Kiss Me Captain (Emily and Maddie) novel Chapter 65

[Emily’s POV]

My phone buzzes with Maddie’s text: ‘It’s done. It went badly. Can you come get me?’ I’m out of my chair, leaving my coffee and laptop behind. The barista calls after me, but I’m already out the door.

The park is three blocks away. I run the entire distance. Maddie’s still at that picnic table, sitting motionless. Her parents’ car is gone. I slow to a walk as I approach. Maddie doesn’t look up. She’s staring at nothing. “What happened?” I ask.

Maddie’s voice comes out flat, emotionless. “I told them. My dad said I’m confused, that this is trauma from the bullying, that you’ve influenced me. He said it’s a sin. That I need to choose—my family and skating career, or this lifestyle.”

The word ‘lifestyle’ drips with her father’s disappointment. “My mom just cried. Said she loves me but doesn’t understand.”

My heart breaks listening to this. She doesn’t deserve that, she did all she could to please them, to protect herself, and the moment she chose herself, they turned her back on it. I seethe just thinking about it. “Where are they now?”

“They drove away. Said they need time to think.” Maddie’s laugh is hollow. “Time to decide if I’m worth keeping.”

I sat down beside her, take her hand in mine, damn anyone who sees it. She’s more important right now. “What do you want to do?” I ask carefully.

“I don’t know.” The admission sounds like surrender. She doesn’t look up, doesn’t squeeze my hand back. I need to strain my hearing just to figure out what she’s saying.

I rub soothing circles on her skin, wishing I could kiss her hand, take her pain away, hide her in a cocoon where everything’s fine. “I’m so sorry.”

Maddie finally looks at me, her eyes hollow. “My dad basically said I have to choose—them and my skating career, or you.”

My throat goes tight. “What are you going to choose?” Maddie stares at me for a long moment, then looks away without answering. I understand—she doesn’t know yet, can’t know yet. I don’t push. “Come on.” I pull her up. “Let’s go back.”

We walk to campus slowly, Maddie on autopilot. She’s in shock. I keep hold of her hand, terrified if I let go she’ll float away.

Back at the dorm, my mother is waiting—I’d texted her after getting Maddie’s message. She takes one look at Maddie and opens her arms.

Maddie breaks down completely, sobbing into my mother’s shoulder. All that flat emotion from the park comes pouring out, and my mother holds her through it. “You’re so brave,” Mom says quietly, fierce. “You’re so brave and I’m so proud of you.”

It takes fifteen minutes before Maddie calms down. My mother produces tissues from somewhere—moms have magical pockets—and announces with authority that brooks no argument: “We’re going to dinner. All three of us. You need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” Maddie protests weakly, but Mom ain’t having it. She tuts at Maddie disapprovingly.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re eating anyway. Emotional devastation is not an acceptable meal replacement.” She shakes her head. “Instead I propose pasta. Or pizza. Or both. Maybe burgers? Whatcha say?”

Maddie doesn’t want to pick, so Mom takes us to this little Italian place near campus, the kind with checkered tablecloths and candles in wine bottles collecting wax since the Reagan administration. My mother orders for all of us—pasta and bread and salad, comfort food in portions designed for small armies.

Once the food arrives, Mom starts in with questions like she’s conducting a friendly interrogation. “So, Maddie. Emily tells me you’re doing physical therapy for your ankle. How’s that progressing?”

Maddie looks startled that anyone wants to talk to her about anything, let alone skating. “It’s… going okay. I’m cleared for light practice now. No jumps yet, but I can do basic movements.”

“That must be frustrating,” Mom says, twirling pasta onto her fork with the expertise of someone who’s perfected the art. “Being cleared for ‘light practice’ when you’re used to triple axels. That’s like telling a race car driver they can use a golf cart.”

A ghost of a smile crosses Maddie’s face. “Yeah. Exactly like that, actually.”

“When do they think you’ll be cleared for the big stuff again?” Mom asks, and there’s genuine curiosity in her voice, not the polite kind people use when they’re making conversation they don’t care about.

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