Page 16 of Endo

At least, until recently.

The buzzing continues, louder now, breaking the quiet of the bathroom. I swallow hard, pushing away the thought of Cruz—of everything that’s still so goddamn raw—and reach for the phone, the cold edge of the screen a contrast to the heat of the shower.

“Hey,” I answer, my voice low, like it’s a breath I’ve been holding for too long. I try to mask the tension, the way my heart is still heavy from the memories, but it’s there. It’s always there.

“Lena,” Revel’s voice is sharp, laced with worry. “You alive?”

I roll my eyes. “Clearly, since I answered.”

“Funny,” he shoots back. “You’ve been MIA since the strip. I’ve texted you, like, twenty fucking times.”

I grimace, rinsing the siphon under the tap. He’s not wrong. I’ve been dodging all his messages, the calls. “I’ve been busy.”

“Bullshit. You’ve been hiding,” he says bluntly. “Have you even eaten today?”

“I’m fine, Revel,” I snap, though the hollowness in my stomach says otherwise. “I don’t need a goddamn babysitter.”

“You’re right. You don’t need a babysitter,” he says, his tone softening. “You need a friend. Someone to make sure you’re not wasting away in that tiny apartment of yours, talking to your fish and calling it socialization.”

I wince, glancing at Blue. “I don’t just talk to the fish,” I mutter, but it sounds weak even to me.

“Lena.” His voice drops, all the teasing gone. “Come meet me. There’s a diner near your place. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

I hesitate, biting my lip. The thought of seeing someone, anyone, feels exhausting. But at the same time, there’s something in Revel’s voice that makes it impossible to brush him off.

“Fine,” I say reluctantly. “But you’re buying.”

“Deal. See you in twenty.”

The line goes dead, and I sigh, staring at my reflection in the tank. My hair’s a mess, and there are dark circles under my eyes. Grief’s a hell of a look.

The diner isa cozy little hole-in-the-wall, the kind where the booths are worn and the waitresses call you “hon” like they’ve known you forever. I slide into a seat across from Revel, pulling my hoodie tighter around me, almost like it’s armor.

Revel looks exactly like I expect him to: tall, broad-shouldered, his buzz cut barely visible beneath the faint stubble lining his jaw. His blacked-out arm tattoo peeks out from the sleeve of his shirt, and his piercing blue eyes are locked on mine with an intensity I can never shake. I’ve always admired the wayhe wears his ink, like each tattoo has a story he’s not ready to tell. The man’s a wall of muscle and silent fury, and right now, that wall feels like it’s closing in on me.

“You look like shit,” he says, not unkindly, as he sips his coffee, his voice a little too loud in the quiet diner.

“Thanks, dude. Really needed to hear that,” I mutter, grabbing a menu and hiding behind it.

“I mean it,” he presses. “When’s the last time you slept? Ate? Did something that wasn’t, I don’t know, staring at fish tanks?”

I glare at him over the menu. “I made it this far without a mom you know, I don’t need one now.”

“Well shit, you needsomething,” he says, leaning forward, his muscular arms tensing slightly. “Lena, this isn’t sustainable. Cruz wouldn’t want you to?—”

“Don’t,” I cut him off sharply, my appetite vanishing at the mention of Cruz’s name. “Don’t bring him into this.”

Revel sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not trying to upset you. I’m just saying... you’re not the only one who lost him. You don’t have to go through all this shit alone. I might not see eye to eye with those guys, but fuck Lena, everything you’re feeling, they’re feeling too. It wouldn’t kill you to let them in, even a little just to lessen the goddamn burden you’re forcing on yourself.”

“I’m fine,” I say, though the words taste like sandpaper in my mouth.

“You’re not,” he replies simply. “When was the last time you talked to Bexley or Cece even? Hell, even just hung out with someone who isn’t me?”

I glance away, guilt twisting in my gut. It’s been weeks since I’ve seen them. Months, maybe. “I don’t know.”

“Call them,” he urges. “Or text them. Whatever. Get together for a girls’ night. I know they miss you as much as you miss them, even if your stubborn ass doesn’t want to admit it.”

I don’t respond right away. The truth is, I do miss them—miss their laughter, the way they could make everything feel like it was still okay, even if just for a little while. But the thought of having fun without Cruz? It feels wrong. Like a betrayal.

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