Page 72 of Endo

“Yeah, I figured that much,” I reply, raising an eyebrow. “But what does it mean?”

His smirk deepens, and he leans back slightly, his gaze flicking between me and the ocean. “My turtle.”

I blink at him, processing. “My turtle?”

“Yeah.” He chuckles, tilting his head as he watches my reaction. “You love turtles. I’ve seen the way you talk about them, the way your face lights up when you tell stories like the one you just did. So, it fits.”

I narrow my eyes, still skeptical. “That’s it? Because I like turtles?”

His expression softens, and he shakes his head. “Not just that. You’re like them, Lena. You’re tough when you need to be, but you hide yourself away when the world feels too big. You retreat, build these walls, like a turtle in its shell. But when you come out... when you let yourself just be... you’re something else entirely.”

The words hit harder than I expect, and I don’t know how to respond. My gaze drifts to the ocean, the waves rolling in with steady determination, and I let out a small laugh, trying to deflect the sudden weight of his insight. “Great. I’m a turtle. That’s what you’re going with?”

He grins, nudging my knee with his. “Not just any turtle. You’remyturtle.”

I roll my eyes, but there’s no real bite to it. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And yet, you’re still here,” he shoots back, his tone teasing but warm.

“Maybe I’m the one who’s impossible,” I mutter, brushing a strand of hair out of my face.

His gaze lingers on me for a moment longer, and the silence stretches between us. It’s not uncomfortable, though. It’s... grounding. Like the steady rhythm of the waves crashing in front of us.

“You really pay attention, don’t you?” I say softly, breaking the quiet.

He shrugs, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. “Only when it matters.”

The simplicity of his words makes my chest tighten, and I have to look away before I say something I’m not ready to admit. The sun dips lower, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, and I let myself focus on that instead.

“I thought bringing you here would feel wrong,” I admit quietly. “Like I was betraying him somehow. But it doesn’t. It feels... right. Like maybe this place doesn’t have to just be about him anymore.”

Reign’s warmth presses against my back as he slides his arms around me. The comfort of his touch steadies me, and when his arms tighten slightly, it feels like a silent promise.

“It doesn’t,” he says firmly, his voice steady and sure. “It can be yours, Lena. It can be whatever you need it to be.”

His words settle deep, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I can breathe. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s okay to let this place, and everything else, evolve.

And maybe, just maybe, I don’t have to figure it out alone.

26

REIGN

Dirty Laundry - All Time Low

I don’t knowwhy I said yes. Maybe it’s the way Lena looked at me when she asked, or maybe it’s because I can’t seem to say no to her lately. Either way, I’m here, standing under the overhang at the entrance to the rehabilitation center, watching the rain come down in steady sheets.

The wind’s cool, carrying the salty tang of the ocean with it. Gulls cry overhead, their voices sharp against the rhythm of raindrops hitting pavement. I glance at my watch, wondering if she’s running late. Typical Lena—she’s got a million things going on, and punctuality isn’t exactly her strong suit.

Her car pulls into the lot, tires splashing through shallow puddles, and I push off the wall, stepping closer to the edge of the overhang. She throws it into park and bolts out, making a mad dash toward me. She’s wearing just a tank top and a pair of leggings, her braid bouncing against her back as she sprints through the rain. By the time she reaches me, she’s soaked, shivering as water drips from her hair onto her shoulders.

“Lena,” I mutter, shaking my head as I shrug off my hoodie. “You’re freezing.”

“I forgot my jacket,” she says, her teeth chattering as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“Clearly.” I hold the hoodie out to her. “Here.”

She hesitates for half a second before grabbing it. “Thanks,” she mutters, her voice softer than usual. She pulls it over her head, the fabric swallowing her frame, and something about the sight makes my chest tighten.

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