Chapter 29
29
LENA
GRAVITY - Matt Hansen
It’s the way he looks at me that cuts the deepest.
His eyes are heavy with questions, frustration, and something that feels too close to heartbreak. Even after the team packs up and the pits empty out, he’s still here, still staring at me like I’m the only thing in the world he can’t figure out. And I hate it.
I pack my bag slowly, each motion deliberate, trying to act like I don’t notice him. But the air between us is electric, crackling with tension that makes it impossible to ignore him. Reign doesn’t let things go.
Not when it matters. And this? Whatever this is? It matters.
I zip up my bag, sling it over my shoulder, and make my way toward the exit. But I don’t get far. He steps into my path, his frame blocking out the faint light spilling from the garage doors. His expression is dark, his jaw tight, and his eyes are sharp enough to cut.
“Lena,” he says, his voice low and controlled, but there’s a dangerous edge to it. “We need to talk.”
“Not now, Reign,” I reply, my voice firmer than I feel. I step to the side, but he moves with me, refusing to let me go.
“No,” he snaps, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall like he has all the time in the world. “We’re doing this now.”
“Reign—” I try again, but he cuts me off, his voice sharp.
“What the hell was that back there?” he asks, his tone biting. “You pull away from me, act like I don’t even exist, and now you’re just going to walk off like everything’s fine?”
I force myself to meet his eyes, even though the intensity in them makes my stomach twist. “It’s not a big deal,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “The guys don’t need to see?—”
“Bullshit,” he interrupts, stepping closer. The space between us shrinks, and his presence is overwhelming. “This isn’t about them. It’s about you. About us.”
The word “us” hits like a punch, and my chest tightens painfully. I glance away, my hands gripping the strap of my bag like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
“There is no ‘us,’ Reign,” I say, my voice sharper than I intend. “It’s not... it’s not real. What we have, whatever this is”— she gestures between us —“it’s just two broken people trying to fill the void.”
His expression shifts, the anger faltering for just a second before something more vulnerable takes its place. The weight of his stare makes my throat close up. I hate myself for saying it, but it’s the only way to stop this spiral.
“Then why?” he demands, his voice cracking slightly. “Why take me to the beach? Why bring me to the center? Why tell me about Cruz, about the turtles, about all of it? Why open up to me if we’re just... nothing?”
I swallow hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to breathe. “Because I wanted to help you,” I whisper, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “Like I said. I care about you, Reign. I don’t like seeing you struggling. Seeing you in pain.”
“Care,” he repeats, the word dripping with bitterness. “That’s it?”
“Yes,” I lie, the word barely audible over the roaring in my ears. My chest feels like it’s collapsing in on itself. “I wanted to see you get better. To heal. That’s all.”
His jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing. “And the rest?” he presses, his tone harder now. “The nights we spent together? The way you looked at me? Touched me? What the hell was that?”
“A mistake,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “A moment of weakness. It never should’ve happened.”
Reign takes a step back, his shoulders tensing as if I’ve physically hit him. “A mistake ,” he echoes, his voice cold and razor-sharp. “A fucking mistake? That’s what you’re calling it?”
“Yes,” I force out, though the word feels like shards of glass on my tongue. I glance away, unable to meet his gaze. “It’s... it’s a betrayal, Reign. To Cruz. You were his best friend, and I—” My voice breaks, and I press my lips together, trying to hold myself together.
His laugh is low and humorless, the sound cutting through the silence like a blade. “Betrayal?” he repeats, his tone laced with disbelief. “Cruz is dead, Lena. He’s not coming back, no matter how much you want to live your life like he’s watching over your fucking shoulder.”
The words hit harder than they should, and I flinch, the guilt and pain twisting in my chest. “Don’t you dare,” I snap, my voice shaking. “Don’t you dare talk about him like that.”
“Like what?” Reign counters, his eyes blazing. “Like he’s not here anymore? Because he’s not, Lena. And the Cruz I knew? He wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself. To me. He’d want us to be happy. To heal—together—if that’s what it took.”
“You don’t know that,” I fire back, tears stinging my eyes. “You don’t know what he’d want.”
“Don’t I?” he shoots back, his voice rising. “You think Cruz would want you to be fucking miserable for the rest of your life? That he’d want you to punish yourself for feeling something, for wanting more?”
I shake my head, my hands trembling. “This isn’t about what he’d want. This is about what’s right.”
“And this is right?” Reign snarls, gesturing between us. “Pushing me away? Acting like none of it mattered? Like I didn’t matter?”
“Reign—” I start, but he doesn’t let me finish.
“No,” he snaps, his voice icy. “You made your point, Lena. It’s a mistake. I’m a mistake. Fine. But don’t stand there and pretend like any of this was about Cruz. This is about you . About how you’re too scared to let go of the past long enough to see what’s right in fucking front of you.”
The words cut deeper than they should, and I hate how right he is. My fists clench at my sides, nails digging into my palms as I try to hold myself together. “I never meant to hurt you,” I whisper, my voice cracking.
“Yeah, well,” he bites out, his tone cold and distant. “You did.”
He steps back, his movements stiff and deliberate, and I know I’ve lost him. The walls he’s been tearing down brick by brick slam back into place, stronger and higher than ever.
“I’m done,” he says, the finality in his voice breaking something in me. “You don’t want this? Fine. But don’t keep stringing me along like I’m some goddamn consolation prize.”
Before I can say anything, before I can try to fix the mess I’ve made, he turns and walks away, his footsteps echoing against the empty walls of the pit.
The silence he leaves behind is suffocating, wrapping around me like a noose. I stand there, frozen, my heart racing and my stomach churning. The weight of his words crushes me, and I hate myself for all of it—for hurting him, for pushing him away, for not being strong enough to let myself feel.
By the time I move, my legs feel like lead. I make my way outside, the cool night air hitting me like a slap, but it does nothing to clear the fog in my head. I lean against the side of my car, staring up at the stars. They blur as tears sting my eyes, hot and relentless.
Why did I let it get this far?
I climb into my car, gripping the steering wheel as the sobs I’ve been holding back finally break free. I hate crying. It feels weak, like giving in to something I can’t control. But tonight, I let the tears fall.
For Reign. For Cruz. For myself.
Because no matter how much I tell myself this was the right thing to do, it doesn’t feel right. It feels like I’ve lost something I’ll never get back.