Endo (Full Send #2)

Chapter 27

27

LENA

Deep End - Birdy

For the first time in what feels like forever, I think I might be okay.

The realization comes to me quietly, like a whisper I almost don’t catch. But it’s there, soft and undeniable, curling in my chest as I sit at the small, wobbly kitchen table in my apartment. The sunlight streaming through the window feels warm instead of harsh. The air feels light instead of suffocating. I feel... good. Like I’m healing, slowly but surely, piece by piece.

I cradle my coffee mug—my favorite turtle one—in both hands, letting its warmth seep into my palms. The big goofy grin painted on its face starting to fade more with each wash. I can still remember the day Cruz bought it for me. He said it was hideous, the kind of mug no one else would want, so it was perfect for me. I’d rolled my eyes at him, but I’d kept it anyway, because anything from him always meant the world to me. Plus, it’s a fucking turtle.

Now it’s one of the few things I have left.

I sip the coffee, the rich caramel sweetness coating my tongue just the way I like it. I’ve always preferred my coffee sweet—more like dessert in a mug—but this morning, it feels like a little indulgence I’ve earned. Small victories , I remind myself. It feels good to have these moments of normalcy, to wake up and not immediately feel like the world is crumbling beneath my feet.

For so long, I didn’t think I’d ever get here. The grief was a tidal wave, dragging me under again and again.

But today? Today, the water feels calm. Manageable.

I glance at the clock on the wall. I have just enough time to get ready before heading to the track. The team will be wrapping up their practice soon, and then it’ll be my turn to train for the upcoming race. Reign promised to stick around and help me. Just the thought of seeing him makes my stomach flutter with a mix of excitement and nerves.

We’ve gotten closer these past few days, and I’m not sure how to act around him anymore. It’s uncharted territory—this thing between us. Did he tell the guys about us? No, hopefully not. I’m not ready for that. The idea of them knowing makes my chest tighten.

What would they think? Would they hate me? Would they think I’m some kind of traitor, like I’m betraying Cruz by letting someone else in? God, maybe they’d even be happy for me. Maybe they’d understand.

The thought twists in my stomach like a knife. I don’t know what’s worse—thinking they’d judge me for moving on or the idea that they wouldn’t. That they might smile and say, “Good for you, Lena.” Like it’s okay. Like I deserve to feel something again.

It’s not okay.

I shake my head hard, trying to push the thoughts away. The mug clinks lightly as I set it on the counter, my hands careful, deliberate. Cruz bought it for me as a joke, and I can’t bring myself to break something he touched, something that’s still his in some way. “Get it together, Lena,” I mutter under my breath. My voice sounds shaky even to me.

I stand and push the chair back, the wooden legs scraping against the floor. My hair’s a mess, tangled from a restless night. It’s always restless. I rake my fingers through the blonde waves, but it doesn’t help. Nothing does. Not really.

The shower is hot, almost too hot, but I don’t care. I step under the spray and let it hit me, let it soak my skin and wash away whatever this feeling is. Guilt? Shame? Hope? I don’t even know anymore. The water streams down my back, my shoulders, and for a second, I feel like I can breathe. Like maybe I can stand here long enough to rinse it all away.

But my brain doesn’t cooperate. It never does.

Reign. His name crashes into my mind like a wave, relentless and impossible to ignore. He’s always there, in the back of my thoughts, even when I don’t want him to be. Reign makes me feel... different. Whole, maybe. Like he’s picking up the pieces of me and putting them back together. And the worst part? It’s terrifying how much I want him to. How much I need him to.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. That’s how it was with Cruz too—he made me feel safe, like no matter how bad things got, we’d figure it out together. But now? Now he’s gone, and I’m standing here, letting someone else into that space, and it feels so wrong I can barely stand it.

I scrub shampoo into my scalp with more force than necessary, the lavender scent rising around me. My chest tightens as I try to sort through the mess in my head. It’s like there’s this battle raging between guilt and something softer, something warmer. Happiness. That word feels too big, too bright. But it’s there, hiding under all the grief, trying to claw its way out.

