Endo (Full Send #2)

Chapter 14

14

LENA

Liability - SWIM

The track sprawls before me, a stretch of asphalt glinting under the midmorning sun. The air is heavy with the scent of oil and rubber, the low hum of distant engines faint on the breeze. I pull up, my bike rumbling to a halt near the pit area, where Reign waits, leaning against a stack of tires. His arms are crossed, his jaw locked tight, the storm in his eyes unmistakable.

I’m late, and he’s pissed. Not that I care.

His hoodie is slung low over his face, but it doesn’t hide the dark circles under his eyes. When I cut the engine, the sound dies away, leaving nothing but the crackling heat and the tension stretching between us. I swing off the bike, yanking my helmet off and shaking out my hair.

“You’re late,” he snaps, his voice sharp enough to cut through steel.

“No shit, Sherlock.” I roll my eyes, propping my helmet on the seat. “Didn’t realize you were so invested in my time management skills.”

He pushes off the tires, his movements deliberate, almost predatory, as he takes a step closer. “You think this is funny? I’ve got better things to do than wait around while you play games.”

The bite in his words sets my teeth on edge. “Oh, sorry,” I say, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Did I interrupt your busy schedule? Hungover again, or is this just your natural charm?”

His jaw clenches, and the air between us sharpens. I step closer, close enough to catch the faint whiff of whiskey still clinging to him.

“You’re one to talk,” he fires back, his tone low, dangerous. “Showing up late, half-assed, like this is some kind of joke. If you don’t want to take this seriously, don’t waste my time.”

“Oh, so this is you taking it seriously?” I throw back, my voice rising. “Stumbling in reeking of last night’s regrets and trying to lecture me about responsibility?”

He glowers at me, his knuckles flexing like he’s trying to keep himself from saying something he’ll regret.

“Start the fucking engine so we can get this shit over with,” he snaps, his tone low and razor-sharp.

I snatch my gloves off the handlebars, my irritation boiling over. “Fine,” I snap, shoving my gloves on with more force than necessary. “But don’t stand there acting like you’re doing me a favor. This was your damn idea, not mine. Maybe pull yourself out of the bottle long enough to look in the mirror before you start lecturing me.”

His eyes flash, and for a second, I think he’s going to say something, but he just stalks off toward the track layout, his back rigid.

The cones are perfectly arranged along the turns, the precision screaming his need for control. Good luck with that, buddy . I tug my gloves on and kick up the stand, my pulse racing not from nerves, but from the sheer frustration crackling between us.

“This is going to be one hell of a session,” I mumble, pulling my gloves tighter.

The bike vibrates beneath me as I roll onto the track, the hum of the engine settling into a steady rhythm. I grip the handlebars tighter than I should, my jaw clenched as I approach the first turn. The air feels thick, the weight of Reign’s eyes boring into me from the sidelines.

The first corner comes up faster than I expect, the curve sharp and unforgiving. I lean into it, but my angle is off. The tires skim too close to the outer edge, and for a heartbeat, my stomach lurches as the bike wobbles beneath me.

“Stay tight!” Reign’s voice cuts through the Bluetooth speakers in my helmet, sharp and commanding. His words pierce through my concentration, making my grip on the handlebars tighten.

I adjust, shifting my weight and pulling back into line, but frustration burns in my chest. I don’t need him coaching me right now—not when I’m already fighting to keep control.

“You’re too wide. Keep your body centered. Commit to the turn,” his voice comes again, steady but insistent, like he’s trying to will me into getting it right.

I grit my teeth and try to focus, but the bike feels alien beneath me, more like a wild animal I’m wrestling than a machine I’m supposed to control. The next turn comes up fast, and I hesitate—too slow, my balance falters, and I feel the bike tilt dangerously close to tipping.

“Breathe, Lena,” Reign says, his tone softening, almost soothing, but there’s still that edge of command. “Feel the bike. Don’t fight it—trust it.”

