Page 21 of Wish You Were Mine (Kings of Eden Falls #3)

LUCY

I stood at the edge of the mat, waiting for my turn on bars, the familiar buzz of chalk and adrenaline running through my veins.

The uneven bars weren’t my favorite event—floor and beam were where I shined—but my routine tonight had one of the higher difficulty scores.

Second highest of anyone competing, actually.

So even if it wasn’t perfect, I still had a shot at the all-around.

But it was still anyone’s game.

My gaze drifted toward the stands, as it always did between events—out of habit, out of nerves, maybe just to ground myself.

Not that I was scanning the crowd for the new addition sitting with my family or anything…

Why had Owen come, anyway?

Did he usually come to the gymnastics meets?

Had Theo just randomly invited him ?

I had no idea. But seeing him walk in before the meet started had definitely been startling.

Not in a bad way necessarily, but my pulse had definitely picked up.

Though, interesting as that was, it actually hadn’t been my biggest surprise of the night.

No, that honor belonged to the moment I’d seen Josh take a seat in the student section. With a girl.

His arm was draped casually around her shoulders, the way he’d always done with me. And judging by the way she’d leaned into him, smiling up like she’d known him forever…it probably wasn’t their first date, either.

The sting had come fast, sharp and unexpected.

Because even though we’d broken up months ago, even though we weren’t right for each other… Even though I’d told myself I didn’t care anymore… Apparently, some part of me still did.

I blew out a deep breath and swung my arms forward and back, trying to shake off the tightness curling in my chest. Not now .

I could analyze my feelings about Josh and his date another time.

I needed to be here—focused, present. Not living in my head while my hands were flying between a pair of metal bars.

Still…why bring her here ? To my gymnastics meet?

He knew I’d be competing. Knew how much I needed my head clear for nights like this.

Was he trying to get under my skin? Trying to show off how fine he was, how easy it’d been to move on after I’d pushed away his drunken attempt at a kiss the night I drove him home from The Garden?

Whatever. Let him have his petty moment.

He wasn’t the one about to fly through the air in front of a packed crowd .

Nora wrapped up her routine with a clean dismount, a small hop on the landing but otherwise solid. The gym erupted with applause, and I let out a long, steadying breath.

Almost time to go.

The assistant coach and one of my teammates stepped in to adjust the bars for my height while I did a few quick shoulder rolls and shook out my hands.

I closed my eyes and drew in another deep breath, visualizing myself in the gym and the hundreds of times I’d run this routine. I could do it blindfolded.

The judges gave me the signal, and I stepped forward.

Here we go.

I launched off the springboard, catching the low bar with both hands as my body swung into motion—a rhythm I knew by heart. The sting of chalk in my nose. The clink of metal. My breath syncing with every kip, every cast.

Then the moment came—the transition from low to high. The hardest part of the routine, where I had to time my grip just right.

My fingers caught the bar, but barely. For half a second, my heart lodged in my throat.

But my grip held. I adjusted mid-air, used the momentum to swing through and keep going, hitting the rest of my sequence cleanly.

I took another breath, centering myself for the dismount.

One long swing around…then another…and on the third, I released—twisting through a double layout, my body tightening with every rotation.

My feet hit the mat with a sharp, satisfying thud.

No step. No wobble.

Just—stuck it.

The crowd erupted.

A rush of adrenaline surged through me as I threw my arms into my final pose, my grin stretching wide. I couldn’t help it. I’d nailed it.

“You crushed it!” Nora called, the first of my teammates to reach me before I was completely swarmed—girls hugging, shrieking, enveloping me in a tangle of red and black leotards and chalk-covered hands.

“Stick queen!” Mayci said.

“That transition was chef’s kiss ,” another girl called.

Laughing, I hugged them back, trading high-fives as I made my way off the mat, my limbs buzzing with post-routine energy.

Across the arena, the announcer's voice cut in. “Up next on vault for Minnesota is…”

I slowed as I reached the sideline, letting my breathing steady, and looked toward the stands.

Mom was easy to spot—both hands clamped to her mouth before she gave me an enthusiastic thumbs-up, her eyes shining.

Dad was seated now, too, Charlotte bouncing on his knees in her tiny red leotard. When he noticed me looking, he helped her wave and clap.