I don’t know if I can let it. If I should .

By the time I step out of the shower, my skin is pink and tender from the heat. I wrap a towel around myself and walk into the bedroom, leaving damp footprints on the hardwood floor. The mirror above my dresser is fogged, and I’m relieved. I don’t want to see myself right now. I don’t want to see the person I’m becoming—the one who can smile, even for a second, when Cruz is gone.

I pull on leggings and a tank top, tying my hair into a high ponytail. My training bag sits in the corner, half-packed from the last session. I grab it and start tossing in the essentials—my racing gloves, a spare visor for my helmet, and my padded jacket. My boots are still by the door, scuffed but reliable. When I reach for my sneakers to wear on the way there, my elbow brushes the edge of the table, and I hear it before I see it.

The crash.

My heart stops as I turn to see the mug—the turtle mug—shattered on the floor. Pieces of it are everywhere, jagged and irreparable. For a moment, I can’t move. It’s just a mug , I tell myself. But it’s not. It’s Cruz. It’s the memories. It’s everything I’ve been holding onto, everything I’ve been trying so hard not to let go of.

A sob rises in my throat, sharp and unyielding. I drop to my knees, picking up the pieces with shaking hands. One of the shards slices my palm, but I barely feel the sting. All I can think about is how stupid I was to believe I could keep going, to think I could move on. Cruz is gone, and I’m here, trying to build something new with Reign, and it’s all wrong.

It’s a betrayal. Cruz deserved better. He deserved more than someone who could smile and laugh and feel happy while he’s six feet under. He deserved more than his best friend and his girlfriend falling for each other, sleeping with each other, like his death was just an open door for us to walk through.

It’s disgusting. I’m disgusting.

The tears come fast and hot, blurring my vision as I gather the broken pieces into a pile. My breath comes in short, uneven gasps, the guilt consuming me whole. I can’t do this. I can’t keep pretending that everything is okay when it’s not. Reign deserves better too. He deserves someone whole, someone who isn’t still bleeding from wounds that will never fully heal.

I wipe my face with the back of my hand and stand, the pieces of the mug clutched tightly in my other hand. The cut on my palm is bleeding now, a small, angry line of red. I grab a paper towel and press it against the wound, but my focus isn’t on the pain. It’s on the decision forming in my mind, solid and unyielding.

I have to end it. Whatever this thing is with Reign, it can’t go any further. It’s not fair to him, and it’s not fair to Cruz. I can’t keep pretending that I deserve to be happy when I don’t. Cruz was my whole world, and when he died, he took that world with him. I shouldn’t have let Reign into the cracks. I shouldn’t have let him make me feel like I could be whole again.

Carefully, I gather the shards of the mug and place them in a small box I pull from a drawer. It’s plain, made for storing odds and ends, but now it feels like a coffin for this piece of Cruz I’ve lost. I set the box on the counter, next to the spot where the mug used to sit. The sight of it makes my chest ache, but I can’t bring myself to throw it away. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

My bag sits forgotten by the door as I grab my phone. My fingers hover over Reign’s name, and I hesitate. I can’t do this over text. I owe him more than that. I’ll tell him at the track. I’ll explain everything—why this can’t happen, why we can’t be anything more than what we were before.

Before leaving, I stop by the small tank in the corner of the room. Blue, my betta fish, swims lazily near the surface. He’s the only other living thing I’ve been able to keep around, and even he’s a reminder of Cruz—his joke that I needed a pet that wouldn’t “stress me out.” I sprinkle a pinch of food into the water, watching as Blue darts to the surface to eat. At least I can still take care of him.

As I slip on my shoes and sling the bag over my shoulder, the guilt presses down on me, suffocating and relentless. I glance back at the shattered mug now sealed away in its box, the pieces still waiting for me to figure out what to do with them. It feels like a metaphor for my life—a mess that can never truly be fixed.

I take a deep breath and open the door, stepping out into the world that keeps moving, even when I wish it would stop.