Endo (Full Send #2)

Epilogue

EPILOGUE

ECHO

Home - Edith Whiskers

The road ahead feels endless, and that suits me just fine. The hum of my Ducati Monster 821 vibrates through me, steady and grounding, a sharp contrast to the chaos swirling in my head. Riding has always been my escape, my way of outrunning the weight of the world—even if it’s only for a little while.

Tonight, though, the ride isn’t helping. Not with this. Not with where I’m heading and what I’m about to do.

The humid night air nips at my face, the visor on my helmet cracked just enough to let the breeze hit me. My fingers flex on the handlebars as I weave through Tampa’s streets, the lights casting long shadows on the asphalt. Downtown fades into quieter neighborhoods, the kind with manicured lawns and houses that seem worlds away from the run-down apartment buildings I grew up in.

Growing up with Evelyn Cooper wasn’t exactly a fairytale. She wasn’t the worst mom—she kept a roof over our heads and food on the table, mostly. But there were nights when the fridge was empty, when she’d stumble in smelling like cheap vodka, slurring apologies I didn’t want to hear. I learned pretty quickly how to take care of myself. Bills, groceries, laundry, I learned how to handle it all on my own by the time I was ten.

I don’t hate her for it. Not completely. She wasn’t perfect, but she had her moments. She taught me how to ride my first bike, and sometimes, she’d take me out for ice cream before dinner. When she was sober enough to drive that is.

Those were the good days, and I held onto them as tightly as I could.

But everything changed when she got sick. Stage four cancer. The words hit like a wrecking ball, shattering the shaky balance of our lives. She went downhill fast, and I was stuck watching, alone as the woman who’d once been larger than life withered away before my eyes. I did everything I could—doctor’s appointments, treatments, sitting by her hospital bed while she cried about all the things she wished she’d done differently.

Like telling me about them .

I didn’t find out until the very end, when she was too weak to even sit up. She’d looked at me with tears in her eyes, guilt written all over her face, and whispered, “You’re not alone, Echo. You have family.”

The words didn’t even register at first. Family? I’d spent my entire life thinking it was just the two of us against the world, and suddenly there was more? She told me their names, where to find them, begged me to reach out. I didn’t have the heart to ask why she’d kept it from me, not when she was already slipping away. But the anger still burned, hot and unforgiving, mingled with the grief of losing her.

And now, here I am, chasing a connection I’m not even sure I want.

I pull onto the street, the house coming into view. It’s bigger than I expected, all clean lines and sharp edges, with a driveway that’s cluttered but in a way that feels lived-in. Bikes are scattered across the pavement, tools and rags tossed haphazardly around. Two guys are hunched over one of the bikes, their hands moving with the kind of precision that says they know exactly what they’re doing.

I park near the curb, cutting the engine. The sudden silence is deafening. My fingers tremble as I unclip my helmet, pulling it off. I glance at the house again, the weight of what I’m about to do pressing down on my chest.

This is it. No turning back.

I swing off the bike, gravel crunching under my boots as I walk up the driveway. They haven’t noticed me yet, too caught up in their work. The guy on the left catches my eye first—at least 6’3”, broad-shouldered, his dark hair short on the sides but longer and messy on top, flopping over his forehead. Tattoos cover the top half of his body. The other one is just as tall, his build solid, his dark hair shaved shorter and spiked a bit in the front. Both of them move with an easy confidence that makes me hesitate for half a second.

“Hey,” I call, my voice steady despite the storm in my chest. “Excuse me?”

The guy with the tattoos straightens first, his dark eyes narrowing as he takes me in. “Yeah? Can we help you?”

“Uh, yeah,” I say, stuffing my gloves into my jacket pocket. “I think so. I’m looking for someone.”

The second guy wipes his hands on a rag, stepping around the bike. “Who?”

I take a breath, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Do you either of you know Evelyn Cooper?”

They exchange a glance, confusion flickering across their faces. The older of the two, I’m guessing—nods slowly. “Yeah... she’s our mother. But she doesn’t live here?—”

“No,” I say quickly, shaking my head. “I know. She, uh... she passed away. Recently.”

Their confusion deepens, and I feel the weight of their stares like a spotlight. “How do you know her?” the younger one asks, his tone cautious.

I square my shoulders, meeting their gazes head-on. “She was my mom too.” The silence that follows is thick, suffocating. They stare at me like I’ve just flipped their world upside down, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief. “I’m your sister,” I say simply, the words hanging in the air like a challenge.

The younger one takes a step back, his brows furrowed, while the older one runs a hand through his hair, his jaw tightening.

And just like that, the world tilts, everything shifting as I wait for them to process the truth.