Page 77 of Endo
The hum of the track vibrates in my chest, the familiar roar of engines mingling with the sharp tang of gasoline and hot rubber. The pits are alive with movement—guys running back and forth, tuning their bikes, gearing up, and swapping jokes. It feels good to be here, like I’ve got a purpose again, but there’s still a weight in my chest that I can’t quite shake.
My bike sits a few feet away, gleaming under the midday sun like it’s taunting me. Like even it agrees I’ve avoided it and made excuses long enough. The guys haven’t said much about it so far today—they’ve been careful lately not to push. But even I know that won’t last. Even now I can feel their eyes on me, silent expectations pressing down on my shoulders.
Wolfe is the first to break the unspoken tension. “Yo, Reign,” he calls out, slapping a hand on my shoulder hard enough tomake me stumble. “You just gonna stare at it all day, or are you actually gonna remember how to ride?”
I smirk, masking the churn of nerves in my gut. “Relax, Wolfe. When I get out there, you won’t even see me. I’ll be too far ahead.”
He barks a laugh, shoving me lightly. “Big words from a guy who’s been playing track ghost for months. You sure you even remember which way to lean?”
“Unlike you, I actually know the difference between turning and wiping out,” I shoot back, leaning casually against the bike. “Want me to sketch a quick diagram? Help you out?”
“Please,” Wolfe snorts, crossing his arms. “You’ll be eating my dust before you even hit third gear.”
“Doubt it.” My smirk widens, the familiar banter easing some of the tension that’s been knotted in my chest for months.
Draygon chimes in from across the pit, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Damn, Reign’s already talking shit. Must be feeling himself. But seriously, man, it’s good to see you out here. The guys at the Iron Pit are probably lighting candles for your return. You were their golden goose.”
I roll my eyes. “They’ll be fine. Tell them to save the tears. I’ll be back to ruin their wallets soon enough.”
Thorne strides over, his usual cocky smirk plastered across his face, like he’s been waiting for the perfect moment to insert himself. “What can I say, mate? You’ve got a knack for drama. First, you’re crashing out in glorious flames, then you’re swooping in on the strip, all knight in shining bloody leathers. Next thing we know, you’ll be in some soap opera.”
“Not my fault you can’t handle the competition,” I quip, shooting him a side glance. “Maybe I’ll audition you for the backup role. You know, comic relief.”
“Oi, watch it!” Thorne retorts, pointing a finger at me with mock indignation. “Just ‘cause you’re back doesn’t mean you’re top dog yet. You’ve still got to prove you’re not all bark.”
“Oh, I’ll prove it,” I say, glancing at my bike, the itch to ride building in my chest. “You’re just lucky I’m feeling generous today. Try not to cry when I leave you in the dust.”
Andre steps into the mix, his presence grounding in a way only he can manage. He claps a firm hand on my back, his tone easy but warm. “No one’s betting against you, Reign. It’s good to have you back. Don’t think too hard—just ride. You’ll know what to do.”
His words settle something in me I didn’t even realize needed settling. I nod, grateful. “Thanks, Coach.”
“Anytime,” he says, stepping back to give me space.
The banter fizzles as the guys scatter to prep their bikes, but the sense of camaraderie lingers. It’s in the smiles they toss my way, the way they keep throwing half-jokes over their shoulders. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I belong here again.
It’s been months since I’ve suited up. Months since I’ve felt the pull of the track. Today, though, the itch to ride isn’t just a whisper in the back of my mind; it’s a roar. The fear that’s shadowed me since the crash is still there, but it’s muted, drowned out by something louder. Something I can’t ignore.
I grab my gear bag and start suiting up, the familiar ritual grounding me as much as the leather itself. The jacket slides on first, its snug fit a comforting weight against my shoulders. My leg twinges as I bend down to pull on my boots, a faint reminder of the crash that put me here in the first place. Rehab’s been working—I’m stronger now, better—but certain motions still stir up a dull ache that refuses to let me forget.
I flex my knee carefully, letting the stretch work out the worst of the stiffness before moving on. Helmet next, my fingers brush over the scuff marks etched into the matte black surface, eachone a reminder of battles won and scars earned. Last, are my gloves. The weight of it feels right in my hands, like slipping into an old, familiar skin.
Swinging my leg over the bike takes a little extra care, the motion pulling at the lingering soreness in my thigh. It’s nothing I can’t handle, but the sharp edge of it makes me grit my teeth. Once I’m settled in the seat, though, the discomfort fades into the background. The bike feels both familiar and foreign beneath me—like a part of me I’ve been missing but still need to relearn.
I glance toward the guys as they gather at the edge of the pit, their expressions a mix of curiosity and quiet expectation. Sayshen catches my eye first, his grin lazy but laced with encouragement. I can tell they’re all watching, waiting to see if I’ll falter, but not a single one of them doubts I’ll rise to the occasion. And neither do I.
“About damn time,” he shouts, smirking. “Thought you were just gonna pose with it for Instagram or something.”
“Shut it, fucker,” I call back, but I can’t help the grin tugging at my lips.
Draygon leans against the wall, arms crossed. “Don’t choke out there. You’ve got a reputation to rebuild.”
Thorne’s voice cuts through next, dripping with his usual sarcasm. “Reckon you’ve still got it, mate? Or are you just gonna take a lap and call it a day?”
“You’ll see,” I shoot back, sliding my helmet on. The visor clicks into place, and suddenly, the world outside fades. It’s just me and the bike now.
I press the ignition, the engine roaring to life beneath me. The vibration hums through my body, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel steady. Alive.
“Let’s go,” I mutter to myself as I twist the throttle and roll toward the track.
