Kiss Me Captain (Emily and Maddie) novel Chapter 59

Saturday morning arrives with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. My hands shake so badly that Emily has to button my jeans, her fingers steady where mine refuse to cooperate. We’ve spent an hour in fashion crisis mode—too casual screams guilt, too dressy screams guilty conscience.

“This one,” Emily says, holding up a simple sweater that manages to look both normal and presentable. Perfect for lying to your parents over pasta.

“Do you still want me not to come?” Emily asks for the third time. “I could wait at the library. Text distance.”

“No.” The word comes out harsh, and I soften it with a touch to her arm. “This is something I have to do alone.”

Emily nods, but I can see the worry in her face. We spent last night rehearsing my lies like the world’s worst one-woman show.

My parents pick me up at noon sharp. The drive to the restaurant feels endless, filled with forced small talk. Mom asks about the weather. Dad comments on traffic. I say “mm-hmm” approximately seventy times.

At the restaurant—some Italian place trying too hard with rustic charm—Mom orders for everyone before we even open our menus. It’s a childhood habit that usually annoys me, but today it’s oddly comforting.

We talk about the food, which is fine. About my physical therapy, which is good. About the surgeon’s optimism, which is encouraging. Dad asks about my classes and I answer on autopilot, already three moves ahead in this conversational chess game.

Finally, after the entrees arrive—because of course she waits until I have food in my mouth—Mom sets down her fork with ominous precision and says: “We need to talk about what happened at the hearing.”

My stomach drops. I swallow my chicken parmesan with difficulty and say, “It went well. Jenna and the others were expelled.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Mom’s voice is gentle but firm, the tone she used when I was seven and broke her favorite vase. “I mean the questions that lawyer asked. About you and Emily.”

I force my voice steady, channeling every acting skill I don’t possess. “He was trying to distract from his clients’ guilt by making accusations. Classic defense strategy.”

“I know that,” Mom says, and there’s something in her eyes that makes my chest tight. “But the accusations themselves… Maddie, are people saying things about you and Emily?”

“Yes,” I admit, because there’s no point lying about the existence of gossip. “People talk. We’re roommates and training partners and went through trauma together. People don’t understand that women can support each other without it being—” I let the sentence trail off.

“What specifically are people saying?” Mom’s voice is too measured, too careful.

I take a breath and deliver the script Emily and I practiced. “They’re saying we’re too close, that we’re more than friends. It’s because we spent so much time together, because Emily was at the hospital every day, because we’ve been protective of each other. But people want to make it into something it’s not.”

Dad finally speaks, his voice quiet but firm. “So these rumors are false?”

I look him directly in the eye and lie like my life depends on it. “Yes. Emily and I are childhood friends who reconnected. We’ve been through hell together with the bullying and the injury. We’re close because we had to be—we only had each other when everything fell apart. But people want to make it into something it’s not.”

Mom studies my face with the intensity of a jeweler examining a diamond for flaws. “That lawyer seemed very convinced.”

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