Chapter 1: Bellamy
The days of me sleeping through everything, including a zombie apocalypse, were over. Now I could pretty much be summoned awake by a single drip of the bathroom sink. In the neighbor’s house.
It wasn’t a leaky sink that woke me up today. Or any other number of sounds that might be unfamiliar to me in this new house.
No, today I was awoken because I was being stared at.
Cracking open an eye, I glanced beside me and was met with a giant, furry head right beside mine. The second Charlie saw me glance in his direction, his big tail beat on the floor in greeting. I made a small sound, but didn’t move. The St. Bernard was not to be put off. His head, which was already resting on the mattress, scooted closer, and he blew a giant cloud of dog breath in my face.
“That’s so disrespectful,” I told him.
His tail beat more rapidly against the floor, and a low whine vibrated his throat.
Sitting up, sleep still clinging to my brain, I scanned the bedroom, and a rush of warmth wrapped around me. Getting woken up by major dog breath at an early hour wasn’t so bad when you got to wake up to a dream.
Imagine that. I didn’t go to sleep to dream; I woke up instead.
Strands of wavy blond hair fell over my shoulder, brushing against my cheek when I looked to the side at Liam. He was sleeping soundly, his strong features relaxed, his light-brown hair tousled and falling over his forehead. One of his arms was thrown out toward me, and the other was folded over his abdomen.
The dog lumbered over to the bedroom door and stared back. I held up my finger, telling him to wait just a minute, then pulled the blankets up closer around Liam. Brushing back a lock of his hair, I smiled down. I still couldn’t believe I was here. With him.
Even though life was crazy as hell, scary, and probably about to get even more complicated, I still couldn’t help but feel awed by his presence. I felt lucky. Lucky to have gotten a second chance with my first love. My only love.
Brushing a barely there kiss across his brow, I left the bedroom, following closely behind Charlie until we reached the door leading out into the snow.
He burst out with a joyful bark, and I giggled, watching him romp off the deck and into the yard. I put on a pot of coffee, anticipating the fragrant scent of the brew, went back to the door, and called out for Charlie. He glanced up, a pile of snow on his nose, and shook his head, making it scatter everywhere.
Clearly, he wasn’t ready to come back inside.
Briefly, I entertained the idea of making breakfast for Liam, but since it had only been two days since coming home from the hospital, and during that time we hadn’t left the cabin at all, the kind of breakfast I wanted to make him wasn’t an option. That would require grocery shopping.
Instead, I poured myself a mug of still-brewing coffee, adding a touch of cream and sugar to it. Carrying it to the living room, I turned on the fireplace. I’d never lived anywhere with a fireplace. There was something about it that was just so homey.
My eyes strayed from the flickering flames to the thin laptop lying on the coffee table nearby. Curiosity killed the cat. Wasn’t that the saying? I forced my eyes away from the device and back to the crackling fire.
I’m not a cat.
And technically, wasn’t my life already in limbo?
Glancing toward the hallway and back to where Liam lay sleeping, I made a frustrated sound and blew out a breath. Abruptly, I turned from the mantel, stuffed the laptop beneath my arm, and went back into the kitchen. At the island, I set down the mug and opened the computer and powered it on. As it was booting up, I opened the door, and Charlie came barreling in, skidded around the island, and plopped into a prim sitting position. His eyes were expectant, and I grinned.
Practically climbing over his giant, furry body, I grabbed the treats and handed him a large, wavy one. It was supposed to look like bacon. It actually kinda did.
I didn’t have to tell him to lie down because the second I handed over the snack, he slid onto the floor to chomp away.
Once I was on the barstool, I called up the net browser and then typed in what I wanted. My stomach clenched. The entire time, my mind told me to turn back and that I knew better than this.
Okay. So yeah. I knew better. And I sort of felt bad for searching up my boyfriend on the internet. But I was also dying of curiosity.
Ha! Maybe that’s why curiosity killed the cat! Maybe he didn’t investigate when he should have, and he died of suspense!
See? It was just further proof that I needed to do this.
After all of Liam and Alex’s conversations without words, every look they exchanged when his knee was brought up, and then hearing what the doctor said to him at the hospital… I had to know.
Hell, I felt bad I didn’t.
I’d come plowing into Liam’s life here at BearPaw. We’d barely had time to catch our breath. Liam took my problems on as if they weren’t life and death. He coaxed out everything horrible about my past.
How did I repay him?
By knowing nothing about him and his life.
I knew he loved me. I felt it.
Was I really worthy of Liam’s love?
I wanted to be. Desperately. So much so that here I was creeping around like a stalker to find out exactly what happened with his knee and how he lost his career.
True, he said we would talk. I knew he would tell me everything I wanted to know. Maybe if I knew a little, then talking about it wouldn’t be so hard. It was beyond clear to me that it was going to be hard for him to open up about it.
Add that to the fact we still had to have a conversation with his parents… It just didn’t seem like the time to bring up this stuff. He had enough on his plate.
Olympic Medalist Liam Mattison suffers major setback!
Record-setting Olympic snowboarder career on ice?
Liam Mattison surgery forces retirement.
The golden boy spiraling into darkness.
No More Medals!
The headlines I scrolled through were harsh. Article after article snowballed on top of the other, burying all the amazing press on everything he’d accomplished in the past eight years.
I should have been paying attention. I shouldn’t have let my own life keep me from checking in on him.
My shoulders slumped as I stared at the screen. Even if I had known, what could I have done? It seemed our lives blew up around the same time. I would have wanted to be there for him, but it would have been impossible. Not only was I in hiding, but back then, I’d still thought he’d played me. I didn’t know he’d missed me just as much as I missed him.
