Endo (Full Send #2)

Chapter 25

25

LENA

OctaHate - Ryn Weaver

There’s something about seeing Reign in the sunlight that feels almost unfair. Like the universe decided to spotlight every unfair advantage he has—those sharp cheekbones, the strong jaw, and the way his buzz cut only adds to the intensity of his features, making him look like he was carved out of stone and born to dominate.

And don’t even get me started on his arms, all lean muscle and ink, crossed over his tanned skin like he’s some brooding rebel out of a movie.

I hate that he looks so good without even trying.

Mostly because I can’t stop fucking looking.

The road winds through dunes and thick brush, the scent of salt and seaweed creeping in through the cracked windows. We’re almost there, and my chest tightens. I wasn’t sure about bringing him here. This place isn’t just a getaway for me—it’s history.

A part of me I’ve always kept separate, safe.

It’s where Cruz and I used to come when we needed to escape the world. And now I’m bringing Reign here. The weight of it sits heavy on my chest, like I’m betraying something sacred. But oddly, it doesn’t feel wrong.

It feels... right .

Comforting, in a way I didn’t expect.

When we pull up, the sight of the small cabin nestled in the dunes pulls me back. It’s barely more than a shack, with its faded blue paint and sagging porch, but it’s always felt like home. At least what I imagine a home would feel like. Cruz and I spent countless weekends here, sitting on the porch, watching the waves, talking about everything and nothing while surviving off whatever we could catch for dinner.

I kill the engine and glance at Reign. His eyes scan the cabin, his expression unreadable. “This the place?” he asks, his voice breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” I say, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “Come on.”

I adjust the strap of my bag on my shoulder as we step out of his car. The ocean air hits immediately—salt and seaweed, warm and sharp, wrapping around us like a familiar blanket. It’s been a few days since... everything.

The parking garage.

The chaos of the strip. That night burned into my memory for better or worse.

Things between us have been... better since then. Easier. The tension isn’t gone—hell, I doubt it ever will be—but it’s shifted. Muted, maybe. Enough that I’ve stopped overthinking every glance, every touch.

For now.

He falls into step beside me, his long strides matching my pace easily. He’s wearing black jeans and a plain white T-shirt that clings to him just enough to make it unfair, the leather jacket he shrugged off earlier slung over his shoulder. Casual, effortless, and frustratingly perfect.

The trail leading through the dunes is a mess of swaying sea oats and beach grass, the kind that brushes against your legs and gets tangled in your thoughts. The sound of the waves grows louder with each step, a rhythmic crash that feels like it’s syncing with my pulse. The humid air smells like salt and sand, a nostalgic punch to the gut, dragging me back to moments I’m not sure I’m ready to face.

Reign walks beside me, his hands in his pockets. He’s quiet, his gaze sweeping over the path ahead like he’s trying to figure out why I brought him here. I haven’t told him yet, not the full story. Part of me wonders if he’ll think it’s stupid, but another part—the part that’s been unraveling around him—needs him to see this side of me.

The ocean in front of the shack stretches out like it’s daring me to come closer, the waves glittering under the late afternoon sun. Reign stops beside me, his dark eyes scanning the scene. His shoulders relax slightly, the tension that seems to follow him everywhere easing just a fraction. “It’s... peaceful,” he says after a beat, his tone low.

“Yeah,” I reply, swallowing hard. The memories hit me like a riptide, dragging me under before I can stop them. “Cruz and I used to come here. This was... our place.”

Reign doesn’t say anything, but I can feel his gaze shift to me. It’s heavy, questioning, but not judgmental.

“There was a night,” I continue, my voice trembling just enough to annoy me, “when we found turtle hatchlings. Tiny little things, barely bigger than my palm. They were struggling to get to the water, and we stayed for hours, making sure they made it. Scared off birds, kept crabs away. Cruz even named one of them ‘Turbo.’”

Reign’s lips twitch, the hint of a smirk appearing. “Turbo?”

“Yeah,” I say, smiling despite myself. “He swore that one would win the hatchling Olympics if there was such a thing. That night... I think it’s when I realized I wanted to do what I do now. Work at the ocean center, help creatures like them.”

The smile fades, replaced by a dull ache in my chest. “It hurts, though,” I admit, my voice quieter. “Because I couldn’t save Cruz. I’ve spent my life trying to save the ocean, its creatures, but the one person I loved most... I couldn’t.”

Reign’s hand brushes mine, a brief touch that feels intentional but unassuming. “That’s not on you,” he says, his voice steady but firm. “You couldn’t control that.”

I nod, even though the guilt never really leaves. I glance at him, taking in the way he’s watching the waves, his jaw tight like he’s holding something back. It feels strange to share this part of me, to bring him here, but it doesn’t feel wrong. It feels... like it fits.

“Not gonna give me a hint about why we’re here?” he asks, breaking the tension with a raised brow and a smirk.

“You’ll see,” I reply, my own smirk creeping back. “Just try to keep up.”

We continue toward the shoreline, and I point to a driftwood log half-buried in the sand. “That’s where we sat. Cruz and I. We watched until the last little guy made it to the water.”

Reign studies the log, then glances at me. “And now you’re bringing me here.”

“Yeah,” I say, sitting down on the log and gesturing for him to join me. “Because I’m tired of this place being just about him and the memories I have of him and I here. I want it to mean something else too. I need it to, otherwise I can’t escape here, not without feeling the emptiness he left behind.”

Reign doesn’t say anything right away, just glances at me before looking back at the ocean. After a moment, he sits beside me, his knee bumping against mine. “I get that,” he says finally. “Sometimes you’ve gotta let shit... I don’t know, shift?”

“Evolve,” I correct, giving him a small smile.

“Right. That,” he says, smirking a little. “Look at you, throwing out the big words.”

I laugh softly, shaking my head as I pull my knees to my chest. The sound of the waves crashing fills the space between us, their steady rhythm calming me in a way I didn’t realize I needed. “This place has always made me feel small,” I admit, staring out at the endless expanse of water. “But not in a bad way. More like... it reminded me there’s something bigger than me, bigger than all the shit I’m carrying.”

Reign nods, his eyes fixed on the ocean. “Yeah. I get that. Places like this... they make you breathe. Whether you want to or not.”

I glance at him, surprised at how well he seems to understand. “Exactly.”

For a second, his gaze meets mine, and it’s like he sees everything I’m not saying. The vulnerability of it makes my chest tighten, but I don’t look away. His expression softens, the sharp edges of his usual sarcasm replaced by something quieter, more real.

“But why’d you bring me here?” he asks, his voice low, like he’s afraid of breaking the moment.

I hesitate, my gaze drifting back to the waves. “I thought... maybe it could help you, too,” I say quietly. “It helped me. It still does. And I wanted to share it with you.”

His brows furrow slightly, like he’s trying to process what I just said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” I reply, picking at a piece of driftwood beside me. “But I wanted to. You’ve been carrying so much, Reign. Maybe this place could be an escape for you, too.”

His brows draw together, and for a second, he doesn’t say anything. Then, with a small nod, he mutters, “Thanks, celona mou .”

I glance at him, my curiosity piqued. He’s called me that before, and I’ve let it slide, but now, sitting here with the waves crashing and the sun dipping low, I want to know. “What does that mean?” I ask, turning to look at him.

The corners of his mouth lift into a small smile, and he shrugs, like it’s nothing. “It’s Greek.”

“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’re my turtle.”

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.