Page 33 of Send It

Lincoln

“Are you sure this is going to work?” I ask Colson as I pull on a pair of moto pants over the padded leggings I put on to make my legs look thicker. “Do you think they will notice it’s not you?”

“I hope not,” he says. “Just keep the helmet and the goggles on and don’t speak to anyone.

When you come back to the trailer you can change into your regular clothes and I’ll still have this identical race gear on.

I’ll wet my hair with a bottle of water so it looks like I’ve been sweating in my helmet. ”

I nod, understanding exactly what the plan is and why it’s important that I race today.

To see if we can pull it off at Nationals.

Colson limps around me inside the enclosed trailer, still refusing to use his crutches, and tilts my head up by my chin.

He stares down at me before gently pressing his lips to mine .

When he pulls away, he shakes his head. “I don’t like this. I really don’t want you getting hurt.”

“I’ll be fine, dipshit. Now give me those goggles. I need to be out of the trailer before Reiss comes to get his bike.

He nods, placing his goggles in my hand. “I’ll watch from afar. Watch for Ryan after the tabletop, he’ll give you a sign.”

I twirl my hair up into a wig cap so I don’t run the risk of my long dark locks falling out and pull the helmet on, slipping the goggles over my eyes. Colson takes his palm and taps the top of my helmet.

“Send it, baby Bane.”

His words send a fuzzy feeling into the pit of my stomach that mimics butterflies. Good old fashioned butterflies, the kind that only Colson Raines has been able to put inside me.

Colson brought the new bike over to the track last night and I got a few laps in before we got here but it’s still pretty new. It’s faster than the bikes I’m used to riding, which proves that my dad was protecting me.

I push the bike out of the trailer and hop on, riding it over to the staging area to get ready for the first moto. I’m running two today.

The bikes get lined up at the gate and Reiss pulls into the spot next to me. He takes his gloved hand and holds it out for a fist bump. I do the same thing, thankful that he can’t talk to me over the buzzing sounds of the engines.

My gaze falls down to the metal gate, and I watch intently for its release. The bike vibrates against my boots and when the gate drops, I speed off.

Landon beats me to the holeshot, getting to the first turn just a millisecond before me but I’m close on his rear. With the first turn, dust flies up and I twist harder on the throttle, doing my best not to let Landon break away.

I have no idea where Reiss is because in order to keep my line, I can’t look back for him.

I don’t need to. The only person I need to worry about is myself.

I jump the first double exactly like Colson would, trying my best to mimic the way he rides.

Which isn’t as hard as I thought it would be considering I’ve been riding with Colson for most of my life.

I know every little mannerism, every hip twist, and when his butt would come up off the seat. Everything.

Now if only I can hammer down like Colson, I could take this race, just like he would. I can feel myself nearly catching Landon on the straightaways and with each lap I get closer. When I see the flagger pull out the white flag, I know this is my last chance.

Colson reiterated over and over that I didn’t need to win today, that it was only practice, blah blah blah, but let's be real. It’s me.

I can’t look at any race as practice. I need to prove to him that I can do this.

I can help him win at Nationals and secure his spot on a factory team so he can get his surgery and take some time off.

Coming out of the whoops, I take the inside on the turn coming into the straightaway and by the time we are at the end, I’m side by side with Landon.

On the next turn, I rub by him, causing him to run over the berm and off the track.

I made the pass and it might have been a little aggressive but hey, that’s racing.

I hit the finish line jump and just for good measure and the cherry on top, I turn back and flip Landon off while my bike sails through the air.

Which is exactly what Colson would do.