I let out a shaky breath, trying to absorb his words. Trust it. Easier said than done when the adrenaline is pounding in my ears and every instinct is screaming at me to be cautious. But I know he’s right. He always is when it comes to riding.

“Focus, Lena!” he barks.

“I am fucking focusing!” I snap, the words bursting out before I can stop them.

“Doesn’t fucking look like it,” he fires back, his tone sharp enough to slice through steel.

I push harder, forcing myself through the next curve, but my movements are stiff, mechanical. My heart isn’t in it. My mind isn’t in it. All I can think about is Cruz—how he used to glide through turns like they were an extension of himself, like the bike was part of his body. He made it look so effortless.

The memory burns, searing through my chest, and my focus slips completely. I mess up again, slowing too much, the bike wobbling beneath me like it’s on the verge of throwing me off. A sharp curse escapes my lips as I swerve into the pits, pulling off before I screw up even worse.

Reign’s frustration boils over. “Stop overthinking it! You’re hesitating on every turn. Either commit or don’t fucking bother.”

His voice cuts through me, jagged and raw, and something inside me snaps.

I yank off my helmet and glare at him, my chest heaving. “Would you back off for two seconds? Jesus, Reign! Not everyone can be perfect at this!”

His eyes darken, his jaw tightening. “This isn’t about being perfect. It’s about not getting yourself killed because you’re too distracted to pay attention.”

“Oh, screw you!” I shout, stepping closer, the bike forgotten behind me. “You act like I’m supposed to have this all figured out, like I’m just magically going to be great at it because of—because of him. But I’m not Cruz, okay? I’ll never be Cruz!”

His face twists, something raw flickering across his features. For a moment, I think he’s going to back down, but instead, his voice drops, low and dangerous.

“No, you’re not Cruz,” he says, the words like ice. “But you’re treating this like it doesn’t matter if you live or die, and I care too fucking much to stand here and watch you throw yourself away.”

The air between us feels heavy, thick with something unsaid, suffocating in a way I can’t escape. His words strike harder than I want to admit, cutting through the anger and reaching into something deeper—something that burns in a place I don’t like to acknowledge.

I open my mouth, but the words get caught, stuck somewhere between my heart and my throat. My hands shake as I grip my helmet tighter against my chest, fighting the surge of emotions that threaten to spill over. I know what he’s saying. I’ve always known, deep down.

Reign cares.

Not in the way the other Demons care about me. Not in the distant, protective way they look at me. No. Reign cares the same way Cruz did. With that quiet intensity, that pull, and that fire that never fully burns out. But he’s never said it. Never acted on it. And yet, right now, all I can think about is the weight of that unspoken truth.

It hurts more than I want to admit. More than I can bear in this moment. And I can’t look at him. Not now. Not with everything hanging between us, unsaid and unresolved.

“Forget it,” I mutter, turning toward my bike. “I’m done for the day.”

“Lena,” he calls, his voice softer now, but I don’t stop.

I climb onto the bike, shoving the helmet back on as my vision blurs. My hands shake as I grip the handlebars, my breath coming in short, shallow bursts.

The engine roars to life, drowning out whatever else he might have said. I don’t look back as I pull out of the lot, the tires kicking up gravel as I speed away.

But even as the wind rushes past me, cooling the heat in my cheeks, his words echo in my head.

You’re treating this like it doesn’t matter if you live or die.

And the worst part?

He’s not wrong.

The beach is quiet when I arrive, the sky painted in shades of orange and pink as the sun sinks lower into the horizon. The golden light shimmers off the water, turning the waves into a liquid dance, crashing softly against the shore. The air smells salty, mixed with the earthy scent of damp sand, and the breeze is warm, carrying the promise of the coming night.

The sand is cool beneath my feet, gritty and grounding, but my chest still feels heavy, like I’m carrying an anchor no one else can see. The sky above is fading into dusky hues, the world between day and night, and for a moment, it almost feels like time itself is holding its breath.

