Page 78 of Endo
The asphalt stretches ahead, a twisting ribbon of black that calls to every instinct I’ve been suppressing. The first turn comes fast, and I lean into it, my body stiff and cautious. The bike responds, but my muscles fight it, the ghost of the crash tugging at the edges of my mind.
The second turn comes quicker, sharper, and I force myself to trust the bike. To trustme. The tires grip the track like a lifeline, and with every passing second, the tension in my chest eases. The wind rushes past, drowning out the noise of the pit, the doubts, the memories.
By the third lap, I’m moving like I never stopped. The bike is an extension of me, every turn, every acceleration smooth and deliberate. My heart pounds with adrenaline, but it’s not fear anymore—it’s exhilaration. This is what I’ve been missing.
The rush. The control. The freedom.
As I round a turn onto the straightaway, a bike pulls up beside me. Revel. His bike hums low and steady, and he matches my speed with ease. His visor is down, but I can feel the tension radiating off him as he keeps pace with me.
We don’t speak, don’t gesture. It’s just us and the track, a silent conversation carried out in speed and precision. When he nods slightly and accelerates ahead, I let him go, my focus snapping back to my own rhythm.
The hum of the pits fills the air as I swing off the bike, the adrenaline still coursing through me. My leg aches faintly—a dull, familiar throb that I’ve learned to live with—but it’s manageable. More importantly, it didn’t hold me back.
Draygon steps forward first, his grin wide and genuine. “You looked good out there, man,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder. “Didn’t even seem like your leg was bothering you.”
“How’d it hold up?” Wolfe asks, his tone softer than usual. He leans against the wall, arms crossed, his sharp eyes scanning me like he’s looking for any signs of pain.
I roll my shoulders, flexing my leg slightly to ease the stiffness. “It’s holding,” I reply, my voice steady. “Still gets tight on some of the turns, but rehab’s been helping. It’s getting there.”
Andre nods, his expression serious but encouraging. “You’ll get there. It takes time, but you’re already ahead of the curve. That didn’t look like someone holding back.”
“Agreed,” Draygon adds. “From where we were standing, you looked like you hadn’t missed a day. Smooth, sharp, confident.”
Thorne finally speaks, his voice lacking its usual edge of sarcasm. “Gotta say, mate, I was impressed. Looked like you were back to form. Damn near heroic, if I’m being honest.” He smirks, but it’s softer, less biting. “You keep this up, we’ll all be struggling to catch up.”
I shake my head, letting out a small chuckle. “Thanks, guys. Means a lot.”
Wolfe grins, stepping forward to clasp my arm briefly. “We’re just glad you’re back. This place wasn’t the same without you.”
The weight in my chest loosens a fraction, the steady stream of support pulling me further out of the fog I’ve been stuck in. Their words aren’t just platitudes—they mean it. And for the first time, I let myself believe it.
The banter quiets, replaced by something calmer, something grounding. I glance back at the track, the memory of the ride fresh in my mind. The bike under me, the rush of speed, the turns—it felt like a piece of me had finally clicked back into place.
For the first time in months, it feels like I’m not just here—I’m part of this again.
Then the low purr of an engine draws my attention. Revel pulls into the pits, his bike humming like a predator stalking its prey. He rolls up beside me, cutting the motor and flipping uphis visor. For a moment, our eyes meet, and for once, there’s no cocky smirk—just something steady, something genuine.
“You looked good out there,” he says, his voice carrying just enough respect to surprise me.
I arch an eyebrow, caught off guard but not about to show it. “Thanks,” I say, keeping my tone neutral.
Revel leans back slightly, resting an arm on his handlebars. “Seriously. The team’s been missing you. Glad to see you back.”
The sincerity in his words is unexpected, and I can’t help the flicker of confusion that passes through me. “Trying to get back to 100 percent,” I admit, shrugging. “Still figuring it out.”
“You’ll get there,” he says with a nod. “You’re already closer than you think. Hell, you’re better than most of us, and you’ve been off for how long?”
The faint smirk I manage isn’t forced. “Nice to know you’re finally admitting it.”
“Don’t let it go to your head, Matthews,” he quips, flipping his visor back down. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold.” With that, he revs his engine lightly and rides off toward his station, leaving me standing there with his words still ringing in my ears.
Revel isn’t the type to hand out compliments, least of all to me. But whatever this was—it felt real. Genuine. Like maybe he wasn’t just talking about my performance on the track.
Before I can dwell on it, a car pulls up, and my attention shifts. Lena steps out, her stride confident, her gear bag slung over one shoulder. Even in her training gear, she’s a vision—effortless and commanding, her presence pulling every eye in the pits without even trying.
But something’s off. The warmth I’ve come to expect from her isn’t there. Her focus is sharp, distant, and it cuts through the pits like a cold wind.
I push off my bike, moving to meet her halfway. “Hey,” I call out, keeping my voice light, hopeful even.