I glanced at Theo next. He was seated by my dad with that proud, older brother smile and a hand cupped around his mouth as he mouthed, That was awesome.

I smiled, lifting my fingers in a quick wave.

And that was when I snuck a glance at Owen.

He wasn’t cheering. He didn’t mouth anything or throw me a grin like Theo did.

But he was watching.

Or at least, he had been. Our eyes met for the briefest flicker of a second before he quickly looked away, glancing toward my parents like he was making sure no one had noticed.

Like making eye contact with me in front of them was some kind of crime.

Which, to be fair, it kind of felt like it was .

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. What was he thinking right now? Did he even know?

“Nice work out there,” came a voice behind me.

I turned to see Coach Brent jogging toward me, clipboard in hand and that easygoing grin he always wore. He’d only been with our program for a few months, but he’d already proven to be the perfect counterbalance to Coach Chambers’ no-nonsense intensity.

“That Jaeger was masterful. You had the whole arena holding their breath.”

“Thanks,” I said, pushing a loose wisp of hair back toward my bun. “I was worried I’d missed the high bar for a second.”

“You corrected quick,” he said, nodding. “Excellent recovery.”

I smiled, my shoulders relaxing just a little more. Compliments from Brent always felt earned.

Just then, the judges flipped their score cards and the announcer read them out loud: “We have a 9.9275 for Lucy Archibald on the bars!”

The Eden Falls crowd erupted behind me—students, alumni, parents, and even a few little girls in leotards shrieking like it was the Olympics.

I let the cheer wash over me and clapped with my team, letting myself enjoy it for a heartbeat longer. Then I stepped away, grabbing my water bottle and towel from my chair as I sat and let the rush of it all settle in my chest.

Two events down. Two to go.

After the meet, I barely had time to catch my breath before my family found me on the floor. My mom reached me first with her arms outstretched, Charlotte clinging to her hip like a koala in sparkly sneakers.

“Congrats on taking first on beam!” Mom said, pulling me into a hug with her free arm.

“Thanks.” I smiled and hugged her back, even as my brain filled in the parts she didn’t mention, like how I’d placed second on both floor and bars. Solid scores. But not quite enough.

Which meant second place overall in the all-around.

So close.

But not quite good enough since a girl from Minnesota had edged me out by one-tenth of a point.

One-tenth.

Ugh.

Theo appeared at my side then, wearing his usual lopsided grin. “You crushed it tonight,” he said, pulling me into a quick side hug. “That beam routine was insane. I don’t think you blinked once.”

“Thanks.”

Was my family purposely only talking about the beam? It was definitely my most impressive event tonight—I’d gotten a near perfect score of 9.9325…but I had other great moments, too.

It’s probably just all in your head, I told myself. It’s not that deep.

Well…with my mom and Theo, it wasn’t. My dad on the other hand… I guess I was still bracing myself for his critique.

Theo shifted his stance, stepping aside slightly to make room for someone behind him.

Owen.

Our eyes met for a split second before he looked over at Theo, clearly waiting for an introduction.

“Oh, right,” Theo said, catching the cue. “I don’t think I’ve ever officially introduced you two. This is my friend Owen. I invited him to the meet tonight.” Then, turning to Owen and gesturing toward me, he added, “And Owen, this is my very talented little sister, Lucy.”

I let myself take in Owen more fully, and when our eyes met again, there was something in the slight tug of his smile, the flicker of hesitation just beneath it, that made my stomach tighten.

“You guys actually met at The Garden a few weeks ago,” Theo continued. “But Owen and I didn’t realize you were one of his students until tonight, when I pointed you out during warmups and he recognized you from one of his classes this week.”

“Oh yeah,” I said, turning toward Owen, forcing my pulse to chill out and my expression to stay casual. “I’m in your Monday and Wednesday lecture. And your Thursday lab. I kept trying to figure out why you looked so familiar when I walked into class. I didn’t realize you were also the bartender.”

His mouth curved slightly at my innocent act, but before he could respond, my dad—who’d apparently been eavesdropping—cut in.

“You’re one of Lucy’s professors?”

“Uh, yes sir.” Owen straightened slightly. “I guess so.” His voice stayed calm, but I caught the flicker of unease in his eyes. “This week’s been a blur. So many new students—I’m still matching names to faces.”

