Kiss Me Captain (Emily and Maddie) novel Chapter 41

The door opens and two people enter wearing expressions that scream “we take ourselves very seriously.”

A middle-aged woman in a navy pantsuit steps in first, her heels clicking against the linoleum with practiced confidence.

Behind her, a man who looks like he irons his khakis with military precision. They both carry leather portfolios like they’re about to sell me life insurance I don’t need.

The hospital room suddenly feels smaller. More claustrophobic. Like the walls are conspiring with these people to trap me in my own words.

“Miss Reyes, Miss Harper.” The woman extends her hand, her grip firm and professional when I shake it. “I’m Detective Sarah Cranes, and this is Detective Michael Rodriguez. We’re investigating the incident at Nationals.”

My grip on Emily’s hand tightens so hard I’m probably cutting off circulation. Emily doesn’t complain, just squeezes back with equal desperation.

We’re a matched set of panic, sitting here in my hospital bed like two kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar, except the cookie jar is full of secrets that could ruin both our lives.

Detective Cranes sits in the chair beside my bed, angling herself so she can see both my face and Emily’s.

Rodriguez takes the chair further back, closer to the door. Classic interrogation setup—one close and friendly, one at a distance observing.

I’ve watched enough crime shows to recognize the choreography.

“How are you feeling today?” Cranes’s voice is warm, maternal even. “When’s your surgery scheduled?”

“Monday morning.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel, which is impressive considering my internal organs are performing gymnastics routines. “I’m fine. Just ready to get it over with.”

“I’m sure you are.” Cranes makes a note in her portfolio. “And your pain management is adequate?”

I want to ask if we’re really doing this—the whole sympathetic buildup before they drop the hammer. But I just nod and say, “The medications are helping.”

Rodriguez clears his throat from his corner. “Miss Reyes, we’ve reviewed security footage from the locker rooms and arena. We found someone entering the locker room approximately twenty minutes before your performance. Someone who shouldn’t have been there.”

My stomach does that thing where it tries to escape through my throat.

Emily’s hand is now definitely cutting off my circulation, but I still don’t let go.

“The footage isn’t clear enough to identify the person definitively,” Cranes continues, leaning forward slightly.

“But the timing is suspicious. Did you notice anything unusual with your skates before performing? Anything at all?”

I think back to those frantic minutes before competition. Lacing up in the locker room, my hands shaking with pre-performance nerves.

Checking my blades like I always do—running my fingers along the edges, testing the screws.

Everything seemed normal. But now, forcing myself to replay the memory in excruciating detail, there was something.

“The blades felt slightly different when I put them on,” I say slowly, carefully, like I’m walking through a minefield blindfolded.

“Not enough to alarm me at the time.” I clarify. “I just thought maybe I was nervous, imagining things. You know how it is before a big performance—everything feels off, every little detail seems wrong. But thinking back now, forcing myself to really remember instead of just skimming over it…”

I pause, the memory crystallizing with horrible clarity. “They felt looser. Like maybe the mounting screws weren’t as tight as they should have been. Like someone had been messing with them.”

Both detectives make notes. The sound of pens scratching paper fills the room, loud in the antiseptic quiet.

“Let’s talk about team dynamics,” Rodriguez says, still in his corner like a brooding gargoyle. “Were there conflicts on your team? Anyone who might have wanted to harm you?”

My heart is doing sprints. I glance at Emily, whose face has gone carefully neutral—the expression she uses when she’s terrified but doesn’t want anyone to know.

I recognize it because I’m probably wearing the same mask.

“Jealousy over a captain position doesn’t usually lead to equipment sabotage,”

Rodriguez says flatly from his corner. “That’s escalation to a criminal level. Attempted assault, really, when you think about it. There’s generally more to it than that. More layers.”

My palms are sweating where they’re pressed against Emily’s. I don’t know what to say that won’t open doors I desperately need to keep closed.

“I don’t know Jenna’s full motivations,” I manage. “I just know the tension escalated over the semester. It got worse after Coach paired me with Emily for the pre-season showcase. Maybe Jenna saw that as favoritism.”

The detectives exchange one of those loaded glances that makes my stomach drop straight through the hospital bed and into the basement.

“Was anyone else targeted by this hostile environment?” Rodriguez asks, his eyes moving to Emily for the first time.

My throat is so tight I can barely force words through. “Yes. My roommate Emily was also targeted.”

Cranes’s attention shifts to Emily with laser focus, scrutiny written across every line of her face.

Then she looks back at me, and I can practically see the wheels turning in her head, connecting dots I don’t want connected.

“Why Emily specifically?” Cranes asks, and the question hangs in the air like a guillotine blade.

My mind races through possible answers—Emily’s a transfer student, she’s talented, she took someone’s spot on the team.

All true but all incomplete. I open my mouth but nothing comes out because every answer leads somewhere dangerous.

Before I can force my vocal cords to cooperate, Emily speaks up.