Page 24 of Endo

Reign’s hands pull away, but he doesn’t step back immediately. He watches me, and for a long moment, the air between us crackles with tension.

“I’m not pitying you, Lena,” he says quietly, his voice rough, layered with something I don’t understand. “I’m just trying to help. I’m not gonna watch you get yourself fucking killed because you’re too proud to listen.”

The weight of his words hits me, but I don’t know what to say. I know he’s right. I know this isn’t about pride anymore. It’s about being smart. About doing this the right way, and if I want to keep racing, I have to accept that. But accepting it—accepting him—is harder than I thought.

I let out a long breath, shoulders slumping, trying to release the tension in my chest. “Fine. Show me.”

Reign nods, his eyes softening for the first time since I arrived. “Good. Let’s see if you can manage a few laps of the parking lot.”

We go through the motions. He guides me, his voice steady and patient, correcting me when I’m wrong, pushing me when I need it. By the end of the session, I’ve completed a few laps,holding my line steady for the first time all day. My confidence isn’t back yet, but there’s a flicker of it—a small spark. I might not have all the answers, but I know I’m not lost anymore.

Reign watches me, his arms crossed, his eyes scanning me with an intensity that doesn’t let up. There’s something in the way he looks at me—something that feels like approval, but there’s a tension behind it, something unsaid.

“Not bad for a rookie,” he says, his tone lighter, but still serious.

I glance away, my lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “You’re not too bad yourself. For a teacher that is.”

There’s a pause before I ask the question that’s been nagging at me all afternoon. “So, how’s it going with you anyway? Are you still recovering? I mean, I know you can’t ride, but when do you think you’ll be back on a bike?”

Reign stiffens, his jaw tightening as his eyes harden. He’s quiet for a beat, and then he snaps, “Shit, maybe if you’d picked up the phone at any point in the last six months, or I don’t know, replied to any of our text messages, maybe you’d know how the fuck I’m doing.”

His words hit me like a slap, and I immediately regret pushing. Not that he isn’t right about everything. I know I shut them out, I needed to. But what I didn’t take into consideration is what they needed. What he, being my boyfriend’s best friend, needed. Before I can say anything, he exhales sharply, stepping back to run a hand through his hair. The tension in his body is palpable, his posture hunched with frustration, but he lets out a long breath, trying to calm himself.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he mutters, voice rougher than before. “I didn’t mean that.” He pauses again, like he’s debating something inside himself, and then his shoulders slump. “I’ve been cleared to ride,” he admits, his voice quieter now. “Physically, I’m fine. I can get back on, but my head...” He shakes his head, his eyesdistant. “My head won’t let me. Every time I think about it... I freeze up. It’s not the body holding me back. It’s all in here. The nightmares, the flashbacks of that day. It’s all too real.” He taps his temple, the pain in his eyes raw and unguarded.

The moment hangs heavy between us. I don’t know what to say. I want to tell him it’s okay, that it’s understandable, but the words feel useless. Reign isn’t looking for pity, not like I’d given him earlier. He’s just trying to make sense of a version of himself he’s not sure he knows anymore.

I slide off the bike, placing the helmet on the seat before I take a step closer, unsure of what to say, but he meets my gaze again, his features softer than before. “I’ll be alright. Eventually,” he adds, a faint trace of hope flickering in his eyes.

I nod, feeling a new weight in my chest, a deep understanding. It’s not about the bike. It’s about coming to terms with the things you can’t control. And for now, it feels like we’re both learning how to do that.

11

REIGN

Scars - Boy Epic

The room smells sterile,all rubber mats and antiseptic, but there’s something familiar about it now. Rehab has become a routine, something I can’t afford to avoid even though it’s the last thing I want to do.

“Good, Reign, keep it steady. I know it hurts, but we’re almost done,” Jen says, her voice patient but firm.

I keep my gaze on the wall ahead, the feeling of the leg brace digging into my knee, the resistance against my leg with every push. It burns, but I don’t let it show. Jen’s been good to me, always pushing when I need it, never letting me slack off. She knows how stubborn I can be. But I still hate this—hate that I’m here, hate that I’m still stuck.

I push through the last few reps, feeling the sharp ache in my muscles. When I’m done, I yank the brace off, shaking out my leg with a wince.

“You’re looking stronger,” Jen says with a nod. “How’s the rest of it?”

I grunt, glancing over at her. “Same shit. Can’t shake the nightmares.”

She raises an eyebrow, her expression sharp and unrelenting. “You’ve got to talk to someone about that. You’re not gonna get through this if you keep it locked up.”

Jen’s like that—blunt but not unkind, always pushing just enough to make me uncomfortable but not enough to make me snap. She’s got this tough, no-nonsense vibe about her, the kind of person who’s seen too much to be easily intimidated. Her short, dark hair is always neatly tied back, and her eyes—bright and piercing—have this way of seeing straight through the walls I try to put up.

Her office, tucked into the corner of the rehab facility, is a mix of professional and personal, with certificates on the wall alongside snapshots of her family. There’s a picture of her two kids, a boy and a girl, stuck to the edge of her computer monitor, their grins wide and goofy. It’s a reminder that she’s more than just my therapist—she’s someone who’s lived through her own shit and come out the other side.

I shift uncomfortably in my chair, the familiar ache in my legs flaring as I adjust my weight. “I’m fine,” I mutter, the words automatic. It’s the same thing I tell everyone. The same thing I tell myself every damn day. But it’s not true. Not really.

She leans back in her chair, studying me like she knows exactly what I’m doing. “You’ve been saying that for months, Reign. How’s that working out for you?”

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