Kiss Me Captain (Emily and Maddie) novel Chapter 36

The shuffling outside my door is subtle, like someone trying not to make noise and spectacularly failing at stealth. I lie in the dark hoping they’ll leave.

They don’t. More shuffling, then a quiet thud that sounds suspiciously like someone giving up and sitting down.

I throw off the covers and pad to the door in my sleep shorts and borrowed Lakeview Hockey t-shirt—stolen from the athletic center donation bin in a moment of desperate laundry crisis.

The hallway light stings when I open the door.

Ava sits cross-legged against the opposite wall, wearing pajama pants covered in cartoon cats and a tank top that says “Carbs Don’t Count Before Noon.”

She looks up, her expression carefully neutral. “Hey. Sorry if I woke you. I was trying to be quiet.”

“You were failing.” I step out and close the door carefully so I don’t wake my mother. The carpet is rough under my bare feet. “What are you doing out here?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Figured you couldn’t either.” Ava pats the floor beside her. “Wanted to check on you, but didn’t want to knock and wake your mom, so I was just sitting here like a creep. Thinking about knocking. Not knocking. The usual paradox of concern.”

I slide down the wall next to her, exhaustion hitting me all at once. The kind that makes your bones ache. “You could have texted.”

“I could have.” Ava bumps her shoulder against mine. “But I wanted to see your face when I asked about Maddie. Texting doesn’t really capture the full spectrum of human misery.”

Despite everything, a laugh escapes me. Too loud and too sharp. “Jesus, Ava.”

“Too soon?” She doesn’t look apologetic. “Everyone’s asking about her. Rumors flying everywhere—career-ending injury, equipment failure, sabotage. That last one’s batshit, but also kind of tracks given the drama this season.”

The word sabotage makes something twist in my chest. “It’s bad. Really bad.” Ava waits, giving me space to continue.

“Her ankle’s destroyed—grade two sprain, possible ligament damage. Surgery next week. Six to eight months recovery, minimum. Maybe longer. Her season’s over. Everything she worked for this year, just gone.”

“Fuck.” Ava’s hand finds mine, squeezing tight. “Em, I’m so sorry.”

“Her parents were devastated. I had to call them from the locker room because their car broke down on the way to the competition.”

I chuckle hysterically. “Had to tell them their daughter was in an ambulance.”

The words tumble out now. “When they finally got to the hospital, they were just broken. Her mom couldn’t stop crying, her dad was trying so hard to stay strong, and Maddie was lying there pale and terrified and medicated. I couldn’t do anything. Just stood there like an idiot.”

Ava’s arm comes around my shoulders, pulling me against her side.

I let myself lean in, too exhausted to maintain my usual walls. “You were there. That’s not nothing. That’s everything.”

We sit quietly, the hallway silent except for the distant hum of the ice machine down the corridor.

Eventually, Ava asks, voice careful, “How are you feeling about tomorrow? Your performance?”

My stomach clenches. “Guilty. Maddie’s in a hospital bed with her career in jeopardy, and I’m supposed to just skate like nothing happened? It feels obscene.”

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