Kiss Me Captain (Emily and Maddie) novel Chapter 74

[Emily’s POV]

Saturday morning arrives with all the subtlety of a freight train. I wake up early, nerves doing gymnastics in my stomach. The hotel room is already too bright, pale morning sun filtering through curtains that are terrible at their one job.

I turn my head to find Maddie already awake, staring at the ceiling with that brand of anxiety that suggests she’s been cataloging disasters for hours. “How long have you been up?” I ask, my voice scratchy with sleep.

“Define ‘up.'” She turns to look at me. “If you mean conscious and spiraling through every possible disaster, then about two hours. If you mean actually awake and functional, then never. I’m a zombie operating on pure panic.”

“That’s comforting,” I mumble sarcastically, pushing myself up. “Really instills confidence for today.”

“Hey, at least I’m consistent.” She attempts a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You nervous?”

“Terrified,” I admit, because lying about it seems pointless when my hands are already shaking. “But I’m trying to channel it into something useful instead of just vibrating out of my skin.”

We head down to team breakfast in the hotel conference room that’s been converted into a makeshift dining area.

The spread is aggressively beige—bagels, muffins, oatmeal, scrambled eggs that look defeated. Coach Marquette stands at the front, looking far too alert for this hour.

“Alright, everyone,” Coach says once we’re assembled with our plates. “Today’s about execution. You’ve done the work, you know your programs. Don’t overthink it. Trust your training, trust your bodies. The judges want to see you succeed. They want to give high scores to skaters who give them something to score highly.”

She makes eye contact with each of us. “Emily, afternoon session. Maddie, evening. Support each other, stay focused, and skate clean. Questions?” Nobody has questions. We’re all too busy trying not to throw up our beige breakfast from nerves.

Back in our room afterward, Maddie takes charge of helping me get ready with focused determination. She braids my hair with careful precision, her fingers working through the strands while I sit cross-legged on the bed.

“You’re going to be amazing,” she says quietly, securing the end of the braid with an elastic. “You’ve landed that triple axel a thousand times. Today’s just one more.”

“What if it’s not?” The words escape before I can stop them. “What if today’s the one time everything falls apart?”

Maddie moves around to face me, hands on my shoulders. “Then you get up and keep going. But it’s not going to fall apart, Em. You’re ready. You’ve been ready. I’ve watched you skate this program so many times I could do it in my sleep. You’re going to walk out there and nail every element, and I’m going to be watching you the entire time.”

The certainty in her voice does more to calm my nerves than anything else could. “Promise?”

“Promise.” She leans in and kisses me, soft and reassuring. “Now let’s get you to the venue before Coach sends a search party.”

The competition venue is chaos—skaters everywhere in various states of preparation, parents hovering anxiously, coaches giving last-minute instructions. I’m scanning the crowd when I spot her.

My mother. Standing near the entrance to the main seating area, looking around like she’s not entirely sure she’s in the right place. She drove up this morning, didn’t tell me she was coming because she knows I would’ve told her not to worry about it.

“Mom!” I call out, weaving through the crowd. She turns, face lighting up, and pulls me into a hug that’s probably breaking several ribs.

“I couldn’t miss this,” she says into my hair. “My daughter competing at Regionals? Not a chance.”

“You drove three hours to get here,” I say, pulling back to look at her. Her smile feels infectious, because my own is tugging at the corners of my mouth.

Fourth place. Fourth. Despite skating cleanly, despite landing every element, despite delivering the performance of my life. The number sits there on the screen, mocking me with its complete disconnect from reality.

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