Chapter 15
15
REIGN
Breathe - L? Spirit
I wake up to the screech of the alarm clock, its incessant beeping ripping through the haze of sleep. I slam my hand down on it, silencing the sound, and for a second, I stay there, eyes closed, feeling the weight of everything pressing in on me.
The room is still dark, only the faintest glow from the morning creeping in through the blinds. My body aches—every muscle, every joint, every fucking tendon protesting against the demands I’ve been placing on it. It’s been months since the surgery, but it still feels too fresh. The bones are healing, but it doesn’t feel like it’s been long enough.
Not yet.
The last couple of days have felt like a blur of frustration, anger, and guilt. I’ve been throwing myself into rehab with the same reckless abandon I threw myself into everything else. I can’t let up. I won’t. The thought of staying broken, of staying down, gnaws at me. Every time I look in the mirror, all I see is weakness. And I’ll be damned if I let this injury be the thing that stops me.
I push myself out of bed, my feet slamming against the cold floor with a sharp jolt that sets my leg on fire. The pain shoots up, sending a tremor through my body. I swallow the groan that rises in my throat, gritting my teeth, forcing myself to stand. The familiar ache gnaws at my muscles, but I won’t let it win.
I don’t have time for this. I don’t have time for weakness.
I shuffle to the bathroom, the cool tiles under my feet making the pain in my leg even sharper. The mirror greets me with an image of a guy who looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks. Dark circles under my eyes, stubble creeping along my jawline, and a face that doesn’t look like it belongs to someone who’s supposed to be recovering.
I turn on the shower, the steam quickly filling the small room, the water blasting me with heat. I step under it, letting the hot stream pound against my skin, trying to push away the lingering frustration that’s been building in me for days. The heat is a welcome distraction, but it doesn’t make the anger or the guilt go away.
I let the water soak into my muscles, my body still throbbing from my last rehab session. The warmth is nice, but the weight of it all—my injury, the pressure of the guys to open up and let them help me, the tension with Lena—feels like it’s pressing down on me from all sides. I close my eyes, leaning my head against the tile, letting the water run down my back, trying to find some kind of release.
But it’s not enough.
Once I’m washed, I step out of the shower, toweling off quickly, and get dressed in the first thing I find—a pair of dark jeans, a fitted black T-shirt, and my old leather jacket before making my way to the kitchen. My hands are moving on autopilot as I make my way to the coffee maker. The familiar ritual comforts me—filling the filter, grinding the beans, pressing the button to start the brew. The smell of coffee fills the air, familiar and grounding. But today... today I pause.
I reach for the bottle of Jack Daniels. The same whiskey I’ve been adding to my coffee for months now. The same whiskey that’s been my crutch, my way of escaping the pain, the thoughts I don’t want to face. But as my hand closes around it, something shifts inside me. I stop, my fingers tightening around the bottle for a second before I set it back down on the counter.
I don’t fucking need this right now.
Instead, I pour the coffee into my mug, black and bitter, the steam rising in tendrils, and I chug it down in one long gulp. The heat sears my throat, but it’s a sharp reminder that I’m still fucking here, still fighting. I grab my jacket, my keys, and head out the door before I have a chance to second guess it.
The drive to rehab is quiet, the low rumble of the Mustang’s engine a steady backdrop to the whirlwind of thoughts in my head. I haven’t spoken to Lena since our fight a few days ago. Every time I close my eyes, I see the look on her face—hurt, anger, disappointment. She had every right to be. I pushed her too hard. Pushed her away, and now, I’m the one paying for it.
The guilt gnaws at me like an animal, chewing through my insides. I should’ve listened. She was right about everything. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own shit that I couldn’t see how badly I was hurting her. How badly I was hurting myself by trying to shoulder everything alone.
I should’ve been there for her. But I pushed her away. And now she’s pulling back, and I can feel it.
I pull up and kill the engine, staring at the building for a moment. The silence in my head feels deafening, like it’s mocking me. I can’t run from it anymore. I can’t run from my mistakes.
I force myself out of the car and into the center. Jen is waiting for me, clipboard in hand, her expression unreadable but professional. She gives me a small nod, and I follow her into the workout area. The place is quiet, just the hum of machines and the soft tread of feet on the mat.
“Alright, Reign,” Jen says, her voice calm but firm. “Let’s see how we’re doing today.”
