Kiss Me Captain (Emily and Maddie) novel Chapter 31

[Emily’s POV]

I’m running before I realize I’ve moved. My mother’s hand slips from my shoulder as I bolt toward the stairs, pushing past people still applauding, unaware that something’s gone wrong.

The security guard at the barrier sees me coming and steps into my path, arms spread wide.

“Miss, you can’t—”

“That’s my—” I choke on the word, can’t finish it. “She’s hurt. I need to get down there.”

“Only authorized personnel on the ice during medical emergency.” His voice is firm but not unkind. “I’m sorry.”

I try to push past him anyway. He doesn’t budge. Below us, the medical team swarms around Maddie’s motionless form.

I can see her dark hair spread across the ice, one leg bent at an angle that makes my stomach turn. She’s not moving. Why isn’t she moving?

“Please.” My voice cracks. “Please, I just need to—”

“Emily.” Coach Marquette’s hand lands on my shoulder, grip tight enough to ground me. “They’re taking care of her.”

“She’s not moving.” I’m shaking, my whole body trembling like I’m the one who fell. “Coach, she’s not—”

“She’s conscious.” Coach’s voice cuts through my panic. “Look.” I follow her gaze and see Maddie’s eyes open, searching the crowd.

Even from here I can see the shock written across her face, the way her chest rises and falls too fast.

Our eyes meet across the distance and something in my chest cracks open. I press against the barrier, ignoring the security guard’s warning to step back. “I’m here,” I mouth, willing her to understand. “I’m here.”

Maddie’s hand lifts off the ice, reaching toward me. The gesture is small, desperate, and it destroys me.

Then a paramedic blocks my view, kneeling beside her with a medical bag. Another joins with a stretcher. I lose sight of her completely as they work.

“They’re taking her to the hospital.” Coach’s grip on my shoulder tightens. “The ambulance is already here.”

“I need to go with her.” I turn to face Coach, barely seeing her through the blur of tears. “I need to be there when—”

“Only family is allowed in the ambulance.” Coach’s expression is sympathetic but firm. “I’m sorry, Emily. I know you want to be with her, but they won’t let you.”

“But I—” The words stick in my throat. I can’t say what I am to Maddie, can’t explain why every second she’s out of my sight feels like drowning. “She needs someone. She’ll be scared.”

“Her parents will meet her there.” Coach squeezes my shoulder once before letting go. “You can follow in a car, wait at the hospital for news.”

Below, they’re lifting Maddie onto the stretcher. I watch them strap her down, watch one of the paramedics place an oxygen mask over her face even though she’s breathing on her own.

The crowd has gone quiet now, the celebratory atmosphere evaporated. I hear whispers—‘what happened, did you see, her ankle just gave out’—but they feel distant, underwater.

They start moving her toward the exit gate. I track every inch of their progress, unable to look away. Maddie’s eyes are closed now, her face pale against the white pillow of the stretcher.

One hand grips the edge of the blanket they’ve draped over her, knuckles white with tension.

“Emily.” My mother’s voice comes from behind me. I didn’t hear her approach. “Sweetheart, we should go. We should get to the hospital.”

I nod without turning around. My eyes stay locked on Maddie as they carry her past the boards, past the horrified officials, toward the arena exit.

The crowd parts for them like water. Someone’s crying—another skater, maybe, or a coach. The sound grates against my nerves.

“I’ll handle the officials and the media,” Coach says, already pulling out her phone. “You go. Get her things from the locker room first—she’ll need them. I’ll text you updates as I get them.”

‘How are you feeling?’

‘We’re running late, car trouble on the highway.’

‘Should be there in an hour or so. You skate soon, right?’

‘Maddie? Did you see our messages?

Are you warming up? Break a leg! (Not literally!)’

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