Kiss Me Captain (Emily and Maddie) novel Chapter 42

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[Emily’s POV]

I speak up before Maddie can spiral into whatever answer she’s trying to formulate. “Can I address this?”

The panel allows it with a synchronized nod that’s almost creepy in its coordination. Like they practiced it in a mirror.

“I transferred to Lakeview on a skating scholarship,” I say, forcing my voice to stay level and professional.

Even if I want to scream this is discrimination disguised as fact-finding instead.

“Some existing team members resented the new competition. That’s normal—not fun, but normal. Happens at every rink when someone new shows up with talent.”

Rodriguez shifts in his corner perch, pen poised like a weapon. “Is there more to it than that?”

There’s always more to everything. That’s the problem with investigations—they keep digging until they hit something that bleeds.

“Maddie and I knew each other as children. We trained at the same rink when we were kids. But when we reunited at Lakeview, we were rivals.”

I glance at Maddie, whose hand is still gripping mine with enough force to leave bruises.

“We competed for the same spots, the same attention from Coach Marquette. It was hostile at first. Really hostile. We barely spoke except to trade insults disguised as constructive criticism.”

Detective Cranes leans forward with that maternal expression that’s designed to extract confessions. “But that changed?”

“Coach assigned us as partners for a pairs routine at the pre-season showcase.” The memory feels like it happened to different people—Emily and Maddie before everything got complicated, before rivalry became something else entirely.

“She forced us to work together whether we liked it or not. And we didn’t like it.”

I try to smile. It comes out feeble. “We fought constantly during training. But the performance itself was successful—really successful. Which created resentment among teammates who’d been there longer and felt like we were getting preferential treatment. Particularly Jenna’s group.”

I’m careful to emphasize the rivalry aspect, the competition between us. Not friends.

Definitely not anything more. Just two skaters who couldn’t stand each other until forced proximity made us tolerate each other’s existence.

Cranes makes another note. “Can you describe the harassment specifically? What did this group do?”

I walk them through the parking lot confrontation—Jenna getting in my face, the threats thinly veiled as warnings about knowing my place.

The jacket incident where my gear mysteriously ended up soaked in energy drinks and I had to compete in borrowed equipment.

The escalating comments about favoritism, about getting “too much attention” from Coach, about not deserving our positions.

I don’t mention the shower assault. That’s Maddie’s story to tell or not tell. I stick to what happened to me directly, keeping my voice factual and measured even though talking about it makes my skin crawl.

Rodriguez clears his throat. “Did you notice anything suspicious before Miss Reyes’s performance? Anything unusual in the locker room or around the rink?”

My throat tightens. This is dangerous territory. I was in the stands watching—normal behavior for a teammate.

But what I heard, what I tried to do about it, that crosses into territory that raises questions I can’t answer honestly.

“I was in the stands watching,” I say carefully. “I had my own performance the next day but I wanted to see Maddie skate.”

That’s true. Also true: I would have set fire to the entire arena to watch her skate. But they don’t need to know the intensity behind my normal-teammate-behavior.

I pause, manufacturing the hesitation of someone trying to remember details instead of someone actively editing their memories in real-time. “I overheard something during her performance.”