I am a lying liar who lies.

Everyone I love thinks I’m sick, struck down by a head cold so vicious that I’m quarantining myself in my hotel room so I don’t pass it along to Ben and fuck up his chances at a medal. Nat brought me take-out soup and left it outside my door. My mom dropped off a bunch of tissues and a lifetime supply of throat lozenges, but I put a bandana over my face and wouldn’t let her into the room. She fussed about how red my eyes were and offered to find me a doctor, but I told her I’d be better soon.

That was probably the biggest lie of all.

The only person who knows the truth is Joe, the room service delivery person, who is probably wondering how many people I have stashed in here based on the amount of greasy food and desserts I’ve been ordering. Tomorrow is the half-pipe qualifying event and the next day is the final. It’s Ben’s moment of triumph, and I have to get myself together. He’s going to win, and I’ll regret it for the rest of my life if I’m not there, clutching Nat’s hand on one side and my mom’s on the other, watching my brother climb up to the top of that podium.

I have to go. Which is a problem since I haven’t managed to bathe, dress myself, or stop crying for the past two days. I consider getting up because maybe today’s the day I rise, like a beautiful phoenix, from the ashes of my pain. Then I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror across from the bed and burrow under the covers instead.

Beautiful phoenix, my ass.

I look more like a demented duck.

Better to go back to sleep. I can rise up tomorrow.

“Piper?”

Shit. Mom.

I try ignoring her but the polite taps turn into loud bangs in no time, and I know my mother. She’s not going away without at least hearing my voice. I shuffle over to the door and thunk my forehead against it.

“I’m still sick, Mom. I’ll call you later.”

“Open this door, Piper Easton.”

“No.” I sound like an angry toddler. “I mean, I don’t want to get you sick. I’m going to go back to sleep.”

Loud bangs come from down by my feet. Is my mother actually kicking the door? I risk a peek out and yes, she is. Her hands are full because she’s holding a tray of coffees from the cafe. I whimper. Joe is a good buddy, but the coffee he’s been bringing me from room service sucks.

“I know you’re watching me. I can see the shadows from your feet.”

I curse and duck away from the peephole, then spin around so my back is against the wall.

“Open the door, Piper. Everyone is worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” I call out in the cheeriest voice I can muster.

“You sound like you just found out your cat died.”

Note to self: leave cheery voice mustering off the resume. Also, my mom is getting dark in her old age.

“Is Chuckles okay?”

“Of course. Now open the door, or else I’m calling the manager.”

I bang my head against the wall a couple times. My parents are paying for the room, so if she does call the manager chances are a master key will be produced pretty damn sharpish. Plus, I really want that coffee.

“Okay but stay back. I don’t want to give you my cold.”

My mother snorts. “Whatever you say, Piper.”

I flick the lock and retreat back to the bed, pulling the covers up to my chest. She bustles in and sets the coffee down on the nightstand, then clicks her tongue at the state of the room, grabs a garbage can, and starts plucking used tissues off the bed. And the desk. And the floor.

“You should wear gloves if you’re going to do that.”

She looks up at me. “Heartbreak isn’t contagious, my love.”

I open my mouth to protest, but she shakes her head so instead I gulp down some coffee and watch her clean up my mess.

“Natalie wanted to come, but I told her to stay with Ben. He’d never say it, but he’s getting a little nervous and she distracts him.”

Yeah, I’ll just bet she does.

“Mind out of the gutter, Miss Smirk. I meant, she makes him laugh.”

She puts the garbage can down and starts picking up the clothes I let drop on the floor when I got home the other night.

“I saw Adam this morning,” she says. I choke on my coffee, cough, and grab a tissue to mop up the mess.

“He looked like he hadn’t slept in days,” she continues, calmly folding my dress like her words aren’t slicing into me. “I didn’t speak to him, poor boy.”

No, you saved that joy for me.

She puts the dress down on my suitcase, scans the room for more mess, and gives a satisfied little nod before coming to perch on the side of the bed.

“Both the coffees are for you, but could you hand me the tea, please?”

I hand it over and grab the second coffee for myself. If I’m going to live through this conversation, I’m going to need to be highly caffeinated.

