Kiss Me Captain (Emily and Maddie) novel Chapter 55

[Emily’s POV]

Coach’s office smells like old coffee and stress—which is fitting, considering the circumstances. The walls are covered in photos of past championship teams, their frozen smiles a stark contrast to the tension filling the room right now.

Maddie and I sit across from Coach Marquette, who’s wearing her serious face. The one that means someone’s about to have a very bad day, and for once, it’s not us.

“The hearing’s been scheduled for Friday,” Coach says, sliding a packet of papers across her desk. “Three days from now. The administration wants this resolved before winter break.”

Maddie’s leg bounces under the table, her nervous energy practically radiating off her skin. I can feel the heat of her anxiety from here, like standing too close to a fire. I reach over and place my hand on her knee, stilling it. She shoots me a grateful look, but her jaw stays clenched.

“What do we need to do?” I ask, flipping through the papers. Legal jargon, witness statements, procedures. My stomach twists reading through it all.

“Prepare,” Coach says bluntly. “Jenna’s retained a lawyer. A good one. He’s going to try every angle to make this look like teenage drama blown out of proportion.”

“But we have evidence,” Maddie protests. “The security footage, the medical reports from my ankle—”

“Evidence is one thing. How you present yourselves is another.” Coach leans forward, hands clasped on her desk. “You need to be calm, factual, and consistent. No emotional outbursts, no getting defensive. Just the facts.”

Over the next three days, Maddie and I become rehearsal experts. We go over our stories until they’re burned into our brains—the parking lot confrontation, the jacket incident, the locker room harassment.

Focus on the skating jealousy angle. Coach’s attention. The fake wealth exposure that made Maddie a target. We practice so much that I start saying “objection” in my sleep, which would be funny if the whole situation weren’t so terrifying.

We practice in our dorm room, in empty hallways between classes, anywhere we can find privacy. Tuesday night we’re in the library study room, door locked, voices low as we run through scenarios for the third time that day.

“What about the ‘too close’ comments?” Maddie asks, her textbook forgotten in front of her. “Should we mention those?”

“Frame them as general cruelty,” I say, repeating what Coach told us. “Just another way they tried to isolate us. Don’t make it the focal point.”

“But it was the focal point,” Maddie argues. “Half the things they said were about us being—” She stops, struggling with the word. “Together.”

“I know.” I sit beside her, taking her hand. “But we can’t give them ammunition. We mention it happened, frame it as homophobic harassment, and move on. We don’t elaborate.”

Maddie nods but I can see the fear in her eyes. She’s terrified of what questions might come, what traps might be laid.

On Thursday afternoon, Coach calls me into her office alone. Maddie’s at physical therapy for her ankle, and I have a feeling Coach timed this deliberately. The way she closes the door behind me with extra care confirms it—this conversation is for my ears only.

“Tomorrow’s going to be rough,” Coach says without preamble, gesturing for me to sit. “Jenna’s lawyer will try to flip the narrative. Make it seem like the bullying was somehow justified.”

“How could it be justified?” I ask, incredulous. My hands grip the armrests of the chair, knuckles going white.

“He’ll try to paint you two as problematic. Maddie lied about her background, you both kept to yourselves, didn’t integrate well with the team. He’ll make it sound like natural social consequences rather than targeted harassment.” Coach pauses, her expression grim. “He’ll make it seem like you brought this on yourselves.”

My jaw clenches. “That’s bullshit.”

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