I nod and get to work, focusing on the physical tasks in front of me—stretching, strengthening, bending. Each movement sends a wave of pain through my leg, but I force myself to keep going, gritting my teeth with each controlled motion.
Jen keeps her eyes on me, guiding me through each exercise, but I’m not really paying attention to her. My mind is elsewhere, spiraling back to Lena, to the mess I’ve created between us.
I know I’ve been an asshole. I know I’ve been pushing everyone away. And I’m not fine. Not at all. I’m a fucking wreck.
Jen watches me for a moment before speaking again. “You’re doing well, Reign. But don’t push too hard, okay? We’re not trying to break you, just build you back up.”
I can feel the tension in my jaw as I force myself through another set of leg lifts. I want to push harder. I want to prove to everyone that I’m fine. That I’m back. But my body is betraying me.
“Yeah,” I grunt. “I’m fine.” But I’m not.
Jen raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but she doesn’t press me. “Alright. Just keep breathing, Reign. You’re doing great, just... take it easy.”
But I can’t. I need to prove something. To myself, to Lena, to everyone. I don’t want their sympathy. I don’t want their support. I can fix this on my own. I have to.
Later, at the Speed Demons’ garage, I try to keep my focus on the work. My bikes need attention, despite the fact that I’m not riding yet, and I’ve been spending most of my time the last few days trying to get them running smoothly again. Anything to keep my mind off of the pain, off of the frustration of my body failing me.
And off of her .
The place is buzzing with activity, the usual clatter of tools and the hum of the machines filling the air. I move through the garage like I’m on autopilot, hands deftly working on the engine, tightening bolts, adjusting the throttle. It’s familiar. It’s comfortable. It keeps me from thinking.
But there’s something nagging at me.
It’s the way everyone keeps glancing at me, like they’re all fucking waiting for me to break. It’s the way I know they’re all thinking about the same thing—about me and my progress—or lack thereof. I can’t let them see how much it’s eating at me. Can’t let them see how close I am to just throwing it all away.
Thorne approaches, the sound of his boots on the concrete floor cutting through my concentration. His presence is like a shadow, looming and quiet. I can’t escape it. He’s too perceptive. He knows me too well.
“Reign,” Thorne starts, his British accent smooth but firm, as always. “How you feeling, bruv?”
I don’t look up from the bike, trying to focus on something else, anything else. “I’m fine.”
“Are you?” His voice is calm but carries an underlying edge, as if he’s seeing right through me. “You’ve been pushing yourself pretty hard lately. Maybe you should take a step back.”
“I don’t need to take a step back.” My tone is harsher than I intended. I don’t want to sound like I’m convincing myself, but I need to believe it. “I need to keep pushing forward.”
There’s a moment of silence as he lets his words hang in the air. I can feel his eyes on me, trying to figure me out, but I keep my focus on the bike. He sighs and leans against the wall, arms crossed in that way he does when he’s about to give a lecture.
“Reign,” Thorne says again, his voice quieter, almost softer, but still carrying weight. “You’ve got a team here, yeah? We’re all in this together. You don’t have to do it on your own.”
I bristle at the suggestion, my muscles tensing involuntarily. “I don’t need anyone’s help.”
Thorne raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into a half-smile. “Right. You’re the lone wolf, aren’t you? Always have been. But even wolves need a pack sometimes.”
“I’m not a fucking wolf,” I snap, spinning around to face him. My fists clench at my sides, my anger rising before I can stop it. “I don’t need anyone. I’ll fix this on my own, alright?”
Thorne doesn’t flinch. He meets my glare with a steady gaze, a mix of patience and understanding in his eyes. “I’m not saying you can’t do it on your own, Reign. But you’re not alone, mate. We’ve got your back. Don’t shut us out.”
The words hit harder than I expected. I want to argue, to push back, but something in me hesitates. I’ve always prided myself on being self-sufficient, on never needing anyone. But hearing Thorne’s tone, there’s a part of me that realizes maybe I don’t have to shoulder everything alone.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I mutter, my voice quieter, the fight draining from me. “Just… leave it.”
Thorne doesn’t push. He nods, like he gets it, and there’s no trace of frustration in his expression. He stays there, leaning against the wall, a silent support as I process the weight of his words. Before I can sink further into my thoughts, I hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching.
Sayshen strolls in, eyes scanning the garage before landing on me. He’s grinning like he’s about to pull some prank, but the second he spots the tension hanging in the air, his smile falters just a little. He raises an eyebrow, as if asking without words what’s going on.
“What’s up, man?” he asks, his tone easy, like he’s just casually checking in.
I force a smile, trying to shake off the weight that’s settled in my chest. “Same old. Just... trying to keep busy.”
Sayshen glances at the bike, his lips twitching. “That bike’s looking solid. You’re really putting in the work.”
I nod, trying to focus on the bike, not on the conversation, not on the mess in my head. “Yeah, just trying to stay distracted.”
“Good call,” he replies, leaning against a nearby workbench, arms crossed. “Before you know it, you’ll be back out there with us.”
I shrug, still focused on the bike. “Yeah, hopefully.”
There’s a beat of silence before Sayshen glances over at Thorne, who’s still leaning against the wall, arms still crossed. His attention shifts back to me. “Bexley said Lena’s been hanging out with her and Cece again. They grabbed some coffees. She said it sounds like she’s doing a lot better.”
I glance up at that, the words hitting me like a punch to the gut. My stomach tightens, but I try to sound casual. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” Sayshen nods. “Bex thinks it’s because of all the training you’ve been doing with her. She seems more like herself lately, you know? How’s she doing riding wise?”
That makes me pause, the guilt bubbling back up to the surface. I don’t know why, but the fact that Lena’s been spending time with the girls and seems to be getting better makes me feel both relieved and like shit at the same time.
“Yeah, she’s been doing alright,” I mumble, avoiding Sayshen’s gaze. “We’ve been working on it, but she’s got a lot going on. It’s still a work in progress.”
Sayshen tilts his head, sensing the shift in my mood. “I get it, man. But I mean, she’ll get it. Shit, we all start somewhere.”
I nod, trying to push the heaviness out of my chest. “Yeah. For sure. She’ll get it.”
Sayshen gives me a knowing look, but he doesn’t push it any further. “Alright, well, I better get to work, Andre’s been on my ass about installing these new exhausts from that sponsor deal we just got. You know how he gets. The guy’s a fucking drill sergeant.”
I grunt, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Yeah, don’t let him catch you slacking, or you’ll be hearing about it for the next week.”
Sayshen chuckles, shaking his head. “I swear, I’ve never met a guy who can get so worked up over a fucking exhaust. But whatever, I’ll get it done.”
Thorne, who’s been quietly listening, chimes in with his usual mix of sarcasm and dry humor. “Andre’s got that whole ‘obsessive-compulsive mechanic’ thing going on. Drives us all mad. But we love him for it. Don’t we, boys?”
Sayshen laughs, bumping Thorne with his shoulder as he heads toward the garage door. “Yeah, we love him. Just wish he’d, you know, ease up on the constant micromanaging bullshit.”
“Oi, if Andre wasn’t breathing down our necks, who would?” Thorne grins. “Who else is gonna keep us in line, bruv?”
I roll my eyes, but the banter lightens the mood. It’s good to have the noise around me for a minute, something to keep my mind from spiraling.
Sayshen tosses one last comment over his shoulder as he disappears into the garage. “Take care of yourself, Reign. Don’t make me come back here and find you staring at that bike like it’s gonna fix itself.”
Thorne lingers a bit longer, his expression softening. “We’ve got your back, bruv. Always. Don’t forget that.”
I nod, watching them leave before turning back to the bike in front of me. The silence settles around me again, but it’s different this time. It’s not as suffocating. Maybe I’m starting to get the hang of this whole “not being alone” thing, even if it’s just a little bit.
In my pocket, my phone buzzes once, a sharp vibration that pulls my attention away from the bike. Expecting another worried message from my mom, I pull it out, and glance at the screen—but it’s not what I expected.
Lena: I know I’ve been distant. I don’t want things to be weird between us. Can we talk?
The words hit me harder than I anticipated. My stomach drops, and for a second, I freeze, unsure of how to react. I didn’t think she’d reach out again, not after everything. The guilt gnaws at me, but so does a flicker of hope that I’m not sure I’m ready for.
Reign: Yeah. Let’s talk. When you’re ready
I send it before I can second-guess myself, feeling the weight of my decision with every second that passes. The phone sits in my hand, and I stare at it for a while, as if willing it to ring with something more. Something definitive. But nothing comes. Just a silence that stretches between us, pulling tighter and tighter.
Maybe this is a step forward. Shit, maybe it’s a huge mistake. But right now, it’s all I’ve fucking got.