Chapter 10
10
LENA
Unsteady - X Ambassadors
I pull into the parking lot at Breakwater Point, the sound of gravel crunching beneath my tires as I come to a stop. The ocean stretches out in front of me, dark and vast under the dusky sky, the salt in the air thick as the setting sun glints off the surface of the water. The parking lot is mostly empty, save for a few stray cars, but the sound of waves crashing against the rocks nearby is a reminder of just how far out this place is. It’s quiet, serene even, but the tension in my chest is anything but peaceful.
I kill the engine, letting the bike idle for a moment, the exhaust rumbling softly as the silence sinks in. The chill blowing inland off the ocean bites at my skin, but it’s the feeling in the pit of my stomach that stings the most. Nerves coil tight inside me, and for a moment, all I can hear is the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears. I keep telling myself that I’m fine, that I can handle this, but the truth is, I’m not.
I’m scared, but not of the bike. I’m scared of being here, alone with Reign.
We used to hang out all the time—Reign, Cruz, and me. But that was before. That was before everything changed. The crash, Cruz... it all feels too fresh, like the wound hasn’t even begun to heal despite the six months that have passed, and here I am, about to face the one person I’ve avoided the most.
Not because of anything he did, but because of everything that happened that day. Everything we all lost.
But I know I need this. I know the guys are right. If I’m going to keep racing, I need training, and if anyone’s going to do it, it’s Reign. He’s patient. He’s the one I trust most out of all of them. Even if his presence feels a little too heavy right now.
I take a deep breath and step off my bike, trying to mask the flutter in my chest with a roll of my eyes and a forced smirk. I adjust my helmet, fingers a little too shaky for my liking.
“Did you set up shop out here just for me, or are you waiting for someone else?” I ask, my voice coming out a little more breathless than I intended.
Reign is standing by his Mustang, leaning casually against it as he watches me. He’s got that same easy posture, but there’s something different about him now. He’s taller than I remember, or maybe it’s just the way he’s standing. His shoulders are broad, his dark shirt clinging to his chest. But it’s his eyes that are the hardest to ignore—dark, focused, and they never leave me. There’s no teasing in them this time. No jokes. Just something sharp, something that feels like a warning and an invitation all at once.
“Does it matter? You’re here now,” he says, his voice deeper than usual, steady, with none of the usual levity. “Let’s get to work.”
I fight the instinct to tell him I’m fine, that I don’t need this. I force my hands to steady as I grip my bike, trying to look confident. I know I’m not. I know I’m shaky as hell. Reign crosses his arms, his gaze never leaving me. There’s no room for excuses here. No room for pride.
“Let’s start with the basics,” he says, his voice firm. “Your posture’s off. You’re slouching. Lean forward more, keep your back straight.”
I want to argue, want to tell him I know what I’m doing, but the words don’t come. Instead, I adjust my posture, forcing my back straight even though it feels unnatural. His eyes still don’t leave me, studying every small movement I make. The intensity of his gaze is like a weight pressing down on me, and I can feel the heat creeping up my neck. There’s no playfulness in his expression. Just pure focus. It almost feels like he’s looking through me.
“Better,” he says, his tone still hard but with a slight shift, like he’s giving me credit for trying. “Now, get a feel for the throttle. No jerking. Be smooth.”
I grip the throttle and twist, but the bike jerks beneath me, sending a jolt up my spine. My stomach lurches with nerves, and I can feel my face flush with frustration. I’m not used to this. Not used to someone telling me what to do, not used to feeling like I’m not in control. Reign doesn’t say anything right away, but I know he’s watching me closely.
“Smooth, Lena,” he says again, but this time there’s a hardness to his voice. “Relax. You’re fighting the bike.”
I can feel my pulse quicken, my hands tightening around the handlebars. I try again, but the bike feels like a beast I can’t tame. Every rev of the engine makes my nerves spike higher, the fluttering in my chest growing. It’s not about the speed. It’s about the control, and I can’t seem to get it right.
“Relax,” Reign repeats, moving closer. His boots scrape against the gravel as he steps behind me. I can feel the air shift, the heat of his body too close, and before I know it, his hands are on my shoulders, adjusting my posture. His touch is firm, but there’s something almost intimate about it, like he’s doing this because he needs to, but his touch lingers longer than necessary.
“You need to trust me, Lena,” he says, his voice rough. “This isn’t just about riding. It’s about you trusting yourself enough to listen. To not fight everything.”
I don’t know why, but something about his words hits me hard. His breath is warm against the back of my neck, and I can feel his presence wrapping around me, almost like I can’t escape it. I hate that I need his help. I hate that I’m not as in control as I’d like to be.
“I don’t need your pity,” I snap, my voice cracking, even though it’s not what I mean. It’s the last thing I want to say. I feel small, stupid, and I can’t stand it.
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 eyes distant. “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.