Right. Just another student.

Which was exactly what I was supposed to be.

Still, I hated how that small comment seemed to erase the moment we’d shared at Ky’s party.

It had meant something to me, at least.

And hearing it brushed off like it was forgettable? That stung a little.

But then, he looked back at me, and with a smile that was warm and genuine, he said, “You were incredible tonight, by the way. Seriously. I could tell how much work and training went into that. Super impressive. Awe-inspiring, honestly.”

My chest warmed instantly, my disappointment melting under the soft glow of his praise. Compliments always felt good. But from him? It was like getting a gold medal in a private category no one else knew existed.

“You did great out there,” Dad said next, giving me a brief one-armed hug. “Beam was flawless. And that first tumbling pass on floor—nailed it.”

I smiled again, bracing myself.

“But that second pass…little rough on the landing.”

And there it was.

I nodded slowly, biting the inside of my cheek. “Yeah…”

“But hey,” he added, in that way he always did when he tried to soften a critique with encouragement, “it’s the first home meet. You’ve got time to clean it up before nationals. I really think this could be your year.”

The pressure hit like a wave.

Because while I loved this sport—loved performing, loved flying through the air, chasing the perfect routine—sometimes it was hard to always love something that constantly demanded perfection.

Owen must’ve picked up on the shift in my expression because his voice cut through the noise, quiet and curious, “You’ve been to the national championship before? That’s amazing.”

I glanced over at him. His eyes were steady on mine, his tone sincere.

“Yes,” I said softly. “Last year.”

“She made it all the way to the finals,” my dad added, his arm tightening across my shoulders. “Probably could’ve won the whole thing, but she missed her hand on the high bar transition and had to add an extra swing. Ended up placing fourth in the all-around.”

I heard it—the subtle note of disappointment in my dad’s voice—and felt that familiar pinch in my chest. Archibalds were winners. That was the unspoken rule. Fourth place didn’t exactly qualify.

Most people would’ve been thrilled with how far I’d gone. I knew that. But in his eyes, after barely missing out on the Olympic team when I was sixteen, it wasn’t enough.

But the truth was…the fact that I’d even competed at nationals last year at all had been kind of a miracle.

No one knew that, though. Not the judges. Not my teammates. Not even my parents.

Because two weeks before the championship, I’d ended up in the hospital.

Bruised ribs. From a bad dismount—at least that was what I’d told the doctor when they’d taken my x-ray.

Only…it wasn’t a hard landing on the bars that had nearly cracked my ribs. The damage had come from a fight.

With Josh.

Just thinking about it made me flinch inwardly, like my body was still bracing for impact. I hated that memory. Hated that I’d ever been in that kind of situation. That I’d stayed. That I’d let myself believe it would get better.

He was just stressed. Once his coach and professors stopped breathing down his neck about getting his grades up, he’d be better.

At least, that was what I’d stupidly told myself.

No one would’ve guessed—not me, not my friends—that I would be the girl with a boyfriend who pushed her around.

But when you love someone, and they swear they didn’t mean it…that they’re sorry…that it’ll never happen again…you want to believe them.

And I did.

A few too many times.

But I’d gotten out.

Eventually, I stopped listening to the apologies. The excuses. The promises.

I packed up what little self-worth I had and left the apartment that I’d delusionally believed could be a sanctuary for us. If we could just shut out the rest of the world, surely that would fix us.

My heart might have gotten bruised. My trust definitely had cracks. But I was healing. Slowly.

The emotional scars didn’t ache quite as often, and the physical ones—those deep-purple bruises I’d covered with makeup and long sleeves—had faded months ago.

My gaze drifted toward the student section, back to the row where I’d spotted Josh earlier. He was still there, leaning in close to the girl next to him, his arm slung casually behind her shoulders.

Was she his girlfriend? A date? Just someone he was trying to impress?

Should I warn her?

Tell her the truth about who he’d been with me?

Or maybe he’d changed. Maybe he’d grown. Maybe I’d been the one who triggered it, and she’d never have to learn what it felt like to flinch when someone raised their voice.

I didn’t know.

But I knew this much—it wasn’t my job to save him anymore.

Saving myself had been hard enough.