Page 79 of Endo
She glances at me, her eyes flicking over my face for the briefest moment before shifting past me to the guys. “Hey,” she replies, her tone clipped, detached.
The coldness in her voice lands like a punch. “Everything okay?” I ask, trying to keep the edge out of my tone.
“Fine,” she says too quickly, brushing past me without a second glance.
The sting of her cold shoulder is immediate, a crack forming in the high I’ve been riding since I got back on the track. My chest tightens, the questions and frustrations swirling in my head. We were supposed to train today, get ready for the rescheduled race—the one ruined the other night when the cops showed up. It’s happening in a couple of days, and the stakes couldn’t be higher. We both know it. So why the hell is she acting like this?
I watch her as she heads to her bike, unzipping her bag and pulling out her helmet with deliberate, almost mechanical movements. Everything about her screams avoidance, like she’s trying to put as much space between us as possible.
Wolfe, ever the one to lighten the mood, quips from behind me, “Guess Lena’s here to show us all up again.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Draygon adds with a laugh, but their voices barely register.
I stay rooted to the spot, my jaw tight as I take her in. This isn’t the Lena I know—the one who let her walls down with me, who shared pieces of herself no one else has seen. This Lena feels like a stranger, cold and distant, and it guts me more than I want to admit.
The guys start to gear up for their next laps, their chatter fading into the background as my focus narrows on her. She’s avoiding me, and I don’t know why, but I’m not letting it slide.
Not with the race so close. Not after everything.
Once the track clears and the guys are done, I’m getting answers. Whatever this is, it’s not over. Not by a long shot.
29
LENA
GRAVITY - Matt Hansen
It’sthe way he looks at me that cuts the deepest.
His eyes are heavy with questions, frustration, and something that feels too close to heartbreak. Even after the team packs up and the pits empty out, he’s still here, still staring at me like I’m the only thing in the world he can’t figure out. And I hate it.
I pack my bag slowly, each motion deliberate, trying to act like I don’t notice him. But the air between us is electric, crackling with tension that makes it impossible to ignore him. Reign doesn’t let things go.
Not when it matters. And this? Whatever this is? It matters.
I zip up my bag, sling it over my shoulder, and make my way toward the exit. But I don’t get far. He steps into my path, his frame blocking out the faint light spilling from the garage doors. His expression is dark, his jaw tight, and his eyes are sharp enough to cut.
“Lena,” he says, his voice low and controlled, but there’s a dangerous edge to it. “We need to talk.”
“Not now, Reign,” I reply, my voice firmer than I feel. I step to the side, but he moves with me, refusing to let me go.
“No,” he snaps, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall like he has all the time in the world. “We’re doing this now.”
“Reign—” I try again, but he cuts me off, his voice sharp.
“What the hell was that back there?” he asks, his tone biting. “You pull away from me, act like I don’t even exist, and now you’re just going to walk off like everything’s fine?”
I force myself to meet his eyes, even though the intensity in them makes my stomach twist. “It’s not a big deal,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “The guys don’t need to see?—”
“Bullshit,” he interrupts, stepping closer. The space between us shrinks, and his presence is overwhelming. “This isn’t about them. It’s about you. About us.”
The word “us” hits like a punch, and my chest tightens painfully. I glance away, my hands gripping the strap of my bag like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
“There is no ‘us,’ Reign,” I say, my voice sharper than I intend. “It’s not... it’s not real. What we have, whatever this is”— she gestures between us —“it’s just two broken people trying to fill the void.”
His expression shifts, the anger faltering for just a second before something more vulnerable takes its place. The weight of his stare makes my throat close up. I hate myself for saying it, but it’s the only way to stop this spiral.
“Then why?” he demands, his voice cracking slightly. “Why take me to the beach? Why bring me to the center? Why tell me about Cruz, about the turtles, about all of it? Why open up to me if we’re just... nothing?”
