Chapter 56: Writing Our Own Story

Anna's POV

I can tell something is wrong the moment Marcus walks toward me. He usually moves with purpose—long strides, shoulders loose, eyes already finding mine even in a crowd. Today, his steps are heavier, his jaw set like he’s holding something back. The rink doors slam shut behind him, and the sharp crack echoes through the hallway like punctuation to a sentence I don’t know yet.

I straighten from where I’m sitting on the bench near the lockers, sketchbook balanced on my knees. I wasn’t really drawing—just pretending to, waiting for practice to end—but the second I see his face, I close it.

“Marcus?” I say softly.

He looks up, and for just a second, the tension in his eyes eases. Then it’s back, layered and complicated.

“Hey, I thought we said we'd meet at the cafe?” he replies, leaning down to press a quick kiss to my forehead. It’s instinctive, grounding—and somehow that makes my chest ache more.

“My last class was canceled, so I thought I'd come to you. What happened?” I ask.

He exhales slowly and drops onto the bench beside me, elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped together like he’s trying to hold himself in place. Damian and Peter trail behind him, quieter than usual. That alone tells me this isn’t small.

“A scout’s coming,” Marcus says finally. “From Europe. Straubing Tigers.”

My heart jumps before I can stop it. “Marcus—that’s incredible.”

“It was,” he says, a bitter edge creeping into his voice. “For about five minutes.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

Before he could answer, Damian speaks up, arms crossed. “Dad showed up.”

That cold, familiar weight settles in my stomach.

“Oh,” I breathe.

Marcus nods once. “Announced—on the ice—that he’s already talked to the Toronto Maple Leafs. Told Coach I’m basically a done deal.”

My mouth falls open. “He did what?”

“He made it sound like my future was already signed, sealed, and delivered,” Marcus says. His voice is controlled, but I can hear the anger underneath, vibrating like a live wire. “Like Europe isn’t even an option.”

“And when Marcus pushed back,” Peter adds quietly, “Dad made it about you.”

The words hit harder than I expect.

“About… me? Didn't you say Europe had this amazing Sport Medicine school you liked?” I repeat.

Marcus turns toward me immediately. “Dad didn't even let me get that far. Anna, listen to me—”

I hold up a hand, not to stop him, but to steady myself. My heart is pounding now, fast and uneven. “What did he say?”

Marcus hesitates, and that scares me more than the answer itself.

“He said I was chasing Europe because you’re going there,” he admits. “That you’re a distraction. That you’re running me off my ‘real’ path.”

I laugh softly before I could stop myself. It comes out wrong—too sharp, too hollow.

“Of course he did,” I murmur.

Marcus’s head snaps up. “Hey. No. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Blame yourself,” he says firmly. “This isn’t on you.”

I look down at my hands, fingers twisting together. “He's blaming me and not hearing you. Again.”

“And he’s wrong,” Damian says immediately. “We all told him so.”

Peter nods. “Straight up.”

I glance between them, touched and overwhelmed all at once. “You stood up to him? Guys, I don't want all of you at odds with your father.”

“We’ve been standing up to him our whole lives,” Damian replies. “We just finally stopped whispering.”

Something tight in my chest loosens, just a little. Marcus shifts closer to me, his knee brushing mine. “He said he won’t lose his family to the likes of you.”

There it is. The line that keeps replaying in my head before he even finishes saying it.

To the likes of you. As if I’m a force of destruction instead of a person. As if loving someone is an act of theft.

I swallow hard. “I never wanted to come between you and your family.”

“You didn’t,” Marcus says immediately. “He did.”

“But it’s still happening,” I whisper. “Every time I take a step forward, he treats it like I’m pulling you backward. And he's never going to forget about your mom....”

Marcus reaches for my hands, warm and solid around my trembling fingers. “You’re not dragging me anywhere. You’re walking beside me.”

I meet his eyes, searching. “And if where I’m walking leads somewhere else? Somewhere far?”

“Then I’ll figure out my own path,” he says without hesitation. “Not the one he mapped out before I even knew who I was.”

My throat tightens.

Damian clears his throat. “We should give you guys a minute.”

Peter nods in agreement, squeezing Marcus’s shoulder before they head toward the parking lot.

The hallway grows quieter, the echoes of skates and voices fading until it’s just us and the hum of the lights overhead.

I take a deep breath. “I hate this,” I admit. “I hate that loving me feels like a rebellion.”

Marcus shakes his head. “Loving you feels like freedom.”

The sincerity in his voice steals my breath.

“But I’m scared,” I confess. “What if he never stops? What if this costs you more than you’re willing to pay?”

Marcus leans in, forehead resting against mine. “Anna, look at me.”

I do.

“I’m scared too,” he says softly. “But not of losing his approval. I’m scared of losing myself if I let him keep deciding for me.”

I close my eyes briefly, letting that sink in.

“When I think about Europe,” he continues, “I don’t think about running away. I think about growth. About learning. About playing in a system that challenges me differently.”

He pauses. “And yeah—thinking about you being there makes it feel less terrifying. But that’s not a weakness. That’s support.”

Tears prick at my eyes. “I don’t want to be the reason he thinks you’re failing.”

Marcus pulls back just enough to look at me fully. “You’re the reason I believe I can succeed on my own terms.”

The words undo me.

I laugh shakily, brushing at my cheeks. “You make it very hard to argue with you.”

A faint smile tugs at his lips. “Good.”

I glance down the hallway, then back at him. “So what happens now?”

He exhales. “Now I keep training. I let the scout see me. I keep my options open. And I stop letting my father weaponize my life against me.”

“And me?” I ask quietly.

He squeezes my hands. “You keep being exactly who you are. You keep applying to Leith. You keep painting. You keep dreaming.”

I nod slowly. “Even if it means distance?”

“Especially then,” he says.

We sit there for a moment, letting the future stretch out between us—uncertain, complicated, but real.

“I wish he could see you the way I do,” Marcus adds softly.

I offer a sad smile. “He doesn’t need to. You do.”

Marcus leans in and kisses me—gentle, grounding, full of quiet promise. When he pulls back, my fear hasn’t vanished, but it’s lighter now. Shared. Whatever his father thinks. Whatever battles lie ahead. I know this much with certainty:

I’m not the villain in someone else’s story.

I’m the author of my own.