Page 28 of Wish You Were Mine (Kings of Eden Falls #3)

LUCY

I pulled my backpack over my coat, my body heavy with that bone-deep kind of exhaustion that makes you question every life choice you’ve ever made—including taking a marketing class with a professor who clearly hated joy.

Yeah, the honeymoon phase of the semester was officially over. Two weeks in and things were getting serious.

I’d been holed up in the same corner of the library for hours, and even though it was only Tuesday, it already felt like I was dragging myself through the last leg of finals week.

But after traveling all day Saturday and Sunday for our Michigan meet, it wasn’t like I’d had a real weekend.

I’d stayed way later than planned tonight, determined to finish my marketing project before the deadline. I’d meant to do it over the weekend, but between the meet, the flight, and the general chaos of competing, it hadn’t exactly happened.

At least it was done now, submitted with a few hours to spare. Now all I wanted was to get home, face-plant into my pillow, and sleep.

Silly me for believing that taking twelve credits this semester would mean less homework. Apparently, Professor Walker was serious about her belief that we should have three hours of homework for every single hour we spent in her class.

Yeah. She wasn’t exactly winning the title of favorite professor right now.

And it wasn’t just because someone else had already accidentally claimed that spot. A certain professor with a ridiculously nice smile and a habit of making chemistry feel way more appealing than it had any right to be.

Speaking of Professor Heartthrob…had he texted me?

I reached for my phone in my back pocket before remembering I’d shoved it deep into the bottom of my backpack hours ago to keep myself from checking it.

Because, yeah, texting my very off-limits professor was definitely more fun than finishing a project that felt like pulling teeth.

I made my way down the steps to the main level of the library. When I stepped outside, the night air hit me—crisp, still, and a little eerie in the way late nights tend to be. The kind of quiet where every sound feels louder, and every shadow makes you wonder who or what might be watching.

It was fine, though. I lived just a few blocks off campus. I’d walked this route a hundred times. I didn’t need to ask Nora to come meet me.

But as I crossed the library parking lot, I started to feel it. That instinct that makes you wish you weren’t walking alone.

I wrapped my arms tighter around myself and picked up the pace a little.

I’ll be home in ten minutes or less. No need to worry.

Bright lights switched on and the roar of a car engine sounded from a few yards in front of me.

It’s just someone leaving the school.

But when I started walking past it, instead of pulling out onto the road quickly and going its merry way, the car crept forward slowly.

My heart thudded once as I glanced over my shoulder and my brain immediately started spinning worst-case scenarios.

Had the person in the car been waiting for me?

Was someone going to jump out and grab me?

But then, the driver suddenly floored it, making the tires squeal on the road as it sped forward and disappeared.

I let out a quiet breath.

Only a few blocks left. I could do this.

I was just trying to talk myself out of being paranoid when I spotted a figure coming from the PE building—tall, dressed in dark clothes, and heading the same direction I was.

Okay. It was probably someone who worked in the equipment cage. Or a student finishing a late-night pickup game.

Totally normal.

Still, my gut tensed.

He was big. Well over six feet—probably close to the same size as Josh.

Too big for me to take on.

I kept walking. Tried to look casual. Normal. Not like someone silently rehearsing every self-defense tip she’d ever heard on TikTok.

But when I heard footsteps closer than they’d been before and just a little too in sync with my own, I couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Was he closer?

I didn’t want to turn around again. Didn’t want to draw attention to myself, or my fear, if this was nothing. But…what if it wasn’t?

I glanced back.

He was behind me.

And yeah. Definitely closer than before .

He could just be headed the same way , I told myself. If he was an athlete, he probably lived in the same dorms. He could?—

He picked up his pace.

Nope. No. My stomach dropped.

I sped up, practically speed-walking now, my heart thudding louder with every step. Everything felt tight—my chest, my throat, my limbs still sore from training.

Come on, Lucy. Don’t freak out yet. Just find somewhere, anywhere you can duck into.

Except everything nearby was dark. Closed. Was there an emergency button somewhere?

I scanned the street like my life depended on it. And then I saw it.

Owen’s apartment.

Or at least the one I’d seen him leave last week.

I was pretty sure he’d come down from the second-floor unit, the one with the faint porch light still on.

Maybe I could hide out there for a bit? Just until this guy passed by?

If I crossed the street now, and the guy behind me didn’t follow, then I could just continue home. No need for a detour. But if he did stop…

Well, hopefully Owen was home and would be okay with a visitor.

I sprinted across the street. Cut straight for the steps. Risked one more glance over my shoulder.

And there he was.

Jogging across the street.

Straight toward me.

No.

Nope. Not waiting to see if this was some harmless misunderstanding .

I ran.

Boots slamming against the concrete as I bolted toward the stairwell, heart pounding. I took the stairs two at a time, adrenaline giving me wings—until my foot slipped on a patch of ice.

My leg shot out. I slammed my shin against the metal stair with a sharp cry, “Oww—” Pain was instantly shooting down the front of my leg.

But I couldn’t stop.

I scrambled up the rest of the stairs, one hand gripping the rail as I reached the landing, praying I’d picked the right door, praying Owen was home.

I knocked frantically.

Come on, Owen. Please be around. Please don’t be in the shower or something.