I don’t bother taking off my boots. Instead, I walk straight into the surf, the salty water soaking through the leather as it laps around my ankles. It’s cold—sharp enough to steal the breath from my lungs—and I welcome it. Anything to drown out the static in my head.

The ocean has always been my sanctuary, a place where the world feels smaller, quieter. Cruz used to say the same thing, always dragging me out here at the crack of dawn to catch the sunrise. We’d sit on the sand, his arm slung casually over my shoulder, and talk about the future like we had all the time in the world.

But I don’t have that anymore. I never will again. And somehow, that’s the hardest part of all. Not just losing him, but the silence that’s followed—the space that feels so vast, so empty, like there’s no room for anyone else.

I wade in deeper, the water climbing to my knees, then my thighs, until the chill is biting through my jeans. The waves ripple around me, the sound soothing and endless, and I close my eyes, letting the wind tangle in my hair.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, barely audible over the rush of water.

The words feel hollow. I’m not apologizing for not being strong enough. Not for the pain, or the grief, or the emptiness that’s never really gone away. No, it’s something else—something deeper, something I haven’t allowed myself to face.

I try again, louder this time, my throat tightening with each syllable. “I’m sorry, Cruz. For this. For feeling... this—for him.”

The words hang in the air, swallowed by the vastness of the sapphire blue ocean. I close my eyes, sucking in a breath, and I try to swallow the knot in my throat. But I can’t. Not when everything inside me is twisting. The guilt claws at my chest, suffocating, and I know why.

It’s because of Reign.

The moment he said it out loud—that he cared—something inside me shifted. Something I never thought mattered, so I buried it down. And now, no matter how hard I try to push it away, to ignore it, I can’t. It’s there. Growing.

And it feels so fucking wrong. Like a betrayal I can’t undo.

I don’t know when it started, but somewhere along the way, I stopped seeing him as just Cruz’s best friend. And maybe that’s why I avoided him for so long after I lost Cruz. Not just because being around the Demons reminded me too much of Cruz, but because I wasn’t ready to feel anything for anyone else. I wasn’t ready for this. For him . For the pull that’s been there from the start, unspoken and dangerous.

I don’t want to feel this way. I don’t want to want him, not like this. I can’t. But the truth is, I do. And it’s killing me inside. With Cruz, there was never any question. He and I were perfect together—nothing could have come between us. Not even Reign. I knew that deep down, he wouldn’t have stood a chance. But there’s always been something between me and Reign. A spark, maybe, or a tension that’s hard to ignore. And now, with everything we’ve been through, the weight of our shared trauma, it’s like it’s pulling us closer, igniting something I never asked for, but can’t seem to stop.

I press my palms to my face, choking back the sob that’s been clawing its way up since I stormed out of that parking lot. I’ve spent so much time pretending I’m okay, pretending I’ve got it together. But out here, there’s no one to fool. The ocean doesn’t care. It just listens. And right now, it’s the only thing I can hear.

I stand there for what feels like hours, the waves pulling and pushing at me, until my legs ache from the cold and the weight of everything I can’t say. The things I’m scared to feel.

By the time I trudge back to my bike, the stars are fading, and the sky is just beginning to lighten. I sit on the seat, my helmet clutched in my hands, staring at the horizon. A promise forms on my lips, one I’m not sure I can keep.

“I’m going to keep pushing, Cruz. I have to. I can’t let myself feel what I’m feeling for him. I won’t let myself.”

The words sound hollow, like I’m trying to convince myself as much as him. But it’s the only way I know how to fight this.

The ocean center is buzzing the next morning, the usual chaos of kids, volunteers, and staff weaving around tanks and exhibits. It’s comforting in a way—predictable, steady, and far removed from the mess in my head.

I’m scrubbing the glass of the turtle tank when I hear a familiar voice behind me.

“Didn’t know you were in the janitorial business now.”

