Page 34 of Endo
“No, you’re not Cruz,” he says, the words like ice. “But you’re treating this like it doesn’t matter if you live or die, and I care too fucking much to stand here and watch you throw yourself away.”
The air between us feels heavy, thick with something unsaid, suffocating in a way I can’t escape. His words strike harder than I want to admit, cutting through the anger and reaching into something deeper—something that burns in a place I don’t like to acknowledge.
I open my mouth, but the words get caught, stuck somewhere between my heart and my throat. My hands shake as I grip my helmet tighter against my chest, fighting the surge of emotions that threaten to spill over. I know what he’s saying. I’ve always known, deep down.
Reign cares.
Not in the way the other Demons care about me. Not in the distant, protective way they look at me. No. Reign cares the same way Cruz did. With that quiet intensity, that pull, and that fire that never fully burns out. But he’s never said it. Never acted on it. And yet, right now, all I can think about is the weight of that unspoken truth.
It hurts more than I want to admit. More than I can bear in this moment. And I can’t look at him. Not now. Not with everything hanging between us, unsaid and unresolved.
“Forget it,” I mutter, turning toward my bike. “I’m done for the day.”
“Lena,” he calls, his voice softer now, but I don’t stop.
I climb onto the bike, shoving the helmet back on as my vision blurs. My hands shake as I grip the handlebars, my breath coming in short, shallow bursts.
The engine roars to life, drowning out whatever else he might have said. I don’t look back as I pull out of the lot, the tires kicking up gravel as I speed away.
But even as the wind rushes past me, cooling the heat in my cheeks, his words echo in my head.
You’re treating this like it doesn’t matter if you live or die.
And the worst part?
He’s not wrong.
The beach isquiet when I arrive, the sky painted in shades of orange and pink as the sun sinks lower into the horizon. The golden light shimmers off the water, turning the waves into a liquid dance, crashing softly against the shore. The air smells salty, mixed with the earthy scent of damp sand, and the breeze is warm, carrying the promise of the coming night.
The sand is cool beneath my feet, gritty and grounding, but my chest still feels heavy, like I’m carrying an anchor no one else can see. The sky above is fading into dusky hues, the world between day and night, and for a moment, it almost feels like time itself is holding its breath.
I don’t bother taking off my boots. Instead, I walk straight into the surf, the salty water soaking through the leather as it laps around my ankles. It’s cold—sharp enough to steal the breath from my lungs—and I welcome it. Anything to drown out the static in my head.
The ocean has always been my sanctuary, a place where the world feels smaller, quieter. Cruz used to say the same thing, always dragging me out here at the crack of dawn to catch the sunrise. We’d sit on the sand, his arm slung casually over my shoulder, and talk about the future like we had all the time in the world.
But I don’t have that anymore. I never will again. And somehow, that’s the hardest part of all. Not just losing him, butthe silence that’s followed—the space that feels so vast, so empty, like there’s no room for anyone else.
I wade in deeper, the water climbing to my knees, then my thighs, until the chill is biting through my jeans. The waves ripple around me, the sound soothing and endless, and I close my eyes, letting the wind tangle in my hair.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, barely audible over the rush of water.
The words feel hollow. I’m not apologizing for not being strong enough. Not for the pain, or the grief, or the emptiness that’s never really gone away. No, it’s something else—something deeper, something I haven’t allowed myself to face.
I try again, louder this time, my throat tightening with each syllable. “I’m sorry, Cruz. For this. For feeling... this—for him.”
The words hang in the air, swallowed by the vastness of the sapphire blue ocean. I close my eyes, sucking in a breath, and I try to swallow the knot in my throat. But I can’t. Not when everything inside me is twisting. The guilt claws at my chest, suffocating, and I know why.
It’s because of Reign.
The moment he said it out loud—that he cared—something inside me shifted. Something I never thought mattered, so I buried it down. And now, no matter how hard I try to push it away, to ignore it, I can’t. It’s there. Growing.
And it feels so fucking wrong. Like a betrayal I can’t undo.
I don’t know when it started, but somewhere along the way, I stopped seeing him as just Cruz’s best friend. And maybe that’s why I avoided him for so long after I lost Cruz. Not just because being around the Demons reminded me too much of Cruz, but because I wasn’t ready to feel anything for anyone else. I wasn’t ready for this.For him. For the pull that’s been there from the start, unspoken and dangerous.
I don’t want to feel this way. I don’t want to want him, not like this. I can’t. But the truth is, I do. And it’s killing me inside.With Cruz, there was never any question. He and I were perfect together—nothing could have come between us. Not even Reign. I knew that deep down, he wouldn’t have stood a chance. But there’s always been something between me and Reign. A spark, maybe, or a tension that’s hard to ignore. And now, with everything we’ve been through, the weight of our shared trauma, it’s like it’s pulling us closer, igniting something I never asked for, but can’t seem to stop.
I press my palms to my face, choking back the sob that’s been clawing its way up since I stormed out of that parking lot. I’ve spent so much time pretending I’m okay, pretending I’ve got it together. But out here, there’s no one to fool. The ocean doesn’t care. It just listens. And right now, it’s the only thing I can hear.
