Page 71 of Wish You Were Mine (Kings of Eden Falls #3)

LUCY

The energy inside the Dickies Arena in Fort Worth, Texas, was everything you'd expect from the NCAA Gymnastics Championships—loud, pulsing, alive.

We were in the final rotation of the semifinals—the meet that would determine who took home the all-around title and which four teams would advance to the finals on Saturday.

And I had one event left.

Floor.

The crowd was still recovering from the routine just before mine. Oklahoma’s star gymnast—last year’s all-around champion—had just nailed her landing with the kind of grace that made your stomach twist. Her final all-around score?

39.675.

Which meant that if I wanted the all-around title…I would need a perfect 10 on floor.

A near-impossible feat.

Especially because it would be my third perfect 10 of the night .

Bars. Beam. And now floor?

It was insane. Unreal. Practically unheard of.

But if any event gave me a shot, it was this one. Floor had become my strongest event this season. I’d poured everything into it: refining every leap, every line, every tumbling pass. I knew this choreography like I knew my heartbeat. Every beat, every transition, was muscle memory now.

If I could channel the same fire I’d brought to the gym this week…I might actually have a chance.

I might actually do what I couldn’t do last year.

A twinge of nerves flared in my stomach.

Please. Let me hit this routine.

“You’ve got this, Lucy,” Coach Chambers’ voice cut through the noise as she stepped up beside me, setting her arm on my shoulder. “You’ve done this routine a hundred times. Just hit your landings. Sell your performance. And no matter what the scoreboard says...I’m proud of you. We all are.”

I nodded, emotion rising like a tide I wasn’t ready for. “Thanks, Coach.”

Because I was proud, too.

Proud of how far I’d come.

How far we all had.

This whole year had been a climb. A fight. A string of near-misses, long practices, taped ankles, and early-morning lifts. We’d battled for our spot here at Nationals. And we’d made it.

Now I was about to close it out.

I walked to the edge of the spring floor, then paused, letting myself take one last look into the stands.

My heart surged when I spotted Owen sitting with my family.

He was smiling, waving, and when he mouthed, “ I love you ,” my chest swelled so full I could hardly breathe .

We’d fought for this moment, too. For each other.

And somehow, after everything, my dad hadn’t just invited Owen to be with my family today. He’d accepted him.

Even telling me earlier this morning that he was looking forward to golfing with Owen and Theo at the Hastingses’ private course in Eden Falls next week.

Which was something I never would’ve believed a month ago.

I turned to the judges, and when they gave the signal that they were ready, I walked to the center of the floor and drew in a long, centering breath.

It’s go time.

The music kicked on—“Fireball” by Pitbull—and I struck my opening pose.

The crowd roared as the beat pulsed through the arena. I let the rhythm settle into my body, my feet already moving as I launched into my dance elements—confident, flirty, controlled.

The choreography pulled me across the floor like a current, and I played it up. Flashing smiles, hitting clean lines, throwing in that little shoulder shimmy that always got a reaction.

Then I hit the first corner.

Deep breath. Run.

Front double. Punch front.

Stick it.

The floor caught me clean and solid. I hit the landing and threw my arms up.

The crowd exploded, and I powered into the next section of choreography, feeding off the energy. My body and the music were in sync. Every movement felt precise. Intentional. Alive.

But as I danced across the floor toward the final corner, my focus narrowed. One pass left .

Roundoff. Back handspring. Double full.

The pass that had haunted me earlier this season.

The one I couldn’t stick in January to save my life.

But not today.

I sprinted forward.

Pushed hard off the floor.

Launched into the twist.

And I stuck it.

No wobble. No hop. No hesitation.

Just perfect.

The arena erupted. It was a roar so loud it buzzed through my limbs. And while I could hardly hear the music as I finished the final few counts of choreography, my body knew what to do.

Tears blurred my vision before I even hit the final pose.

Because I knew I’d done it.

Not only had our team secured a spot in the finals, but I was pretty sure I’d just clinched the all-around national title.

I’d come back from an injury. From heartbreak.

From self-doubt and mental blocks and almost walking away so many times.

And I hadn’t just pushed through. I’d triumphed.

I struck my final pose as the music faded, holding it a breath longer than necessary before lifting my chin and looking up into the crowd again.

To my family.

To Owen.

I’d done it.

And everyone I loved was here to see it.

I barely made it off the floor before my teammates swarmed me with cheers and hugs, crying right along with me. But even with all the noise and adrenaline rushing through my body, there was only one thing on my mind.

The score.

Had I actually done it? Because nothing was sure until the score was announced.

My teammates, coaches, and I all linked arms at the edge of the floor, staring up at the giant scoreboard to see if my routine had been enough to take the title and secure us a spot in the finals.

The arena fell strangely quiet, as if the entire place was holding its breath with us.

Then the scoreboard lit up.

10.000

The arena erupted.

Screams. Cheers. Arms thrown around my shoulders. My feet left the ground as my teammates lifted me, and the announcer’s voice boomed over it all:

“With a perfect ten on floor, Lucy Archibald is your NCAA All-Around Champion!”

I laughed and sobbed at the same time, adrenaline crackling in every cell.

Coach Chambers and Nora were hugging me.

The rest of my teammates were jumping. And when I turned toward the stands to search for my loved ones, Owen was already on his feet, one hand in his hair like he couldn’t believe what he’d just seen, the other pressed to his heart as he grinned down at me.

I had to stay in the corral for photos and quick interviews, my medal hanging solid and bright around my neck. My cheeks ached from smiling, my voice felt raw from cheering. And inside, my heart was pounding like it was still mid-routine.

When the last flashbulb popped and the final handshake was done, I glanced toward the stands and saw my family making their way down the steps.

My mom reached me first, her arms coming around me, with a sob that shook us both as she whispered, “I knew you could do it.”

My dad was right there, too, folding us into his arms. “We’ve been waiting for this moment your whole life, Lu. You earned every bit of it, and we couldn’t be more proud.”

I stayed there, eyes squeezed shut, soaking in their warmth and the pride in their voices. Because after years of early mornings, long drives, and so many sacrifices, we were finally here.

And I couldn’t have done it without their support.

“Congrats, sis,” Theo said next, giving me a tight side hug with Charlotte on his hip. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks,” I said, appreciating that my big brother had been able to make time to come to so many of my meets throughout the year, even though he was so busy with his demanding career and raising Charlotte on his own.

When Charlotte reached over to give me a hug, I spotted Owen standing just behind Theo, still holding back until my family had had their moment. His smile was all pride and awe, and when I finally stepped up to him, his arms were already open.

And the second his arms wrapped around me, I was airborne, his laugh rumbling against my ear as my feet left the ground.

“You did it, Lucy” he whispered. “You were unreal out there.”

“I can’t believe I stuck the double full,” I said, grinning through the tears on my cheeks.

“You did more than stick it.” His hands framed my face, thumbs brushing the edges of my smile. “You made the whole world stop. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful.”

And then I kissed him—right there at the barricade, in front of my family, fans, cameras and whoever else might have been watching.

Because I wanted to.

And I could.