Chapter 58: Face It All Together

Anna's POV

I know something is wrong before Marcus even says it out loud.

It’s in the way his message sits on my screen—short, stripped of his usual reassurance, heavy with things unsaid.

I’m injured. Knee. I’m on my way home. Can we talk later?

My first instinct is panic. My second is restraint.

I don’t call him right away. I don’t bombard him with questions or worst-case scenarios. I know Marcus well enough now to understand that when he asks for later, it’s because he needs a moment to breathe without feeling like he has to be strong for someone else.

So instead, I reply with the only truth that matters.

I’m here. Whatever it is, I’m here.

I stare at the phone long after the screen goes dark, my heart thudding unevenly. The café meeting we were supposed to have floats through my mind—the little table by the window, the chipped mugs, the way Marcus always steals the sugar packets and lines them up like he’s planning something important.

I don’t care about any of that now. I care about him.

The minutes crawl. I pace my room, then force myself to sit, then stand again. My sketchbook lies open on the bed, an unfinished drawing staring back at me, but I can’t focus on it. My thoughts keep circling the same questions.

How bad? Is he scared? Is he in pain? And beneath it all, a quieter fear hums—one I don’t want to give too much power to.

Hockey isn’t just what Marcus does. It’s part of who he is.

When my phone finally rings, I answer on the first vibration.

“Hey,” I say softly.

“Hey,” he replies.

His voice is steady—but it’s thinner than usual, stretched tight over something fragile. My chest aches immediately.

“Are you home?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “Just got in.”

“Do you want me to come over?” I offer.

There’s a pause. I can hear him breathing on the other end.

“…Yeah,” he admits. “I think I do.”

“I’m on my way,” I say, already reaching for my keys.

The house is quiet when I arrive, the lights dim. I knock softly, then let myself in when he calls my name from the living room.

Marcus is sitting on the couch, his left leg elevated on a pillow, an ice pack strapped around his knee. The sight of the crutches leaning against the armrest hits me harder than I expect.

For a second, I can’t move.

He looks up and tries to smile. “Hey.”

All the fear I’ve been holding back floods forward, but I keep my voice steady as I cross the room and kneel in front of him.

“Hey,” I echo, resting my hands on his uninjured knee. “Talk to me.”

He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “It’s… not great.”

My throat tightens, but I don’t interrupt.

“Torn ligament,” he continues. “ACL. Probably.”

The word lands like a crack of thunder.

“Oh, Marcus,” I whisper.

“They’re sure enough to be confident,” he adds. “MRI confirmed it.”

I swallow hard. “What does that mean?”

He looks away. “Surgery. Rehab. Months.”

Months.

The weight of that word presses into my chest, but I force myself to stay present. This isn’t about my fear—it’s about his.

“How are you feeling?” I ask gently.

He lets out a humorless laugh. “Like I just got hit by a truck I never saw coming.”

I nod, eyes burning. “That makes sense.”

“I kept skating,” he admits quietly. “I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t want it to be.”

My heart twists. “Of course you did.”

He looks back at me then, really looks at me, and I see it—the fear he’s been holding at bay. Not just pain or frustration, but something deeper.

“What if this ruins everything?” he asks.

I shake my head immediately. “It won’t.”

“You don’t know that,” he says, voice rough. “The scout, the timing—Europe—”

I rise from the floor and sit beside him, careful of his leg, then take his face in my hands so he has to look at me.

“Marcus,” I say firmly. “An injury doesn’t erase your talent. It doesn’t erase the work you’ve put in. And it doesn’t erase who you are.”

His jaw tightens. “My dad will say it does.”

“Your dad is wrong,” I reply without hesitation. “And he doesn’t get to write this story for you.”

Silence stretches between us. His eyes glisten, and I realize with a quiet ache that this might be the first time he’s letting himself fully feel it.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admits. “Sitting still. Waiting. Wondering if I’ll come back the same.”

I rest my forehead against his. “You don’t have to know how to do all of it right now.”

He lets out a shaky breath. “I’m scared, Anna.”

The honesty in his voice breaks my heart open.

I wrap my arms around him carefully, holding him the way you hold something precious and wounded. “I know,” I whisper. “And you’re allowed to be.”

He clutches the back of my sweater, fingers curling like he’s anchoring himself. We stay like that for a long time, the room quiet around us. When he finally pulls back, his eyes are clearer—still heavy, but not drowning.

“Does this change anything for you?” he asks quietly.

The question surprises me.

“What do you mean?”

“Europe. Leith. Me,” he says. “If I’m… stuck here. If my path gets complicated.”

I take his hands in mine, squeezing gently. “Marcus, I didn’t choose you because your life was easy or impressive or perfectly timed.”

He watches me closely.

“I chose you,” I continue, “because of who you are. Injured or not. On the ice or off it.”

A small crack appears in his composure.

“If our paths stretch or bend or slow down,” I add, “we figure it out together. That hasn’t changed.”

He nods, swallowing hard. “You don’t have to stay if this gets messy.”

I smile softly, brushing my thumb over his knuckles. “I know.”

Then, more firmly: “But I want to.”

That’s when he finally breaks—not dramatically, not loudly, but quietly, shoulders sagging as the weight he’s been carrying slips just enough to breathe.

I lean in and kiss his temple. “This isn’t the end of your future,” I murmur. “It’s just a different chapter.”

He rests his head against mine. “You really believe that?”

“I do,” I say without hesitation. “And I’ll remind you every time you forget.”

Later, when I help him adjust the ice pack and make him tea he barely drinks, when I sit beside him and talk about everything except hockey for a while, I realize something important. Pain has a way of stripping things down to their core. And at the core of us—beneath the expectations, the battles, the distance, the fear—there is still love. Steady. Unmoving.

Whatever this injury takes from Marcus, it won’t take that.

And as I sit beside him in the quiet, his hand warm in mine, I know this with certainty:

We will survive this too.