Page 8 of Send It

Lincoln

It’s hot, like easily a hundred degrees as the sun beats down on me in all my riding gear.

It was a long two weeks with no riding, and Reiss and Colson were gone for a few days racing in Georgia.

They wouldn’t stand for me going, not after Dr. Marlow said no training, so I was stuck here with Mom breathing down my neck.

I haven’t heard a peep from Colson since our kiss, and I wouldn’t say I’m freaking out about it but I wouldn’t say I’m not freaking out either. Did he tell Reiss? Did he not tell Reiss? Do I want him to tell Reiss?

“Look, Linc, you’re letting off the throttle too early.” Ryan says, raking a line in the dirt with his boot. “Don’t let off until you reach this line.”

Nodding, I slip my helmet back on and head back around the track. I hammer down and watch for my line in the dirt before letting off the throttle, the second I release I can tell I’m going too fast and turn too late. I fly over the berm and separate from my bike, hitting the ground with a thud.

Ouch .

I sit up and sigh when I see Reiss and Colson walking toward me.

“Damn, Linc, you okay?” Reiss asks, throwing his hand out to help me up.

“Yeah,” I huff, standing. “Just trying to shave some time off.”

Colson stands behind Reiss and snorts, “Looks like the only thing you’re shaving is dirt.”

I stare at him. So we’re back there? Back to Colson being a complete dickwad? Cool.

“We’ll pick this up again tomorrow,” Ryan states, grabbing my shoulder. “We’ll get you where you wanna be. Don’t worry.”

I watch as he disappears into the shop, and I turn to Reiss, “How was the race?”

He smirks, “Good practice.”

“What’s wrong with him?” I ask, watching Colson walk into the house.

“His leg is bothering him, he rode like shit all weekend.”

There it is.

“He needs to see Dr. Marlow,” I quip. “Something could be wrong.”

“I know,” he sighs, “But you know Colson, he’s not gonna do anything that could risk amateur nationals. It’s our year, Linc.”

I tilt my brows in, “So he can stomp around and demand I go to the doctor but we can’t do that to him?”

He shrugs, “You know how he is.”

I stare him down. Yeah, that’s not fair. Stomping toward the house, I follow Colson inside.

“Reiss said you rode like shit all weekend,” I announce. “You need to see Dr. Marlow.”

“Yeah, I’m not doing that. It’s fine, I just need to do some more rehab on it.”

I cross my arms, “It’s been a year since your surgery. Dr. Marlow cleared you, and he needs to know if you have pain.”

“Stop preaching to me, baby Bane. I’m fine.”

Scrolling through my phone I pull up the results of his motos, he barely finished top ten.

I shove the proof in his face, “That’s bullshit and you know it. Show me your leg.”

“No.” He snaps, pushing the phone away. “I told you it’s fine.”

I stare him down. “Then prove it.”

He lets out a deep growl as he lifts his leg up and rests his foot on the barstool. It’s swollen.

“You’re working yourself too hard. You need to ice that.”

I walk to the freezer and pull an icepack from the shelf, then motion for him to join me on the couch.

He sits and I pull the ottoman over to us, and start untying his shoe.

He watches me intently but doesn’t argue, and when I pull his sock down and off his foot, it feels like intimacy.

Colson doesn’t let anyone get close to him like this and he sure as hell doesn’t let anyone “take care” of him.

Colson takes care of himself. He’s always been like that.

I place the ice pack over the swollen part of his ankle beneath where his actual scar is located, and he winces .

“Cold?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “It does hurt.”

“I know it does,” I huff. “You should’ve finished your PT.”

He shakes his head, “She was making me do baby shit, and I’m an athlete, all the stretching and flexing felt a little preschool.”

I shake my head, “You are so stubborn. All that preschool shit is what helps build your muscle mass back. You didn’t work yourself back up to where you were, and you think you can just magically be the same, but I remember your bone nearly sticking through your skin.

It takes a lot more work than you think. ”

He looks at me, his eyes pleading, “Don’t tell your dad.”

I stare at him as he continues to beg, “Please, Linc. I’ll rest it. I swear.”

Giving him a look that says “yeah right” I sit back against the couch. “You won’t though. You’ll push and push and push until something bad happens.”

He leans over me, caging my face in with his hands, his palms resting against my cheeks, “I promise you that I will rest it.”

I size him up, “Go back to PT.”

“Fuck, no.” He growls, “I’m not doing that shit. It’s a waste of time, but I promise I won’t push past the limit.”

I tilt my brows in, “You don’t even know what the limit is, dipshit!”

His lips break from the hard line they’ve been pressed in, “You did not just call me a dipshit.”

“I did, it’s what you are when you get like this. A stubborn ass dipshit. ”

He grins, still leaned over me, “Take it back.”

“Nope,” I say, popping the p.

His hands find my sides and start to tickle. I squirm around like a freak until we both freeze at the sound of the door opening. Colson’s eyes widen like saucers.

“What are ya’ll doing?” Reiss asks, coming straight over to us.

Colson’s face is a little pale as he answers, “Linc is making me ice my ankle because she doesn’t take no for an answer.”

Reiss looks at me and smiles, “She’s still mad at you for making her go to the doctor over her hip.”

I look at Colson and shrug, “Cost me two weeks of riding.”

He doesn’t look at Reiss, in fact, his eyes never leave mine. “Why do you like riding so much anyway? None of your friends ride, none of them even hang out at the track, and you’re a girl, Linc. Shouldn’t you be doing girl shit? Not constantly cock blocking us and smelling like race fuel.”

I grit my teeth and search for a comeback, but I don’t say anything. The answer to his question is simple, but not something I can say aloud. I always liked riding because of him.

I wanted to be close to you, you idiot.