Chapter 76 A Step Towards Acceptance
Chapter 76 A Step Towards Acceptance
Anna's POV
A few days after the showdown at McKay Enterprises, life had slipped into an uneasy quiet, the kind that made my skin prickle as if something was waiting just beyond my line of sight. The headlines had moved on. Peter Ramsey’s name had stopped trending. McKay Enterprises was back to being a towering glass-and-steel monolith instead of a battleground for egos and power plays. But inside me, nothing had settled.
I was at home, barefoot and curled up on the couch with a book I hadn’t turned a page of in twenty minutes, when my phone buzzed.
Unknown Number:
Good afternoon, Ms. Donovan. This is Ian, Mr. Richard McKay’s secretary. Mr. McKay has requested to see you at your earliest convenience.
My heart dropped straight into my stomach.
For a moment, I just stared at the screen, rereading the message as if the words might rearrange themselves into something less ominous. Requested to see me? After everything that had happened—the confrontation, the accusations, the icy way he’d looked at me as if I were both a nuisance and a threat—I couldn’t imagine what he possibly had to say.
My first instinct was to say no. Or to delay. Or to pretend I hadn’t seen the message at all.
Instead, my fingers moved on their own.
Me:
Of course. Please let me know a suitable time.
The reply came almost immediately, as if he’d been waiting with the phone in his hand.
I exhaled slowly and opened my messages to Marcus.
Me:
Hey. I just got a message from your dad’s secretary. He asked to see me. I’m heading there now.
Three dots appeared, vanished, then appeared again.
Marcus:
What? He refused to see me yesterday. I can come with you.
I smiled faintly at that, my chest warming despite the nerves coiling tighter.
Me:
I’m okay. I don’t know what he wants, but I think I should go alone. I’ll keep you posted. Promise.
There was a pause this time before his reply.
Marcus:
I don’t like it, but ok. Call me the second you’re done. And Anna… you don’t owe him anything.
I held the phone to my chest for a second, letting his words steady me. Then I grabbed my bag, slipped on my shoes, and headed out.
The hospital smelled like antiseptic and quiet worry. The kind of place where time stretched and emotions echoed louder than footsteps. I checked in at the front desk, my name already on a list, and was directed to a private room on the seventh floor.
As the elevator climbed, my thoughts raced. Was he angry? Regretful? Sick enough to soften, or sick enough to sharpen whatever bitterness he already carried toward me? I thought of Marcus—his stubborn pride, his guarded heart—and wondered how could such an amazing guy have a father like Richard McKay.
The doors opened with a soft ding.
Mr. McKay’s room was spacious and immaculate, far nicer than the standard hospital room. Sunlight streamed in through a wide window, illuminating a man who suddenly looked much smaller than I remembered.
He was propped up against white pillows, his skin paler, lines around his eyes deeper. Tubes and monitors surrounded him, quietly beeping, reminding me that whatever power he wielded in boardrooms meant nothing here.
He turned his head when I stepped inside.
“Anna,” he said, his voice rough but unmistakably his. “Thank you for coming.”
I hovered near the door for a moment before walking in fully. “Your secretary said you wanted to see me. I hope you’re… feeling better.”
A corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “Doctors would disagree with that phrasing. But I’m alive. For now.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I stayed silent.
He gestured weakly to the chair beside the bed. “Please. Sit.”
I did, folding my hands in my lap, my posture stiff. Up close, I could see the exhaustion etched into his face. This wasn’t the intimidating titan who’d once made me feel two inches tall with a single look. This was a man who had been forced to stop.
“I won’t keep you long,” he said. “I know you’re probably wondering why I asked you here.”
“Yes,” I admitted. “I am.”
He nodded slowly, as if bracing himself. “I had a heart attack, Anna. Mild, they say. A warning shot.” He gave a humorless chuckle. “It has a way of… clarifying things.”
I swallowed. “I’m sorry. Truly.”
“Thank you.” He studied me for a long moment. “You remind me of someone.”
That caught me off guard. “Do I?”
“My wife,” he said quietly. “She had that same way of looking at people. Like she could see through the layers we use to protect ourselves.”
My chest tightened. This was the first time Marcus's father mentioned his wife to me and didn't look like he was ready to throw me across the room.
“She would have liked you,” Richard continued. “That realization has been… inconvenient.”
I almost laughed, but the emotion behind his words stopped me.
“I’ve spent most of my life believing control was the same as strength,” he said. “And that anyone who challenged me was an enemy. You challenged me.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“I know,” he interrupted gently. “That’s the point. You weren’t trying to take anything from me. You were trying to protect Marcus. And yourself.”
Silence settled between us, heavy but not hostile.
“I owe you an apology,” he said finally. “For underestimating you. For trying to intimidate you. And most importantly, for blaming you for my wife's death.”
I blinked, stunned. An apology from Richard McKay was probably rarer than a solar eclipse.
“I don’t expect forgiveness,” he added. “I’m not asking for it. I only wanted you to know that I see now what I refused to see before.”
I took a breath, choosing my words carefully. “Marcus doesn’t need you to be perfect. He needs you to be honest. With him.”
His gaze dropped to his hands. “I’ve failed him in many ways.”
“Yes,” I said softly. “But it’s not too late to try.”
He looked up at me then, really looked, and nodded. “You’re braver than you realize, Anna.”
“I don’t feel brave,” I admitted. “I feel like I’m constantly one step away from messing everything up.”
He gave a quiet chuckle. “That feeling never goes away. You just learn to walk with it.”
A nurse appeared at the door, politely clearing her throat. “Mr. McKay, you need to rest.”
“Of course,” he said. Then he turned back to me. “Thank you for coming. And… thank you for loving my son the way he deserves.”
Emotion surged unexpectedly, burning behind my eyes. “He’s easy to love,” I said, my voice thick.
As I stood to leave, he added, “Tell Marcus I’m proud of him. Tell all my boys that for me. I should have said it myself a long time ago.”
“I will,” I promised.
The elevator ride down felt lighter somehow, as if a weight I hadn’t fully acknowledged had been loosened. Outside the hospital, I pulled out my phone and called Marcus.
“Hey,” he answered immediately. “How did it go?”
I smiled, tears slipping free as relief finally washed over me. “It was… unexpected. But I think it was something we both needed.”
“I’m glad,” he said softly. “Meet me at the rink?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “I’m on my way.”