My heart thumped in my ears, and I risked a glance over my shoulder.

Hey, wait— Was he gone?

The street looked empty now, nothing but the dim orange glow of the lamplight.

But then, movement.

A shadow shifting behind the tree near the curb.

My stomach twisted and I knocked again, even harder.

Please, Owen. Please be home.

The door opened.

Owen stood there in sweatpants and a hoodie, his hair tousled like he’d just pulled himself off the couch. His expression went from startled to alarmed in half a second when he saw me.

“Lucy?” he asked, stepping forward. “What—what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Can I come in?” My voice came out rushed, breathless. “Someone was following me.”

“What?” His whole body went stiff. He glanced past me toward the street, scanning the sidewalk, his expression fierce. But from here, the shadows gave nothing away.

“Of course. Come in.” He stepped aside immediately, hand on the door to hold it open. I slipped past him, my body still shaking as I crossed the threshold.

“Can you lock it?” I blurted. And he did, twisting the deadbolt and then checking it again.

Only once it clicked into place did I finally let out the breath I’d been holding.

And then—without saying a word—he pulled me into his arms.

I hadn’t even realized I needed his embrace until I was folded against the steady warmth of Owen’s chest, his arms wrapping around me like a shield.

“It’s okay, Lucy,” he murmured, low and reassuring, his hand gliding gently over my hair. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

The words sank into me, dissolving some of the cold terror still locked in my bones. I didn’t even care that my cheeks were probably freezing against his chest. I just stood there, letting him hold me, letting the panic slowly ebb away.

After a minute—or maybe longer, I wasn’t sure—he pulled back just slightly, his hands coming to either side of my face, his brow furrowed as he scanned me like he was looking for bruises.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, voice gentle but urgent. “Did anything happen?”

That was when I felt the dull ache throbbing in my leg again.

“Just my shin,” I said, finally catching my breath. “I slipped on the stairs on the way up. Banged it pretty hard.”

“Let me see,” he said immediately. “We’ll check it out. Get you some ice. ”

I nodded, and he was already on the move, heading toward the little industrial-style kitchen behind us.

I slipped off my coat and backpack and followed him, my legs still a little wobbly. He pulled open the freezer and grabbed a Ziploc bag, then filled it with ice and wrapped it in a kitchen towel.

“Hop up here,” he said, nodding toward the counter.

I did as I was told, pulling myself up and settling on the edge while he walked over with the makeshift ice pack.

“Which leg?” he asked, his gaze meeting mine.

“This one.” I reached down and touched my right shin.

“Let’s take a look-see,” he said, his voice softening just enough to make me smile, even as I winced.

I glanced down, trying to angle my leg and pull up the cuff of my jeans without making it worse.

“Here, I’ll take that.” He held out his hand for the ice pack, which I gratefully handed over before tugging up the denim to reveal a growing bump and a darkening bruise.

“Oof,” he said quietly, kneeling slightly to get a better look. “That’s gonna be nasty. Is it pretty tender?” He reached forward and touched it, just barely, his fingers brushing the bruised skin with featherlight care.

“Yeah.” I sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. “Pretty tender.”

“Sorry.” He immediately drew his hand back, eyes flashing with concern. “I probably shouldn’t have touched it.”

“It’s okay,” I said quickly, since I’d been wishing for weeks that he’d touch me.

He handed me the wrapped ice again. “Better leave this on for twenty minutes.”

“Oh, I know the drill.” I let out a laugh.

“Right. Gymnast.” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re probably a pro at this kind of thing. ”

“Basically,” I said, holding the pack in place.

Then I realized how close we were—only a foot apart. If that.

And suddenly, the kitchen felt smaller. Warmer. Charged in a way that made my pulse thrum in my ears.

Owen’s gaze found mine, locked on for a beat. And then—just barely—his eyes flicked down to my mouth.

My breath caught.

Because I looked, too. Stupid, impulsive, reckless—I didn’t care. My eyes dropped to his lips before I could stop myself, remembering exactly how they’d felt on mine.

That first press of his mouth in the hot tub. The slow exploration that had followed. The way his hands had curled around my waist like he didn’t want to let go.

My stomach flipped. Heat pooled low in my body.

This close, I could smell him—warm and woodsy and familiar in a way that made something ache in my chest.

The ache that reminded me how much I wanted him. That I hadn’t stopped thinking about that night, and judging by the way his jaw tightened, the way his chest rose just a little deeper than normal…he hadn’t either.

The air between us stretched thin, electric.

I should look away. Say something to break the spell.

But I didn’t.

I stayed right there, watching him. Letting the moment linger longer than it should.

His hand twitched at his side like he almost reached for me. And for a second, I actually thought he would. That maybe he’d pull me in again. Maybe this time, he wouldn’t stop himself.

I held my breath.

But then he blinked, hard—like he was dragging himself out of a trance. He cleared his throat, took a quick step back, and shoved a hand through his hair.

“I, uh…I’ll grab you some water,” he said, his voice rougher now. “Maybe some pain medicine?”

“Just water’s great,” I said, still trying to gain control of my breathing.

He turned toward the cupboard, but I could still feel the heat of him. The pull of what almost happened…and what couldn’t.

Not really.