Page 64 of Endo
But no amount of booze or sunsets is gonna make this night any easier. Because she’s coming. And I’m already bracing myself for the fallout.
Talon’s manning the grill like he’s on a mission to feed all of Tampa Bay, flipping burgers and barking orders about how the hot dogs need “just the right amount of char.” Sayshen’s sprawled on a lounger near the edge of the deck, a Corona dangling from his fingertips as he throws his head back, laughing at something Bex just said. She’s perched beside him,her sunglasses pushed up into her hair, gesturing wildly as she tells a story that’s got everyone around her grinning.
The rest of the crew is scattered. Some are down on the beach, a volleyball game in full swing with Wolfe diving into the sand like it’s the Olympics, while a few others are out on jet skis, the faint sound of engines cutting through the waves. A small group has claimed a corner of the deck near the makeshift bar Andre set up, pouring drinks and tossing back shots like it’s a competition.
It’s loud and warm and easy—a picture-perfect beach day that feels like it belongs in a brochure. The kind of scene that should be nothing but good vibes. But for me? It’s just noise.
I lean against the deck railing, my eyes fixed on the horizon as the sun sinks lower. The beer in my hand’s already warm, and I haven’t said more than two words to anyone in the last half hour. Not because I don’t want to—it’s because I’m waiting.
I don’t have to wait long.
When Lena shows up, it’s like the air shifts, some kind of sixth sense screaming at me before I even look. But when I do, it hits harder than I want to admit. She’s stepping onto the deck with Revel at her side, and fuck, she looks... stunning.
Her tan legs seem longer than they should in those ripped jean shorts, and that cropped tie-dye shirt clings to her in a way that has my throat going dry. Her hair’s loose, spilling over her shoulders in soft waves, catching the golden light of the setting sun. She moves like she owns the space—confident, but with just enough hesitation to let me know she’s not as calm as she wants people to think.
And me? I can’t look away.
But it’s not just how she looks—it’s the way she’s been acting. Or not acting, really. I’ve been messaging her all week. Texts, calls, even a goddamn voicemail because I was desperate enoughto try anything. Nothing. Every single one went unanswered, leaving me with nothing but silence.
It’s confusing as hell. It’s frustrating. And yeah, it hurts.
I get it, though. She’s overthinking everything that happened between us—I know her well enough to know that. But understanding doesn’t make it suck any less. Especially not when I see her walk in with him.
Revel leans in, says something that makes her laugh, and it takes everything in me not to crush the bottle in my hand. It’s not jealousy. Not really. It’s the goddamn waiting that’s eating me alive. Waiting for her to figure out whatever she needs to figure out. Waiting for her to stop avoiding me.
I toss back the rest of my beer, the burn of it doing nothing to calm the storm in my chest, and grab another from the cooler near the grill. The bottle’s ice-cold, but my blood’s boiling.
She hasn’t even wanted to train. Not once. I’d offered, but she ignored it, just like she’s ignored me. And seeing her now, all smiles and laughs like everything’s fine, like we didn’t just cross a line that changes everything... it twists something sharp and ugly inside me.
The hours drag. The sun dips below the horizon, the sky bleeding into deep orange and purple, and the party shifts into nighttime energy. Laughter’s louder, drinks are flowing harder, and she still hasn’t come to me.
So, I stop waiting.
Fuck giving her space. I’m done sitting on the sidelines. If she won’t come to me, then I’ll go to her.
Lena’s coming up the steps from the beach, water dripping from her skin, her bikini clinging to her in a way that has no damn right to look that good. She’s wringing out her hair, the strands sticking to her shoulders as the last rays of sunlight catch the droplets sliding down her body.
I feel the knot in my chest tighten as I watch her, every step she takes only winding it tighter. She hasn’t said two words to me all week, and now she’s here, looking like that, acting like she hasn’t been ignoring me since the second she walked away at the track.
I push off the railing where I’ve been leaning, my bottle of beer dangling loosely in my hand as I cross the deck toward her. She doesn’t see me at first, her focus on squeezing water out of her hair, but the moment I say her name, her head snaps up.
“Lena.”
Her eyes snap to mine, wide and slightly hazy. She blinks, her lips parting like she’s surprised to see me standing there, but she recovers quickly.
“Reign,” she says, her tone light but laced with something I can’t quite place.
“We need to talk.”
Her expression falters for a second before she glances at Cece and Bex, then back at me. “Now?”
“Yeah. Now.”
She hesitates but eventually nods, setting her drink on the table. I don’t give her a chance to overthink it, guiding her toward the house with a hand on the small of her back.
Talon’s room is quiet, the muted thump of music from the party outside filtering through the closed door. Lena sits on the edge of the bed, her shoulders relaxed, her head tilted slightly as she looks up at me.
She’s drunk. Not wasted, but definitely tipsy enough to make this conversation harder than it needs to be.
