Chapter 68: The Stand-Off

Anna's POV

The week after Marcus went back to the rink felt unreal, like I was moving through days wrapped in cotton—everything muted, slowed, heavy with anticipation. News vans still hovered at the edges of the neighborhood. Headlines kept recycling the same words: investigation, liability, McKay Enterprises under fire. At school, people whispered when I walked past, as if proximity to me meant proximity to the storm.

But inside me, something had shifted. Because Marcus hadn’t disappeared.

He hadn’t folded the way his father expected him to. And every time I thought about that grainy photo of him on crutches at the rink—head bent over a notebook, expression focused, stubborn, unmistakably him—my chest tightened with pride.

I was leaving my last class of the day when Courtney slid into step beside me, her phone already in her hand.

"Why are you at my school so much more than your own?" I asked her.

“Tell me you saw it,” she said.

“I saw it,” I replied, smiling despite myself.

The article had been everywhere by lunchtime. Not scandal. Not gossip. A story about resilience. About injured athletes staying engaged with the game. About leadership that didn’t require a jersey. They hadn’t named Marcus outright, but anyone who mattered would know.

Courtney bumped my shoulder lightly. “Your boyfriend is quietly becoming unstoppable.”

I exhaled. “He already was. He just didn’t know it yet.”

That afternoon, we drove over to the McKay house together. No sneaking this time. No elaborate timing. Just resolve and a mutual understanding that if we waited for permission, we’d never move forward.

The house loomed the same as always—imposing, immaculate, emotionally airless—but when I stepped inside, it didn’t intimidate me the way it once had.

Damian was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, phone pressed to his ear. He glanced up when he saw us, relief flickering across his face.

“He’s in the living room,” he mouthed, nodding down the hall.

I handed Courtney my bag without a word and walked forward.

Marcus was seated on the couch, leg elevated, notebook resting on his thigh. He looked up when he heard my footsteps, and for a moment, everything else fell away.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey,” I replied, kneeling in front of him without thinking.

His hand came to my cheek automatically, thumb brushing just under my eye. “You okay?”

I laughed quietly. “I should be asking you that.”

He smiled—small, genuine, tired. “I’m… better.”

Not healed. Not fixed. Better.

I leaned my forehead against his. “I’m proud of you.”

His breath caught. “Anna—”

“No,” I said gently. “Let me say it. I’m proud of you for showing up. For not letting them shrink you. For finding a way to stay you when everything tried to take that away.”

His grip tightened slightly, like he needed the reassurance to anchor himself. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You could have,” I said. “You just didn’t have to.”

Footsteps echoed behind us, and I glanced up to see Peter hovering in the doorway, hands in his pockets, uncharacteristically subdued.

“Dad’s on his way home,” he said. “He’s… not in a great mood.”

Marcus sighed, leaning back against the couch. “Is he ever?”

Damian appeared beside Peter. “He knows about the article.”

Marcus’s jaw set. “Of course he does.”

I rose slowly to my feet, heart steady in a way that surprised me. “Then maybe it’s time he heard from all of us.”

Marcus looked up at me sharply. “Anna—”

“I’m not afraid of him,” I said quietly. “And I’m done letting him decide who gets to speak.”

For a long moment, he searched my face. Then he nodded once.

“Okay,” he said. “Together.”

The confrontation wasn’t explosive. That almost made it worse.

Richard McKay entered the room with the same measured control he always carried, his gaze sweeping over us like we were variables in an equation he was trying to rebalance. His eyes landed on me last.

“Anna,” he said coolly. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I did,” I replied evenly. “This is Marcus’s home.”

His mouth tightened. “For now.”

Damian stepped forward instantly. “Stop.”

Richard turned his attention to his once quiet son. “This isn’t your concern.”

“It is when you keep treating us like assets instead of people,” Damian shot back.

Peter folded his arms. “Or when you think intimidation counts as parenting.”

Richard’s gaze flicked back to Mason. “You went behind my back.”

Marcus didn’t flinch. “I stepped forward.”

“You embarrassed this family.”

“You don’t get to define what that means anymore,” Marcus said, voice steady. “Not when your company put someone in a coma.”

The words landed hard.

Richard’s face darkened. “Careful.”

“No,” I said, stepping forward before Marcus could stop me. “You be careful.”

His eyes snapped to mine. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve spent months blaming me for everything you can’t control,” I continued. “For your sons growing up. For Marcus loving hockey on his own terms. For your family finally finding their voices.”

I took a breath. “This isn’t my fault. And it’s not Marcus’s. And it won’t be fixed by silencing him.”

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Richard laughed softly, humorless. “You think you’ve won something.”

I shook my head. “No. I think they have.”

Marcus reached for my hand, grounding us both.

“You can keep fighting this,” he said to his father. “Or you can stand with us. But I won’t disappear to make your life easier.”

Richard stared at his sons—at Damian’s defiance, Peter’s quiet resolve, Marcus’s unshakable calm.

Something flickered in his eyes. Not defeat. But uncertainty. Without another word, he turned and left the room.

The silence afterward felt fragile.

Peter let out a breath. “Well. That went… slightly better than expected?”

Damian snorted. “Low bar.”

Marcus squeezed my hand, then pulled me into his arms. I rested my head against his shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart.

“I don’t know what happens next,” he murmured.

“Neither do I,” I said honestly. “But you won’t face it alone.”

Outside, the world was still loud. The investigation was ongoing. The championship loomed. Summer—and Europe—hovered on the horizon like a question mark neither of us was ready to answer yet.

But at that moment, standing in the middle of the McKay house with the people who mattered most, I felt something solid beneath my feet.

Not certainty.

But courage.

And for now, that was enough.