Chapter Forty: The Future
1058 Words
Marcus's POV
Walking Anna home feels different tonight.
Not heavier—steadier. Like something fragile finally settled into place instead of shattering the second I touched it. Her hand fits into mine like muscle memory, like my body knew the shape of her before my head ever caught up.
The streetlights flicker as we walk, casting long shadows that stretch and shrink with every step. Courtney and Damian peel off a block earlier, still murmuring to each other like they’re the only two people left in the world. I shake my head, half-amused, half-stunned by how fast things can change.
Anna notices. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. And for once, it’s the truth. “Just… processing.”
She smiles softly. “You always do that face when you’re thinking too hard.”
“What face?”
“That one,” she says, tapping two fingers lightly against my forehead. “Like you’re trying to solve life in one go.”
I snort. “Someone’s gotta try.”
Her house comes into view too quickly. The porch light glows warm against the night, and my chest tightens with that familiar, unwanted awareness that good moments always end sooner than I want them to.
We stop at the bottom of her steps.
“Thank you,” I say.
“For what?”
“For telling me,” I reply. “For not letting other people talk for you.”
She steps closer, her voice gentler now. “Thank you for trusting me.”
I nod, because if I speak again, I might say too much. Or worse—say exactly what I’m thinking.
She kisses my cheek, quick but meaningful, and heads up the steps. I wait until the door closes behind her before I turn away.
The drive home gives my thoughts too much room. Europe. Leith. Summer.
The words line up in my head like opponents across the ice—silent, patient, waiting for me to make the first move. I try to imagine her there: wandering through galleries, notebooks tucked under her arm, eyes alight with the kind of joy that only comes from doing what you love. The image doesn’t hurt. What hurts is the space beside her.
Practice the next morning is brutal, but in a different way than yesterday. My body’s sore, legs heavy, but my mind is sharp again. Focused. Coach notices immediately.
“That’s better,” he mutters as I nail a shot cleanly into the top corner.
Damian skates past me, bumping my shoulder. “Welcome back, Romeo.”
I roll my eyes. “Careful. Courtney might hear you.”
He grins, unrepentant. “Worth it.”
During a water break, Peter skates up beside me. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Actually… yeah.”
He studies me for a second, then nods. “Good. You looked like hell yesterday.”
“Thanks,” I deadpan.
After practice, I sit alone in the locker room longer than usual, lacing and unlacing my skates just to give my thoughts somewhere to go. My phone buzzes.
Anna: Dinner was intense. My parents are already planning my life.
I smile.
Me: That tracks.
Anna: Ben’s being… nice. Overly nice. But I’m okay.
I type, erase, type again.
Me: You don’t owe me updates. Just… thanks for trusting me.
A few seconds pass.
Anna: I choose you. Remember that.
My chest tightens in a way that’s almost painful. I press my phone to my thigh, grounding myself.
I’ve spent most of my life fighting for things—positions, wins, respect. It’s instinct to brace, to guard, to strike first. But Anna isn’t a game I need to win.
She’s the person choosing me. And that’s scarier than any rivalry.
The gala looms like a bad omen. My dad corners me at breakfast, all polished smiles and expectations.
“Bella will be thrilled to see you,” he says lightly.
“I’m not going with Bella,” I reply evenly.
His smile tightens. “Marcus—”
“I’ll go,” I interrupt. “But not with her.”
A beat of silence.
“With Anna,” I add.
My dad studies me, weighing something unseen. Finally, he exhales before walking off silently. I don’t miss the way relief feels like victory.
Later that afternoon, I find myself outside the art building on Anna's campus, hands in my pockets, staring at the old stone façade like it might offer answers. I don’t belong here—not really. My world is ice and speed and impact. But Anna belongs everywhere.
She comes down the steps, surprised when she sees me. “What are you doing here?”
I shrug. “Figured I’d drive you home.”
She smiles, warm and unguarded. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to.”
We walk towards my car, shoulders brushing. After a few minutes, I say, “If you go to Leith…”
She waits. Patient. Always patient with me.
“I don’t want to pretend it won’t be hard,” I continue. “Because it will be. I’ll miss you. A lot.”
Her hand finds mine. “I know.”
“But I don’t want you shrinking your world to fit mine,” I add. “I fell for you because you’re you. Ambitious. Curious. Alive.”
She stops walking, turning to face me fully. “You don’t know how rare it is to hear that.”
I cup her cheek, thumb brushing lightly under her eye. “I don’t want to be rare. I want to be real.”
She leans into my touch, eyes shining. “You already are.”
We don’t talk about Ben. Or Bella. Or rumors.
We talk about now.
And for once, that’s enough.
That night, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, I finally understood something that was just out of reach.
Loving Anna isn’t about holding on tighter. It’s about trusting that what we have is strong enough to stretch without breaking.
Whatever comes next—Europe, distance, change—I won’t let fear make decisions for me.
I close my eyes, her words echoing softly in my head.
I choose you.
And for the first time in a long time, I choose calm.
I choose trust.
I choose her.
- Writer