I glance over my shoulder to see Revel leaning against the doorway, his lopsided grin firmly in place. He’s wearing board shorts and a hoodie that’s definitely seen better days, his dark hair curling slightly at the ends from the humidity.

“Someone’s gotta do it,” I shoot back, rolling my eyes as I rinse the sponge. “What do you want, Revel?”

“Just checking in,” he says, stepping closer. “You weren’t answering your phone last night.”

I shrug, not meeting his gaze. “Didn’t feel like talking.”

“Big surprise.” He smirks, but there’s something softer in his tone when he adds, “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say quickly, too quickly, and his brow lifts in that annoying way that tells me he doesn’t believe me.

“Right,” he says, dragging the word out. “Because running off to mope on the beach screams ‘fine.’”

I whip around to glare at him. “Were you spying on me?”

“Relax, Nancy Drew. I guessed.” He crosses his arms, his grin widening. “You’ve always been predictable.”

“Predictable?” I scoff, throwing the sponge into the bucket. “You’re one to talk. You’ve been wearing the same hoodie since 2019.”

“And it still looks good,” he says, brushing imaginary lint off his sleeve.

I snort, shaking my head, but his teasing is enough to chip away at the tension in my chest. That’s the thing about Revel—he’s an infuriating pain in the ass, but he knows exactly how to make me laugh when I need it most.

His expression turns more serious as he leans against the tank. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Reign lately.”

“So?”

“So, I don’t like the guy,” he says bluntly.

“You don’t even know him,” I argue, grabbing a towel to dry my hands.

“I know enough,” he says, his voice firm. “I don’t trust him. And honestly, I don’t think he’s good for you.”

“Noted,” I say, brushing past him. “Anything else, Dad?”

He follows me, his tone softening. “I just… I’m worried about you, Lena. That’s all.”

I spin around to face him, my arms crossed. “Reign is helping me, okay? He’s been through a lot of the same stuff, and he gets it. You don’t have to like him, but he’s not the bad guy you’re making him out to be.”

Revel’s jaw tightens, but he lets out a long sigh. “Fine. Do what you want. You always do.”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” I mutter, turning back to the tank.

He lingers for a moment before adding, “I’ll grab Chinese and meet you at your place after work. Sound good?”

“Sure.”

“Oh, by the way,” Revel says, his voice taking on that cocky, mischievous tone he does so well. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, his eyes lighting up as he checks the new text. “Cece’s been texting me.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help the grin tugging at the corner of my lips. “Oh, really? Tell me more, stud.”

He looks at me, that signature smirk spreading across his face. “Fuck, she’s hot as hell. And I love that fiery Latina attitude of hers. It’s like she wants to shut me down, but deep down, she’s got it bad. I mean, I can tell.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Uh-huh. She shuts you down every time, though. You’re like a puppy chasing after her.”

“Puppy, huh?” Revel raises an eyebrow, unfazed, as he types something back to her. “It’s called persistence, Lena. One of these days, she’s gonna cave. You’ll see.”

I shake my head again, laughing lightly. “Sure, sure. Keep dreaming. She thinks you’re a troll.”

“Troll?” he scoffs, putting his phone down and leaning against the wall with that overconfident swagger of his. “She just doesn’t know what she’s missing yet. Trust me, when I pull her in, it’ll be like nothing she’s ever experienced.”

I roll my eyes again but can’t help the fond smile that tugs at the edges of my lips. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Revel winks, clearly pleased with himself. “I know, right? I’m just waiting for her to realize it.”

I laugh, but something inside me twinges—a pang of something I can’t quite name. It’s ridiculous, really. I’m happy for him. I am. Seeing him like this, all cocky and proud, reminds me of how Cruz used to be, and for a moment, that all-too-familiar ache tightens in my chest.

I push the feeling away. Revel deserves to be happy. If he wants Cece, he’ll get her. And as much as I like the idea of him and Cece, I can’t deny a small part of me feels a little lighter seeing him smile this way.