you’re going to have to build up your clientele. All on your own.” I pause briefly before adding, “If I catch wind that you’re selling stories to pay medical bills, I will make your life very miserable.”

He hesitates for a moment, his eyes searching mine for any trace of dishonesty. But there’s none. With a defeated nod, he grabs his bag and slinks out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

As the silence settles around me, I let out a shaky breath, the weight of the confrontation pressing down on me. Betrayed by someone I thought I could trust, I feel the sting of his actions deep in my chest. But I also feel something else—a flicker of relief. The truth is finally out, and for the first time in weeks, I feel like I can start to take control of my life again.

I grab my phone and scroll to Maggie’s name, my thumb hovering over the screen. I need to tell her what happened. I need her to know the truth. And, more than anything, I need to hear her voice.

Because even in the middle of all this chaos, she’s the one thing that feels steady. The one thing that feels real.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Maggie

My car sputters to a halt as I park in front of the Pine Cove Chronicle. The late afternoon sunlight dances across the sky, bathing the lot in golden hues, but I don’t have time to linger on how much the amber glow reminds me of the flecks in Liam’s deep, chocolatey eyes. There’s too much to do. Too much riding on this. I have to write the article and get it live before the end of the day. It has to align perfectly with the release of Liam’s standard drug test results. I have to do this—for him, for me, for the truth.

Each step toward the building feels heavier than the last. My mind buzzes with everything I need to piece together, every word I need to craft carefully. The lights inside the newsroom blaze brightly, a beacon of controlled chaos. It means Odie and the rest of the team are still hard at work, no doubt trying to salvage our credibility in the wake of the doping allegations. Unlike the gossip rags that gleefully ran the story with a flimsy allegedly slapped on it, we chose integrity. The Chronicle held the line. For now.

“Well, well, well,” Odie’s familiar voice cuts through the noise as I push open the door. He leans back in his chair with a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

I glance around the room. The staff is gathered in pockets, some of them focused on their screens, others whispering. A few glance up at me, their faces full of curiosity and barely concealed frustration. I swallow hard and push forward, trying not to let their judgmental stares rattle me.

“Hey, everyone,” I greet them as I make my way to my desk.

Odie swivels his chair toward me and lowers his voice to a harsh whisper. “Please tell me you’ve got a story,” he says, his tone equal parts urgency and desperation.

“I have a story,” I say, dropping my bag onto the desk. My words hang in the air, and for a moment, the tension seems to ripple through the room. “But it’s not the one we were chasing before.”

Odie’s brow furrows, and he leans closer, his voice barely audible now. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I’ve got the real story,” I say, sitting down and powering on my laptop. “Liam’s clean. I have his drug test results, and I have his blessing to write the truth. All of it.”

I hand him my notebook as he reads, the room growing stilly by the second.

Odie’s eyes widen. “You’re serious? You have his permission to go on record with all of this?”

I nod, the weight of the responsibility pressing on my chest. “This isn’t just about proving he’s clean,” I say, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. “He wants the world to know everything. His diagnosis, the struggles he’s been hiding, all of it.”

For a moment, Odie looks stunned. Then, a slow, determined smile spreads across his face. “Alright, Cooper. Let’s get to work. This one’s going to put us on the map.”

I nod, pulling in a steadying breath as I prepare to write the most important story of my career. This is for Liam.

***

By the time I finish, my fingers feel stiff, and my eyes sting from staring at the screen for so long. The newsroom around me has quieted, the hum of conversation replaced by the rhythmic tapping of keys and the faint buzz of fluorescent lights. I’ve written plenty of articles during my time at the Chronicle, but none of them have ever felt this important—this pivotal. This wasn’t just a story; it was Liam’s story. And for better or worse, it was in my hands.

I scan the article once, then twice, making sure every word feels right. The weight of what this piece means—both for Liam and for me—sits heavy on my chest as I stand and walk it over to Odie.

“Done,” I say softly, placing the printed copy on his desk.

He looks up at me, his sharp eyes momentarily softening. “I’ll edit it,” he says simply, pulling the paper toward him. There’s no fanfare, no immediate feedback, but the seriousness in his tone tells me he knows how much this matters. That’s enough for now.

I return to my desk and collapse into my chair, my body feeling like it’s been through the wringer. I stare blankly at my phone sitting on the corner of the desk, the screen dark but its presence loud. Liam’s number is right there, just a tap away. I could call him, or even send a quick text. Let him know the article is finished. That his story—the truth—is about to be out there.