Page 17 of Send It

Colson

I couldn’t answer Reiss’ messages and I couldn’t go over to their house and let his parents dote on me and tell me how sorry they are, because as fucked up as it is… I feel relieved.

Not relieved that I need surgery. Not at all. But relieved that I’m not competing at Nationals.

The absolute anxiety that I’ve felt about racing for the past few months isn’t something I enjoy.

I have been constantly afraid of getting hurt.

I think I knew that something was wrong with my leg and it took this to wake me up to see it.

The fact that I kept riding infuriates me.

Imagine if I did something to make it worse. Something that couldn’t be fixed.

That part scares me the most. I want a future where I’m not constantly in pain from previous injuries and this isn’t the best start.

The doorbell rings and I drag my attention from the half empty bottle of Crown Royal on the coffee table. One more thing I shouldn’t be doing. I stand up, trying my best to balance on these fucking crutches, and realize just how drunk I am.

I swing the door open and come face to face with Lincoln. She’s staring at me like I’m broken. Like I’m a wounded animal that she’s scooped up off the side of the road.

“Colson…”

I stumble backward trying to catch my crutch before it crashes against the hardwood.

“Shit,” I huff.

“Here, let me get it,” she offers, picking the crutch up and leveling me with a glare. “Why are you ignoring Reiss?”

“Because I don’t want to talk.”

She presses her lips into a fine line, “Okay, well why are you ignoring me?”

I shake my head, “Because I don’t know how to talk to you anymore, Linc.”

“What in the actual fuck is that supposed to mean?” She scoffs. “You’ve been talking to me since I was a literal baby.”

“That’s the problem!” I shout, but don’t mean to, so I lower my voice. “That’s the fucking problem.”

“So now I’m just a problem you need to solve?”

“No, Lincoln. I’m the problem. I shouldn’t feel like this about you. You shouldn’t be here right now.”

She glances at the bottle of whiskey on the coffee table and back to me, “Are you drunk?”

“No, I’m just drinking.”

She glares at me, “Just drinking but not drunk?”

“I’m a little drunk,” I admit. “What does that even matter?”

She shakes her head, “Did you tell your parents about your leg?”

“No, why would I?” I scoff. “So they can come home and tell me how I ruined their trip? I’m a grown ass man, I don’t need my mommy and daddy.”

Her face falls, “I know you don’t need them but they should need you. They should want to be part of your life.”

I shrug her comment off, “Did you tell your mom and dad about my leg?”

She shakes her head, “No. They know your leg is hurting you but I didn’t tell them what Dr. Marlow said. I told Reiss you might be looking at another surgery.”

I sigh, “That explains the missed calls.”

“I had to tell him something, he’s been breathing down my neck.”

“Well, I don’t know if I want another surgery.” I hesitate before reiterating, “Actually, I know I don’t.”

Her eyes turn dark, “So you just wanna hurt forever? You sound like an idiot right now.”

I roll my eyes, “At least I’m consistent.”

“Consistently stupid,” she agrees. “You can’t live like this.”

“Okay, well what about Nationals?”

Her features turn a furious shade of red. “What about Nationals? You can’t race like that, dipshit.”

“First I’m an idiot and now I’m a dipshit?”

She crosses her arms over her chest, “An asshole too. A, B, and C. All of the above, actually!”

I can’t help but chuckle. “Tell me how you really feel, baby Bane.”

She mimics my earlier comment, “At least I’m consistent with my insults.”

I roll my eyes at her, “Where is Reiss anyway?”

“Going on a date with Mira Tate.”

The way she says her name, like it's something she has to spit out, is funny. She continues, “I don’t even know why he’s going out with her. It’s not like she’s really into him. She’s just using him for something.”

I can’t hide the grin that envelops my entire face. It earns a pointed look from Lincoln. “Oh my God. Ew.”

“I’m just saying, I can think of two very big and very perky reasons that Reiss is hanging out with Mira.”

Something crashes over her and I can see her shoulders tense. “If you like her tits so much, I’m sure there’s enough of Tate’s sister to go around.”

She’s feisty and it turns me on, “Are you jealous?”

“No, Colson. I’m not jealous.”

I mess with her, “It sounds like jealousy.”

She nods stiffly, “Well it isn’t.”

“I don’t believe you.” I snap back quickly.

“I don’t really care what you believe, Colson. I can’t keep doing this with you.”

“Doing what?”

She drops her arms down by her side and instinctively places her thumbs inside her fists and rubs her knuckle with the other fingers. Something she does when she’s upset. Something she’s always done.

Before I even realize what I’m doing both of my hands are entwined with hers. It’s hard to keep the crutches under my arms and reach for her at the same time. Lincoln notices and steps closer to me. I think she might pull away but she doesn’t.

She looks down at my leg and back up at me, “Lying.”

“We aren’t lying,” I say, reaching up to brush her hair back.

She takes a tiny step back but it might as well be a mile because that’s how far away she feels. Mentally and physically. “We aren’t being truthful. I told you I can’t keep this from Reiss.

“I’ll talk to him tonight,” I blurt without totally thinking it through. It does seem to make her feel better though. She steps closer to me and presses her lips gently against mine before looking up at me.

“Is that what you want?”

My best friend to hate my guts? No, Linc. Not really.

“I want you, Lincoln. The only way that happens is if I talk to Reiss.”

She smirks up at me, “You’ve always had me, Colson Raines.”

I bop her on the nose, “That’s better than dipshit, baby Bane.”

Her face twists, “Ugh stop callin me that.”

“Never.”