“So you and Adam?” she asks. “Again?”

I shrug. We never really talked about what happened between Adam and me the first time. She had a sketchy scan right around the time we broke up, and all of us had settled into the habit of not worrying her about things long before that.

“Please talk to me, Piper. I’m worried about you.”

“You shouldn’t worry,” I say automatically. “It isn’t good for you.”

She presses her lips together and takes a sip of tea. Kind of an angry sip, actually. I’m pretty sure I saw her roll her eyes before the cup covered her face. We sit there for a moment, silent, and when I look up at her again, she looks so sad and helpless that I grab her cup, put it with mine on the nightstand, and pull her into a hug.

“We broke up,” I whisper into her ear. Somehow it’s easier to say without her looking at me.

She pulls me in closer and rubs my back. “I’m sorry, sweetie.”

I can feel the sobs inside me, sharp little demons clawing their way from my abdomen to my throat, desperate to get out. I clench my muscles, trying to hold everything in, and bite down hard on my lip. I hate crying in front of anyone, and I haven’t cried in front of my mother since her diagnosis.

“Just let go,” she says quietly. “Let it out.”

I shake my head and hold my breath, fighting for control, trying to push everything back inside where I won’t have to deal with it. It doesn’t work. I break, sucking in a huge breath and then letting it out in stuttering sobs that rock through me so hard the bed shakes.

My mother’s arms tighten around me and she strokes my hair, murmuring soft words in my ear that I can barely hear over my wailing. When the storm finally breaks, she lets me go and hands me a handful of tissues.

“I’ll get you some water,” she says, and disappears into the bathroom so I can mop my face and blow my nose in privacy.

When she emerges holding a glass of water, I’m feeling a little more in control. Tears are still leaking out of my eyes, but I’m no longer dripping with snot. Progress.

“Sorry,” I mutter.

“You don’t have to apologize to me. I’m your mother, Piper. It’s not like I haven’t seen you cry before.”

“Yeah, but that was before…” I wave my hand vaguely and take a sip of cooling coffee.

“Before the three of you decided I was too weak to hear anything except good news?” She sighs. “When I got sick, you were amazing, Piper. Ben was away so much, and your dad was busy with work and taking care of me and you…” She reaches up and strokes my cheek. “You stepped up. You took care of everything, and I guess we all got used to you filling that role, especially after the cancer came back.”

She cradles my face in both her hands and looks into my eyes. “I’m sorry you had to grow up so fast, sweetie, but I’m fine now. You can let go a little. You don’t need to be the one fixing everything by yourself anymore. I’m your mom. Let me help you.”

I try to smile, but my lips aren’t quite working. “Nobody can help with this.”

“Try me.” She moves up so we’re both sitting with our backs against the headboard, and I remember that we used to sit like this almost every night before she got sick. She’d come in at bedtime and squish up beside me on my little single bed, and I’d tell her all about the test I had coming up, or if I got in a fight with one of my friends, or if I was worried about anything at school. She always made me feel better.

“I asked Adam to move back to Colorado.” I swallow hard, remembering the way his dark eyes shut down as the words left my mouth. “He said no.”

“Did he tell you why?”

“It was my fault. We’d agreed that we would go our separate ways after the Olympics, but after Ben proposed to Natalie I saw how happy they were, and I thought…” I trail off and squeeze my eyes shut, hating the hot tears running down my face. How much liquid can one person hold, for fuck’s sake?

Mom hands me a tissue. “You thought?”

“I thought maybe we could have more. We love each other, you know?”

She smiles at me. “I know, honey. Anybody who caught a glimpse of you two together over the last month knows.”

“Adam says he can’t be around snowboarding, but he’s been doing so well here, and I said I’d help him. I’d do anything to help him, Mom. But he still said no.”

She squeezes my hand. “Oh, honey. I think this is one of those things that you can’t fix. He needs to work through it himself, and you need to let him do that.”

“Do you think I fix things just so I can control them?”

Silence. Great. Even my own mother thinks I’m a control freak from hell.

“I don’t know if I’d put it exactly like that,” she finally says.

“That’s exactly how Adam put it.”

