Kiss Me Captain (Emily and Maddie) novel Chapter 37

The question hangs in the corridor air like an accusation. My body goes completely still. Heart stops. Brain flatlines. This is not a drill.

Ava must see the panic on my face because her expression immediately softens.

She squeezes my hands, her voice dropping to something gentler. “I’m not asking to judge, Em. I promise. I’m asking because I’m your friend and I want to understand what’s going on with you. That’s all.”

I stare down at our joined hands because looking at her face feels impossible. My throat is so tight I can barely breathe. How do I answer a question I don’t even know the answer to?

What am I supposed to call this thing between me and Maddie? It doesn’t fit into any neat category. It’s not just friendship—hasn’t been for months, maybe never was.

It’s not just rivalry. And it’s definitely more than just physical. But love? That word is too big. Too frightening. Too unbearably real.

“Em?” Ava’s voice is patient. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” I force myself to think through it anyway. The hostility when we first saw each other again.

Maddie’s ice-queen mask cracking in small moments. The rivalry that morphed into partnership. That first kiss in the supply closet. Every stolen moment since.

I think about Maddie in that hospital bed, eyes glassy from pain meds, her hand reaching for mine like I was the only solid thing in a spinning world.

Even through drugs and agony, she needed me. The same way I need her—desperately and in ways I can’t articulate.

The thought of losing this fragile, undefined, terrifying thing between us? That would break something in me beyond repair. Like dropping your phone screen-first on concrete, but for your soul.

“I don’t know what it is.” My voice comes out barely audible, scraped raw. “I don’t know what to call it, Ava. I wish I had some neat label to slap on it so I could understand what the hell is happening to me. But I don’t.”

Ava nods slowly, and I can see in her eyes that she gets it. She’s not pushing for more.

“Okay. You don’t need to name it right now. Or ever, if you don’t want to. But whatever it is—whatever you and Maddie have—I’m here for you. Always. You know that, right?”

The tears come without warning. Relief that I don’t have to explain. Relief that she’s not judging. Relief that someone is offering support without demanding a five-year plan.

Ava pulls me into another hug and I sink into it, no longer trying to hold myself together. We sit like that for several minutes while I cry quietly into her shoulder.

Eventually my tears slow. Ava pulls back, using her thumbs to wipe my cheeks. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed. Tomorrow’s going to be absolutely brutal, and you need whatever sleep you can manage.”

We stand up together, joints protesting. Ava keeps one arm around my waist as we walk back toward my door.

My mother’s soft snoring drifts through—she sounds like a congested motorcycle, oddly comforting.

Ava pulls me into one last hug at my door. “Try to get some sleep, okay? And Em? Whatever you and Maddie are to each other, it’s yours. You don’t owe anyone else definitions or explanations.”

“Thanks, Ava.” My voice is rough from crying. “For everything. For sitting in the hallway like a creep. For not judging me. For being here.”

“Always.” She squeezes my shoulders once more, then heads down the hall to her own room. “Goodnight, Em.”

“Goodnight.” I slip back into my room as quietly as possible. Inside, I get to bed absentmindedly, as if I’m not here.

Finally I’m in bed, lights off, darkness pressing in. I stare at the ceiling. Sleep doesn’t cooperate. Typical.

Are we in love? The question circles my mind like a vulture. I don’t know. But I know losing Maddie would shatter me. I know seeing her lying broken on that ice will haunt me forever.

“Yes.” The answer comes automatically, like a reflex. “I’m fine.”

“Emily.” She doesn’t move, doesn’t soften. “I’m asking you seriously. Are you mentally and emotionally capable of skating today? Because if you’re not, we need to know now.”

I meet her eyes, forcing myself to hold the contact even though I want to look anywhere else. “I can do this. I need to do this. For Maddie. For both of us. For everything we built this semester.”

Coach studies me for a long moment, like she’s reading invisible ink across my face. Finally she nods once, sharp and decisive. “Okay. Then go back to the hotel and rest until this afternoon. Eat something. Try to sleep if you can. Conserve your energy.”

“Coach—”

“That’s an order, Emily.” But her expression has softened slightly. “You’ve done the work. Your body knows what to do. Now you need to let it.”

She moves to her desk and picks up something—my phone. I’d left it at the hotel in my rush to escape. “Your mother dropped this off earlier. Said you’d left it charging.”

Coach hands it to me, and I can see the screen lit up with notifications. “There’s a voicemail from Maddie. Left late last night.”

My fingers close around the phone, gripping it tight. A voicemail from Maddie.

My heart does something complicated and probably medically concerning. “Go.” Coach’s voice is gentle now. “Listen to it. Rest. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

I nod, unable to find words. The phone feels heavy in my hand as I walk out of her office, Maddie’s voice waiting for me in the digital ether.