Kiss Me Captain (Emily and Maddie) novel Chapter 45

[Emily’s POV]

Lakeview without Maddie feels wrong. Classes blur together—I take notes I’ll never read, nod along to lectures I’m not processing.

My mind keeps drifting to Maddie, wondering if her ankle hurts, if she’s nervous about surgery, if she misses me.

Practice is mechanical. I land every jump, nail every spin, execute every transition with technical perfection while feeling nothing.

Coach pulls me aside after I complete a flawless triple lutz with all the emotional investment of someone filling out a tax form.

“Your technique is perfect,” she says, then adds, “but you’re skating like a very talented corpse.”

“Corpses can’t skate,” I point out. “Rigor mortis would make the footwork challenging.”

“Emily.” She gives me that look—the one that says she knows exactly what’s wrong. I don’t take the bait.

I just promise to inject more life into my skating and escape before she can ask questions I don’t want to answer.

Three days later, Thursday afternoon finds me walking back from the library, backpack heavy with textbooks I haven’t opened.

The campus looks like a postcard but I’m too busy mentally composing my next text to Maddie to notice.

“Well, well. If it isn’t Emily Harper.” Derek Williams blocks the path ahead, flanked by two hockey teammates. They’re wearing matching smirks that make my stomach drop.

“Derek,” I say flatly. “Move.” He doesn’t. Instead, he tilts his head like he’s figured out something fascinating.

“Heard about your roommate’s accident. Maddie, right? How’s your special friend doing?” The way he says “special friend” makes my blood freeze.

I try to step around him but he shifts to block me, his teammates mirroring the movement. “She’s fine. Now move.”

“You know, I visited her at the hospital.” Derek’s smile widens. “Saw you there too. You looked really worried. Like, way more worried than a normal roommate should be. And I was talking to her parents—they mentioned how you rushed to be there the second she fell. Dropped everything. Didn’t even wait to hear how your own competition went.”

My hands clench into fists. “What’s your point?”

“No point. Just observations.” He steps closer, his teammates following. “It’s just interesting, you know? You missing your own competition prep to sit in a hospital. Maddie reaching for you instead of her parents. The two of you living together despite supposedly being big rivals. Everyone’s talking about what you two really are.”

The words hit like a punch. My brain scrambles through damage control—denials, deflections, lies. But my voice comes out steady. “Leave me alone, Derek.”

He laughs. His teammates echo it like the world’s worst backup singers. “I’m just stating the obvious. No need to get defensive unless you’ve got something to hide.”

That’s when I remember my phone. My hand moves on autopilot—pulling it out, swiping to camera, hitting record. The red dot appears. “What are you doing?” Derek’s smile falters.

“Recording this conversation for documentation. In case I need to file a harassment complaint with campus security. Which I will. The second you move and let me pass.”

Derek’s face cycles through surprise, anger, calculation. One teammate mutters something. The other looks uncomfortable. “We’re just talking,” Derek says, confidence wavering.

“You blocked my path. You made implications about my personal life. You made me feel unsafe.” I keep my voice clear for the recording. “That’s harassment. Now move.”

We stand in tense standoff. Finally, Derek steps aside, jaw tight. “Whatever,” he mutters. “Everyone already knows anyway.”

I walk past on legs that might give out any second. I don’t stop recording until I’m around the corner.

Only then do I lean against a building and remember how breathing works. My hands shake so badly I almost drop my phone.

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