Page 27 of Endo

She swings a leg off the bike, meeting me halfway, her posture defensive. “I didn’t, did I? I had it under control.”

“Barely,” I fire back, stopping just short of her. My voice is sharper than I mean it to be, but the sight of her almost losing it is burned into my brain. “This isn’t a game, Lena. You’re not invincible out there.”

Her chin lifts defiantly. “I know that, Reign. You don’t have to treat me like I’m made of glass.”

I step closer, still breathing hard from the rush of fear. “I’m treating you like someone who needs to take this seriously before you get yourself killed.”

She glares at me, but there’s a flicker of something in her eyes—anger, frustration, maybe even hurt. “You don’t think I’m taking this seriously? I’m out here, aren’t I? Trying, even though you act like I’m never going to be good enough.”

Her words hit hard, sharper than I expect, and for a moment, I’m at a loss.

“I’m trying to keep you from getting yourself killed,” I growl, stepping back, running a hand through my hair. “You don’t get to take stupid risks out here. Not with me watching.”

Her expression hardens, and she opens her mouth to retort, but something in her softens, just a little. Her eyes flicker with frustration, but there’s something else there, too. Something I can’t read.

She takes a deep breath, her shoulders sagging just a bit. “I get it,” she says quietly. “I’ll take it slower.”

We stand there for a moment, the air between us still thick, full of unspoken words. I’m not sure what else to say. I don’t know how to explain that it’s not just about her. It’s about me, too.

Later that night, I’m sitting in my apartment, staring at the glass in my hand. My mind is still racing—still running through everything I didn’t say, everything I couldn’t. I want to be the guy she needs, but I’m still haunted by my own demons.

The drink doesn’t help. Nothing fucking helps.

12

LENA

O.M.W - Mellina Tey

I standin front of the mirror, staring at the bruises on my arms, the fading purple marks from where my body slammed into the handlebars during training. They ache, but it’s nothing compared to the burning, gut-deep ache that’s still there. The one that lives inside me, waiting to flare up when I least expect it. I run my fingers over the marks, wincing as the touch sends a ripple of pain through my body.

It’s the price I pay for pushing myself.

I look at myself again in the mirror. I can’t shake the feeling that Cruz would be proud of me, too. He was always pushing me to do better, to be better at whatever made me happy. And even though he’s gone, it feels like I’m carrying a piece of him with me when I get on his bike.

But it doesn’t stop the anger that’s starting to bubble up inside me.

Reign.

God, I still don’t know how to feel about him after our last session. The way he snapped at me, the way he’s so focused,so intense. I get it, I do. He’s used to the pressure, and he’s just trying to keep me safe. But I hate the way he looks at me sometimes. Like I’m a damn accident waiting to happen.

Proud. That’s what I should be. I’ve come further than I ever thought I could. Even I can’t deny that I’m a better rider than I was last week, last month, and it’s all thanks to him. Even though every time Reign pulls me back or corrects me, a piece of me wants to lash out, I don’t. I’m not naive. I know that had he not taken me under his wing, I’d likely be dead by now.

But being around him isn’t getting any easier, if anything it’s getting harder. I just do my best to ignore it. To make it work, because part of me knows I need this.

I need him.

I pull my hair into a messy ponytail, trying to clear my head. It’s time to go. Cece and Bexley are waiting for me, and despite everything going on, I’m looking forward to spending some time with them.

A break from the weight of it all.

The Sea SideCafé buzzes with a laid-back charm as I step inside, the familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee mixing with the faint saltiness of the ocean drifting in from the open patio. The air is filled with the soft murmur of conversation, the occasional clink of cups, and the hiss of the espresso machine. Warm sunlight spills through the large windows, glinting off the mismatched wooden tables and chairs that give the place its cozy, beach-town vibe.

I spot Cece and Bexley immediately. They’re at our usual corner table near the window, framed by hanging plants and fairy lights that give the café a touch of whimsy. Bexley is leaningback in her chair, her phone in hand, thumbs flying across the screen. Her dark hair is swept into a messy top-knot bun, strands escaping to frame her face. She’s wearing a cute white crop top, her bikini straps peeking out underneath, and a pair of frayed jean shorts that show off her golden tan.

Cece sits opposite her, sipping iced tea through a straw, her lavender hair sleek and pin-straight, shimmering in the sunlight like spun silk. She’s dressed in a thin white tank top that does nothing to hide the outline of her piercings, paired with black leggings and her signature flip-flops. Casual and unapologetically Cece.

I glance down at myself as I approach, suddenly grateful for how easygoing they are. My oversized ocean center T-shirt hangs loose over a pair of cut-off jean shorts, and my trusty black Vans completing the “I had no time to dress like a normal human” look. At least the shirt smells like the laundry detergent we use at work, clean and familiar.

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