“Well, what do you think?”

I sigh. “He could be right. At least a little.”

“Whatever you do comes from love, Piper. I’m sure Adam would agree with me on that. You help because you want people to be happy, and that is amazing.”

“I wasn’t amazing to him after Japan.” My voice is small. “I couldn’t figure out a way to be more important to him than snowboarding, so I gave up. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You were a baby, sweetie, and you were still reeling from my diagnosis. Don’t be too rough on yourself.”

All of that is true, but it only explains my crappy behavior. It doesn’t excuse what I did.

“Apologize, Piper. Sincerely and deeply. There’s not much that boy wouldn’t forgive you.”

I take a deep breath, because my mom is not going to like this next part. “There’s more. I offered to postpone school and travel with him instead. Just until he’s ready to come home.”

Her grip on my hand tightens to the point of pain, but she keeps silent.

“He said no.”

She lets go and I shake out my hand. Damn.

“I know I shouldn’t have done it, but…”

“You love him. And he loves you.”

“Not enough to say yes, though.”

“Enough to stop you from giving up an important opportunity. I’ve seen the way that boy looks at you, Piper. If he said no, it’s not because he didn’t want to be with you. It’s because he didn’t want to be selfish.”

“I guess.”

Her arm snakes around my shoulders, and she pulls me into a hug. “I don’t like the idea of you putting your life on hold to wait for Adam to be ready to move to Colorado, but there are other schools, you know.”

I freeze. I deliberately didn’t mention the idea of other schools because I didn’t want to upset her. Both of my parents told me many times how happy and relieved they were that I was planning on staying local for the foreseeable future.

“I want to be there for you,” I say.

She squeezes me tighter. “You don’t need to be in the same state to be there for me, honey. Sometimes the best way to support someone is to trust them to take care of themselves. I would miss you if you left, but we’d visit, and talk on the phone, and if anything were to happen, you could come home. You’ve been down in Boulder for years, anyway. It’s not like we live in the same house.”

No. We don’t even really see each other that much, despite living only a couple hours apart, but I’ve still been there. In case.

“Think about it, okay? Your dad and I will support whatever you decide.”

“I don’t know if Adam will support it, though.”

“You won’t know unless you ask him again, will you?”

No, I won’t. But I also don’t know if I can handle the risk of outright rejection again.

“It will be a compromise for Adam to accept you changing your plan for him, just like it will be a compromise for you to accept that you can’t fix his problems. But that’s what relationships are about sometimes, kiddo.”

Which is pretty much what I told Natalie about quitting school, but it’s always been easier for me to give advice than take it.

“It’s not a perfect plan, though. I’m sure if I had more time, I’d be able to come up with something better.”

“Life rarely presents perfect plans,” she says drily. “It’s annoying that way.”

Yeah, tell me about it.

“You and Dad would really be okay with me looking for another university? It would put me back, maybe even a whole year.”

“Piper, you never even looked at any other schools. You limited yourself because of me, and Denver is a good school, so I didn’t say anything. As long as you end up in a place with a strong program that will allow you to shine and build the future you want, I’ll be happy. I would never tell you to sacrifice your future for a relationship, but I don’t think that’s what this is. Can you accept that you might not be able to work with snowboarders?”

“I don’t care about that.”

“Well, take some time to think. You certainly shouldn’t switch schools if your heart is set on Denver, but you’re the only one who can figure that out. Remember, you don’t need to decide today. Be patient.”

“I’ve never been much good at that.”

“No, you haven’t. But maybe it’s time to learn.” She drops a kiss on top of my head. “And maybe it’s time to shower because, no offense, sweetie, but you kind of stink.”

“I was planning on rising from the ashes tomorrow,” I inform her.

“How about you rise now, and I’ll take you to lunch?”

My stomach growls at the thought of actual food and she laughs. “Hurry up.”

I fumble around in the covers, searching for my phone. “I have to call and cancel my room service.”

She stops me. “I’ll take care of it.”

I start to protest automatically, but instead, I blow out a big breath and will my shoulders to relax. She’s here, she offered, and I really do smell like the inside of Ben’s snowboarding boots. So for once I let her help, and I go.