[Emily’s POV]
Friday morning feels like walking through water—everything slow and heavy and wrong. I'm halfway to my economics lecture when I hear Coach's voice behind me calling my name.
"Emily, do you have a minute?" Her tone is the one that means this isn't actually a question, so I stop walking and turn around. She's holding a coffee cup and wearing her serious coach face.
We step to the side of the path where fewer people can overhear. Coach takes a sip of her coffee and gets straight to the point. "I'm concerned about Maddie. Do you know what's going on with her?"
My stomach drops somewhere around my knees. Coach has been watching us more carefully lately, which makes sense given that Maddie's been falling on elements she could land in her sleep and I've been walking around like someone replaced my blood with anxiety.
"She's been struggling," I admit, because lying to Coach feels pointless when she can read body language better than most people read books.
"But she won't talk about it. Every time I try to bring it up, she shuts down or changes the subject or tells me she's fine when she's clearly not fine."
Coach's expression shifts to something gentler, more worried. "I'm wondering if we should skip Regionals. Give Maddie some time to recover, get her head right before we push her back into competition. What do you think?"
The suggestion hits me like a punch to the chest. Skip Regionals? After everything Maddie's been through, after the botched scores last time, after months of rehabilitation and getting back on the ice? No. Absolutely not.
"No," I say immediately, my voice sharper than I intend. "Maddie has been working so hard for this. She needs this. She needs to prove to herself that she can still compete."
Coach looks doubtful, her mouth pulling into a thin line. "Emily, I understand what you're saying, but if she's not mentally ready—"
"She is ready," I insist, even though I'm not entirely sure that's true. "Or she will be. We still have time before Regionals. Just give us a little more time. Please."
Coach studies my face for a long moment, then sighs. "Alright. We'll wait and see. But Emily, if things don't improve soon, we need to talk about this. I care about Maddie's wellbeing more than performance."
I nod, throat tight. "I know. Thank you, Coach." She walks away and I stand there for a moment, watching students stream past toward classes.
My economics lecture starts in ten minutes but all I can think about is Maddie. I turn around and head back toward our dorm instead. Economics can wait.
The walk back feels longer than it should, my mind spinning through everything I'm going to say.
I need to fix this. I need to make Maddie talk to me, make her see that whatever she's going through, we can handle it together. That's what partners do—they handle things together.
When I open the door to our room, Maddie is exactly where I expected to find her: in bed, facing the wall, still in the clothes she wore yesterday. The curtains are drawn and the room is dim and stuffy, and the sight of her like this makes my chest ache.
I sit on the edge of her bed, placing one hand on her shoulder. "Maddie, we need to talk."
Her voice is muffled by the pillow when she responds. "I'm too tired." Of course she is, I’m tired too just watching her struggle, but…
"I know you're tired.” I soften my voice. “But I'm worried about you. You haven't been yourself since the weekend at your parents' house. Either something happened there, or you thought or felt something weird, and I need you to tell me what was it."
Maddie sits up abruptly, her hair a mess and her eyes red-rimmed. "I'm fine, Emily. Jesus. You need to stop hovering."
"I'm not hovering," I say, trying to keep my voice steady and calm. "I'm concerned. There's a difference."
"It feels like hovering," Maddie snaps, her voice rising as she speaks. "It feels like you're constantly watching me, waiting for me to break, analyzing every single thing I do like I'm some kind of project you need to fix."
The words sting more than I expect them to, hitting somewhere deep. "I'm not trying to fix you—"
"Yes, you are!" Maddie's out of bed now, pacing the small space between our beds. "You're always trying to fix things, Emily. Always swooping in to save me, always there with the right words or the right gesture or the right solution."
She turns to face me, her eyes blazing. "But you know what? I don't want to be saved right now. I just want to be left alone."
I stand up too, my hands clenched at my sides. "Because you are breaking, Maddie. You're falling apart and you won't let anyone help you. You won't talk about what's wrong, you won't tell me what happened at your parents' house, you won't even admit that something is wrong."
My voice rises despite my efforts to control it. "How am I supposed to not worry when you're like this?"
Maddie's face goes carefully blank, that ice queen expression from when we first met. The shift is so sudden it makes my head spin. "I'm going for a walk," she says.
I already know what she'll say before I ask, but I try anyway, because I’m a masochist, apparently. "Do you want company?"
"No." The word is flat, final. She grabs her jacket and pulls it on with jerky movements. I reach for her without actually meaning to, and she turns around.
"Maddie—" I start, but Maddie cuts me off.
"I'll be back later," she says, not looking at me as she heads for the door. I watch her leave, the door closing with a soft click that feels louder than a slam.
For a moment I just stand there in the middle of our dim room, feeling helpless and scared and completely out of my depth.
This is what losing someone feels like, I think. Not the dramatic kind with fights and ultimatums and slammed doors.
The quiet kind, where they slip away a little more each day until you're holding onto someone who isn't really there anymore.
I sit back down on Maddie's bed, my hands shaking slightly. Coach wanted to know if we should skip Regionals, and I said no. I said Maddie needed this, that she was ready.
But sitting here in the aftermath of that conversation, I'm not sure I believe my own words anymore.
Maybe Coach was right. Maybe Maddie isn't ready. Maybe I've been pushing so hard for her to be okay that I haven't stopped to consider that okay might be further away than I want to admit.
I pull out my phone and stare at the blank screen, wanting to text her but not knowing what to say. What do you say to someone who's drowning but won't take your hand? How do you save someone who doesn't want to be saved?
I don't have answers. I just sit there in the growing darkness, listening to campus life through the window, and wait for Maddie to come back.
I'm hoping that when she does, we'll figure out how to bridge this distance between us. Hoping that we're not already too far apart to reach each other anymore.