Page 70 of Landing Liam

“You’re clean,” he says simply, his voice calm and measured. “No signs of any substances, performance-enhancing or otherwise. As I suspected.”

Relief crashes over me like an avalanche, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. My shoulders sag slightly as the tension drains from my body, replaced by a cautious optimism. “Thanks,” I manage. It comes out a little hoarse.

He nods, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll send the full report to your publicist for her records. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

I clutch the paper in my hands, my name bold at the top of the results. It’s a tangible piece of truth—proof that the accusations are baseless. I take a picture of the document with my phone and immediately send it to the family group chat, Gail, and Lon, my coach, who Gail looped in earlier this morning.

A flood of messages comes in almost instantly.

I stand and roll my shoulders, trying to shake off the lingering exhaustion. This isn’t over yet, but at least I’ve got this piece of the puzzle locked in. I thank Mr. Glowen again before heading out into the cold. The crisp mountain air hits my face, jolting me awake as I slide into my car.

The drive to the lodge is slow, the roads still slick with fresh snow. The morning sunlight glints off the icy trees, painting the landscape in shades of silver and gold. Normally, I’d take a moment to appreciate the beauty of the mountain, but my mind is racing ahead. My final run looms large, and I need to put every ounce of focus into making it count.

When I pull into the lodge’s parking lot, the crowd is already gathering near the slopes. The energy is palpable, a mix of excitement and tension that buzzes through the air. I park and grab my gear from the backseat, my breath visible in the freezing air as I jog toward the main building.

Inside, the atmosphere is chaotic but familiar—athletes warming up, coaches shouting last-minute advice, and spectators milling around with steaming cups of coffee. I head straight for the lobby, weaving through the crowd with single-minded determination.

My phone buzzes in my pocket with a message from Mom.

Mom: Remember, you’re already a champion in our eyes. Just have fun out there.

A small smile tugs at my lips as I pocket the phone. It’s a good reminder. No matter what happens on that mountain, I’ve already won in so many ways. But as I lace up my boots and adjust my helmet, I know I’m not just riding for myself today. I’m riding for my family, for my reputation, and maybe—maybe just a little—for Maggie, too.

With my gear in place and my nerves steady, I head outside and into the crisp mountain air. The slope rises before me, a glistening challenge waiting to be conquered. I take a deep breath, letting the cold air fill my lungs, and set my sights on the run ahead.

It’s time to finish what I started.

I find Zach waiting near the lift, leaning against one of the support poles with his arms crossed over his chest. His usual easygoing demeanor seems absent, replaced by a stiff posture and an unreadable expression. When he spots me approaching, he straightens up and adjusts his hat, avoiding eye contact.

“Hey,” I call out, trying to gauge his mood. “Ready for this?”

Zach nods, but it’s a tight, almost reluctant gesture. “Yeah. Everything good with the test?”

“Clean,” I say simply, holding up the paper for emphasis. “No surprises.”

“That’s great,” he replies, but there’s no relief in his voice. He rubs the back of his neck and glances around, as if looking for someone. “We should get moving. Don’t want to waste any more time.”

“Sure,” I agree, though his odd behavior sends a flicker of unease through me. Zach’s been by my side for years, always the steady, dependable presence keeping me grounded. Seeing him act so cagey now feels like stepping onto unfamiliar terrain.

As we step onto the lift, the crisp mountain air whips around us. The chair creaks and sways as we ascend, the world falling away below. I glance at Zach, who’s uncharacteristically quiet, his gaze fixed somewhere in the distance. Normally, he’d be running through last-minute strategies or giving me a pep talk, but today he’s silent.

“You okay?” I finally ask, breaking the tension.

“Huh?” He snaps out of his thoughts and forces a smile. “Yeah, just… a lot on my mind.”

“Like what?” I press, narrowing my eyes.

“Nothing that can’t wait,” he says quickly. Too quickly. He shifts in his seat and adjusts his gloves. “Let’s focus on your run.”

I want to push further, but the lift jerks to a stop at the top of the slope, cutting off the conversation. Zach hops off first, his movements stiff and mechanical. I follow, my legs already feeling the telltale signs of fatigue creeping in. The slight tremor in my thighs, the heaviness in my calves—it’s all there, subtle but unmistakable.

The MS is flaring again. It’s not enough to stop me, but it’s enough to make me second-guess every step.

Zach hands me my board without a word and steps back, giving me space to strap in. The weight of the snowboard feels heavier than usual, the bindings stubborn as I try to secure them. My fingers fumble, stiff and clumsy, but I manage to get everything in place.

I glance up at Zach, who’s watching me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. “What’s with the death stare?” I ask, trying to inject some humor into the moment.

“Just… be careful out there,” he says, his voice low. “You’ve got nothing to prove.”