Page 52 of Wish You Were Mine
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 herhere? 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.