So much lost time. So many missed opportunities.
Tugging the mug across the counter, I cradled it in my palms, allowing the heat of the coffee to seep into my skin. I didn’t want to read these articles. The headlines alone made my teeth clench. They were all written by someone else.
By a stranger who didn’t know Liam. By a reporter just regurgitating what they’d heard or what “sources” had revealed.
I wanted the genuine truth. I wanted the words and feelings straight from Liam.
If I couldn’t see how it all went down myself, then I would have him, the only eyewitness who could tell me.
See how it went down… The thought echoed around my brain.
My eyes flashed up to the laptop. Quickly, my fingers flew over the keyboard as I called up something else.
WATCH: The day Liam Mattison’s career died.
I almost slammed the lid of the device closed when I saw the title of the video. But the thumbnail kept me captivated. It was Liam dressed in full-on boarding gear: black snow pants, bright-white jacket, a black helmet, and silver goggles. Not one inch of his skin was exposed. There was a board strapped to his feet, and he was midair.
His body was suspended above the halfpipe, the board up high, his hand gripping the edge.
Even if his name wasn’t in the title, even without one inch of his body or face exposed, I knew. Liam had a way about him when he boarded. There was something almost majestic and joyful about the way he controlled a snowboard, the way he seemed to bend with the wind and become part of the mountain when he competed.
I’d never been to see him live. For years, I’d watch his competitions online from the secrecy of my own home.
Ah, he was something. Watching him cut through powder, flip his body into the air, and soar, it gave me chills. I could only imagine what it had been like to be on the mountain while he was competing.
I thought about the way he looked in the hospital when the doctor told him his ACL was stretched. About how he’d asked, stiff-lipped, about his chances for the pros.
Was Liam planning to return to snowboarding?
Had that been his plan along?
I didn’t know. I loved him, and I didn’t know.
I tapped on the video so it would play.
Announcer one: “Next up, we have the current reigning king of snowboarding. Liam Mattison has held the title for the best snowboarder in the world for nearly two years now.”
Announcer two: “I have to say, Tony, it’s a wonder the snow doesn’t melt beneath this guy when he boards. He’s just that good. He’s been on an all-time career high since coming off the Olympics last year and bringing home the gold for the second time.”
As I listened to the announcers, I stared at Liam, who was preparing for his run. The goggles were already over his eyes, the helmet securely in place. I watched him bend down to check his board, then stand back up and adjust the goggle straps. The black material covering the lower portion of his face dropped, and my belly dipped at the glimpse of familiar light-brown stubble and full lower lip.
He turned to say something to the person standing nearby, and he grinned. The camera stayed with him as he concealed his face and adjusted his gloves. In the background, the crowd cheered and roared. I imagined the cold air swirled around everyone as the bright sun shone down, making the pristine, packed snow glitter.
Before turning his body completely toward the pipe, he fist-bumped the guy standing nearby who wasn’t in frame of the camera.
His shoulders rose and fell with his deep breath.
Announcer one: “And here we go.”
Announcer two: “The way he’s been performing this week, this run will just concrete what we already know. Liam Mattison is a history-making athlete.”
My heart was pounding, the grip around my mug so tight my knuckles began to ache. The sound of his board cutting over the snow as he pushed off and the strength in his thighs and legs as he moved was captivating.
He went into this first move and nailed it perfectly. The announcers’ voices began again, likely singing the praises of the jump, but I was beyond hearing them. All I heard was the pounding of my own pulse as I watched him with my heart lodged in my throat.
Cheers drowned out the announcers, and my own air expelled raggedly when he made the second turn perfectly. But just as soon as the relief and pride came, fear chased it back. I knew what was coming next…
My fingers and knuckles ached again. My shoulders gradually pulled up toward my ears as tension sank its claws into the back of my neck. Liam went airborne again, the board strapped to his feet.
Announcer: “He’s looking a little extended…”
All the sound on the video cut off. It was as if the person who cut the footage knew this moment would have far more impact if there was no one saying anything at all.
No cries of disaster. No exclamations of injury. Not even a quiet recounting of what could have gone wrong.
In a spilt second, everything changed.
Liam was literally at the highlight of his career. At the top of his mountain.
Then all of it was ripped away.
His body dropped to the side of the pipeline, his board catching at the wrong place. He ricocheted back, but not enough. His head cracked off the edge. His body sort of hunched inward but then went taut as he fought for control.
Even after the blow to his head, he still fought for control.
His board hit the snow, and his body jolted. One side seemed to give out, and his leg buckled right under him. He went down. The board dragged behind him as he kept sliding, skidding over the snow. When it stopped, a mist of snow blew around his body.
The audio cut back in, and people were calling out frantically. Several were rushing toward him.
I watched Liam try to sit up, only to crumple back to the snow.
Tears filled my eyes. A horrible pressure sat on my windpipe, and I pressed the heel of my hand against my mouth to keep from crying.
With my free hand, I reached out and hit the screen, pausing the video.
The image frozen on the screen was Liam lying in the snow with a group of concerned people leaning over him.
After a few long moments, in which I sat there and stared watery-eyed at the screen, I pulled the hand away from my mouth and sighed. “Oh, Liam,” I whispered. “I should have been there.”
Movement from the hallway drew my attention, and I glanced up.
Liam pushed off the wall, uncrossed his arms, and levelled me with a steady, unreadable stare. “I’m glad you weren’t.”
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