Kiss Me Captain (Emily and Maddie) novel Chapter 72

[Emily’s POV]

“Put it on speaker,” I tell Maddie, because if her mother’s calling to cause problems, I want to hear it coming. Call it emotional preparedness or just basic survival instinct.

Maddie hesitates, her finger hovering over the screen like it might burn her, then taps it. “Mom?” Her voice is carefully neutral, the kind of tone you use when you’re expecting disappointment and preparing for it in advance.

“Maddie.” Hanna’s voice fills my dorm room, and I watch Maddie’s face carefully for signs of emotional damage. This could go a thousand different ways, most of them terrible. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About choosing. About being your mother.”

I hold my breath. Maddie’s grip on her phone tightens, knuckles white against the case. “And?” Maddie prompts when the silence stretches too long.

“After everything you went through, I want to be there for you. I want to come to Regionals,” Hanna says, and I see something flicker across Maddie’s face—hope, or fear that hope will hurt. “I want to watch you compete. Your father doesn’t know. I haven’t told him yet.”

“You want to come,” Maddie repeats slowly, like she’s making sure she’s got the words right. “To Regionals. To watch me skate.”

“Yes,” her mother says, determination in her voice. “I know I haven’t been there for you the way I should have been. I know I’ve let your father’s opinions dictate my actions, and that’s not fair to you. It’s not what a mother should do.”

I watch Maddie’s expression cycle through about fifteen different emotions. “And you’ll actually show up?” she asks, years of disappointment layered under those words. “Because you’ve said things before. You’ve promised things.”

There’s a pause. When Hanna speaks again, her voice is quieter. “I know I have. I know I’ve let you down. But I’m promising now, Maddie. I will be there. I will watch you compete.”

Maddie closes her eyes, deciding whether to believe this, whether to let herself hope or whether hope is just another way to get hurt. “Okay,” she says finally. “Okay.”

“I’m proud of you,” Hanna adds. “For coming back from the injury. For not giving up. I should have said that sooner.”

“Yeah,” Maddie agrees, bitterness creeping in. “You should have.” They say their goodbyes with careful politeness, and when Maddie ends the call, she stares at her phone like it might start ringing again with a retraction.

“Well,” I say, breaking the uneasy silence. “That was unexpected.”

“She’s not going to come,” Maddie says flatly, setting her phone down with more force than necessary. “She’ll change her mind. My father will find out and talk her out of it, or something will come up. She won’t actually show.”

I move closer, sitting on the edge of her bed so I can see her face properly. “Maybe she will.”

“Maybe she won’t,” Maddie counters, and I can see the defense mechanisms clicking into place, the way she’s already preparing herself for disappointment because that’s easier than letting herself hope. “I’m not going to count on it. I’m not going to expect anything.”

“That’s probably smart,” I agree, because sugar-coating this seems cruel. “But if she doesn’t show, that says everything about her and nothing about you. You know that, right?”

“Sure,” Maddie says, in a tone that suggests she knows it intellectually but doesn’t quite believe it emotionally. “Sure.”

* * *

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify