Endo (Full Send #2)

Chapter 16

16

LENA

Bad Idea - Dove Cameron

The garage is quiet, save for the occasional creak of metal and the soft hum of the fluorescent lights above. My sneakers scuff against the concrete as I step inside, nerves twisting tight in my stomach. Reign is crouched by his bike, his broad shoulders taut as he leans over, focused on the work in front of him. He’s shirtless, his tattoos sprawling across his chest and arms like a map of stories I’ll never fully understand. His abs are defined, the lines of his muscles sharp under the fluorescent glow, and his dark jeans hang low on his hips, smeared with grease stains that only add to his rugged, untouchable vibe.

My pulse quickens despite myself, and I silently curse the flutter in my chest as he looks up, his green brown eyes locking onto mine. His face is as guarded as ever, but there’s a flicker of something softer beneath the tough exterior—a shadow of vulnerability I rarely get to see.

I brush a strand of hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ear. My messy bun is barely holding together after the day I’ve had, and my white crop top clings snugly, still crisp despite the summer heat. My ripped cutoff jean shorts sit low on my hips, and my worn sneakers are dusted with the remnants of the long shift I just finished. The outfit feels light and carefree, but after today, I can’t tell if I’m wearing it or if it’s wearing me.

“Hey,” I manage, my voice quieter than I intended.

“Hey,” he says, standing slowly. His voice is deep and steady, the way it always is, but there’s a hint of tension in it, like he wasn’t expecting me. “What are you doing here?”

I hesitate, twisting the ring on my finger—a nervous habit I’ve had since I was a kid. “I… I wanted to talk. About the other night.”

His brows knit together, and he sets the wrench down on the workbench. “You don’t have to apologize, Lena.”

“I wasn’t going to,” I say quickly, earning the faintest twitch of his lips. “I just… I shouldn’t have yelled at you, okay? I was frustrated, and I didn’t mean half the things I said.”

Reign sighs, running a hand through his hair, his biceps flexing with the motion. “You were right though,” he admits, his voice quieter now. “About all of it. The drinking, the fighting… I’ve been an idiot. And I’ve been taking it out on you, and everyone else around me.”

The weight of his words presses against my chest, but before I can respond, he adds, “I haven’t had a drink since that night. Or stepped into a ring.”

The admission hits me harder than I expect, my heart tightening as I process it. “Reign…”

He shakes his head. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just wanted you to know.”

Silence settles between us, heavy but not unbearable. He clears his throat, nodding toward the bike. “Want to help? I’m changing the oil, and it’s probably something you should know how to do yourself, just in case, ya know?”

I force a small smile and step closer, trying to ignore the way my pulse quickens as I near him. “Sure. What do you need me to do?”

“Well, first,” he says, his voice low but firm. He stands and grabs a shirt from the table—a soft, worn black tee—and holds it out to me. “Put this on. You’re not getting oil or grease all over that white shirt.”

I blink at him, caught off guard, but I take the shirt. “Oh, um, okay.” My voice sounds smaller than I intend, and as I slip it over my head, I can’t help but notice the way it smells—clean with a faint trace of motor oil and something inherently him.

The fabric is soft, worn in a way that feels like it’s been through its fair share of rough days. It’s far too big on me, the hem brushing my thighs and the sleeves hanging loose, but it feels oddly comforting. There’s something about wearing someone else’s shirt that feels strange—intimate in a way I wasn’t prepared for. Especially his.

Reign watches me, his gaze flickering briefly over the shirt before he crouches back down, patting the space beside him again. “Now come here,” he says, quieter this time but with that same steady tone.

I hesitate for a second before stepping closer, settling beside him on the cool concrete. The shirt feels like a shield between me and the vulnerability threatening to creep in. Yet, at the same time, it feels like a reminder of how exposed I am, how unfamiliar this connection between us still is. Suddenly I’m acutely aware of the closeness between us. The scent of motor oil mingles with the faint hint of his aftershave—clean, crisp, and undeniably him.

“Alright,” he begins, holding up a wrench. “First, you have to loosen this bolt. Otherwise, the oil won’t drain.”

I watch as his fingers work the tool with precision, his knuckles bruised and his hands scarred. He hands the wrench to me, his calloused fingers brushing against mine.

“Your turn,” he says, his voice low.

I take the wrench, my hands unsteady as I mimic his movements. He stays close, guiding me with quiet instructions, his shoulder brushing mine every so often. The tension between us is palpable, unspoken but impossible to ignore.

When I finally loosen the bolt, oil begins to drip into the pan beneath the bike. Reign nods, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Not bad,” he says.

“Not bad?” I repeat, raising an eyebrow.

He chuckles softly. “Alright, it was decent.”

The sound of his laugh, rare and unguarded, does something to me. My chest feels lighter, even as the weight of our unresolved tension hangs in the air.

As we move to the next step, his hands brush against mine again, and this time, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he shifts, his movements deliberate.

Before I know it, his arms are around me, and he’s pulling me onto his lap. My breath catches as my thighs straddle his, the rough denim of his jeans brushing against me.

“Reign—”

“Shh,” he murmurs, his hands settling gently on my hips. “Just… let me.”

His hands, rough from months of fighting and fixing, are impossibly tender as they slide up to my face. He cups my cheeks, his thumb brushing over my skin with a gentleness that almost breaks me.

“You’re shaking,” he whispers, his eyes searching mine.

I open my mouth to respond, but the words catch in my throat. And then he kisses me.

It’s soft at first, like he’s afraid I’ll shatter beneath him. But as I lean into him, wrapping my arms around his neck, the kiss deepens. His lips are warm and slightly chapped, moving against mine with a desperation that’s as heartbreaking as it is intoxicating.

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, spilling over as I kiss him back with everything I have. The weight of our shared pain, our trauma, is woven into every touch, every sigh.

He pulls back suddenly, his forehead pressing against mine. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, his voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to?—”

“It’s okay,” I whisper, my hands framing his face. “Reign, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

He studies me for a moment, his green eyes searching mine for any hint of doubt. When he finds none, his shoulders relax, and he kisses me again, this time with a quiet reverence that makes my heart ache.

In his arms, for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel safe. I feel seen. I feel whole.

I lean in this time, cupping his face with my hands as I kiss him again. This one is mine, and I pour everything into it—my frustration, my relief, my gratitude. His lips part against mine, and he lets me lead, his hands sliding down my back to rest on my hips.

The world narrows to just us, the taste of him, the way his body feels solid and safe beneath mine. His fingers tighten slightly, pulling me closer as if he can’t bear to let me go.

But then my phone buzzes against my thigh, the vibration breaking through the moment like a splash of cold water. I pull back reluctantly, our breaths mingling as I fish it out of my pocket.

“It’s Bex,” I murmur, my forehead still pressed against his.

“Answer it,” Reign says softly, his voice low and steady.

I swipe the screen and hold the phone to my ear. “Hey, Bex.”

“Lena! Where are you? You were supposed to meet me twenty minutes ago! The seamstress is on her way here,” Bexley’s voice chirps through the line, full of her usual energy.

I blink, suddenly remembering the fashion show. “Oh, crap. I’m so sorry, Bex. I got caught up.”

“Caught up doing what?” she teases.

“Uh… I’ll explain later. I’m on my way.”

“You better be,” she says with a laugh. “This bikini isn’t going to fit itself.”

I hang up, shoving the phone back into my pocket and glancing at Reign. He’s watching me, one eyebrow raised in mild amusement.

“Fashion show?” he asks, leaning back slightly but keeping his hands on my hips.

“Bex roped me into modeling,” I explain, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s for the charity fashion show downtown. I didn’t think you’d want to go, so I didn’t mention it.”

His brow furrows. “Why wouldn’t I want to go?”

I shrug, suddenly self-conscious. “I just meant, you know. With everything, you’ve barely hung out with anyone so I guess everyone just kinda felt like you wouldn’t want to go.”

He smirks, his hands sliding just a little lower. “I think seeing you in a bikini might change that.”

I laugh, rolling my eyes. “Like you haven’t seen me in one before.”

“Not like this,” he counters, his tone teasing but his gaze serious. “I’ll be there. Of course, I’ll be there. For Bex—and for you.”

The tension that had been simmering between us melts away completely, replaced by something lighter, something hopeful.

“Well,” I say, sliding off his lap and standing, “if you’re driving me, we better go. Bex is already impatient, and I’d rather not deal with her wrath.”

He chuckles, standing and grabbing his keys from the workbench. “Alright, let’s go. But I’m holding you to that bikini promise.”

“Promise?” I scoff, playfully swatting his arm as we walk toward the garage door. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” he says, grinning as he opens the passenger door of his Mustang for me. “But you’re stuck with me now.”

I slide into the seat, shaking my head but smiling despite myself.

As he climbs into the driver’s side and starts the engine, I glance over at him. His jaw is relaxed, the tension from earlier nowhere in sight. For the first time in weeks, it feels like things might actually be okay.

The Mustang roars to life, and we pull out of the garage, the sunlight spilling across the dashboard as we take off toward the beach house.

The air inside Sayshen and Talon’s house is warm and filled with the soft hum of conversation. Cece and Bexley’s laughter spills into the hallway as I step inside, immediately pulling a small smile to my face.

“There she is!” Bexley calls out, her sharp eyes narrowing playfully. Her dark hair is swept into a messy ponytail, and she’s perched on the arm of the couch like she owns the place. Cece is sprawled out beside her, scrolling through her phone, her bare feet tucked under her.

I drop my bag near the door and glance around. “Hey, guys.”

Bexley narrows her dark eyes at me, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips. “Okay, spill it. Why do you look like you just got caught sneaking cookies before dinner?”

“I don’t!” I protest, but the heat rising to my cheeks says otherwise as I step further into the room.

Cece perks up from her spot on the couch, smirking. “Oh, you totally do. You’re acting all… sketchy. What did you do, Perra ?”

“Nothing!” I say, a little too quickly, my voice pitching higher than I mean it to.

Bexley gasps dramatically, sitting up straighter. “Oh my God. It’s worse than we thought. Babe, did you kill someone ?”

“Or rob a bank?” Cece chimes in, her grin wide.

“Guys, stop ,” I groan, rolling my eyes. “You’re both ridiculous.”

“ Suspiciously ridiculous?” Bex teases, her grin practically splitting her face now. “Because, girl, you’re not helping your case.”

“Reign dropped me off,” I admit, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “That’s it, okay?”

The room falls silent for half a second before both of them erupt.

“ Ohhhh, ” Bexley drawls, sliding off the arm of the couch and narrowing her dark eyes at me. “So that’s why you look all nervous and shifty. What happened, huh?”

Cece grins, setting her phone down and leaning forward like she’s about to hear the juiciest gossip of the year. “Yeah, muchacha . You can’t lie to us, not when you walked in here with that guilty look. So why not just tell us what happened?”

I cross my arms, trying to keep my face neutral even though I can feel the heat creeping up my neck. “Jesus, nothing fucking happened.”

Bexley gasps, her hand flying to her chest in mock surprise. “Reign dropped you off? Oh no, no, no. There’s definitely more to this story.”

Cece nods, her grin widening. “Yeah, because you don’t look this nervous when someone just gives you a ride. So what is it? Did you two talk?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. He was just teaching me how to change the oil on the bike when you called, so it was easier for him to give me a ride,” I say, my voice high-pitched and way too defensive.

Cece lets out a dramatic gasp. “Oh my God, did you two kiss ?!”

Bexley’s eyes practically sparkle as she grabs my arm. “You kissed him, didn’t you?!”

“What? No!” I sputter, yanking my arm away and standing up. “Nothing happened! You guys are being ridiculous.”

Bexley crosses her arms, tilting her head like she’s trying to read my mind. “Mhm. Sure. And that blush on your face? Totally nothing, right?”

Cece snorts. “She’s blushing so hard I’m surprised her hair’s not catching fire.”

“Oh, please,” I retort, crossing my arms and narrowing my eyes at Cece. “You’re one to talk. Aren’t you the one who got all red in the face the other day when Revel offered to ‘help’ you with your car? Like he wasn’t already halfway under the hood before you even asked.”

Cece’s mouth falls open in mock outrage. “Excuse me! I was not blushing! And for the record, my car runs just fine, thank you very much.”

“Uh-huh,” I say with a smirk, leaning back against the couch. “And that’s why you conveniently called him when your ‘check engine’ light came on? What was it again? Oh, right—a loose gas cap.”

Bexley bursts out laughing, clutching her stomach. “Oh my God, Cece, you’re so bad at this. A loose gas cap? Did he at least look hot while pretending to be helpful?”

Cece groans, grabbing a pillow and throwing it at me. “Alright, fine, maybe I like having him around. But at least I’m not the one getting mysterious rides from Reign and acting all weird about it.”

I dodge the pillow, laughing despite myself. “Touché. But for real, you two are reading way too much into this.”

The laughter settles, and Bex’s expression softens as she leans forward. “Lena, we’re just messing with you, okay? But seriously, I hope you know none of us are judging you. And if… if there’s something going on with Reign, it’s not a bad thing. Cruz loved you. He’d want you to be happy, no matter who it’s with.”

My chest tightens, the weight of her words hitting me harder than I want to admit. “There’s nothing going on,” I say, my voice quieter now. “Reign’s just… He’s been there, that’s all. And I don’t want anyone thinking I’m… betraying Cruz or something. Because I’m not.”

Bex nods slowly, her gaze steady but understanding. “We know you’re not. And no one would think that, Lena. You deserve to feel good again. To feel alive.”

I press my lips together, not trusting myself to say anything else. The truth is, I don’t even know what I’m feeling, let alone how to explain it to them—or to myself.

Before the conversation can go any deeper, the doorbell rings.

“Thank God,” I mutter, pushing off the couch.

“The seamstress is here!” Bex announces, springing up and clapping her hands. “Time to measure those bikini bodies you fucking putas .”

Cece groans dramatically, flopping onto the couch with a hand over her face. “ ?Ay, Dios mío ! Why do I let you talk me into these things?”

“Because you love me,” Bex says with a grin, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her toward the guest room.

I follow behind, grateful for the distraction. The weight in my chest doesn’t fully disappear, but as I step into the room and let the seamstress start her work, I focus on the chatter and laughter around me. But in the back of my mind, Reign lingers. His kiss, his touch, the way he looked at me like I was the only person in the world.

I feel good being here with my friends, surrounded by their lighthearted energy. But underneath it all is a gnawing sense of guilt and confusion. Am I betraying Cruz by feeling this way about Reign?

And yet, no matter how much I try to push it away, I can’t deny it. For the first time in months, the emptiness inside me doesn’t feel so overwhelming.

Maybe that’s what scares me most of all.