Page 89 of Send It
I sigh, “Was too busy having a heart to heart with daddy dearest.”
“That bad?” She winces. “He seems really happy to be here.”
“It wasn’t bad at all actually. Just didn’t really think he’d lay it all out there like he did.”
“Have you heard from your mom?”
“Nope,” I say, unable to meet her eyes, knowing she’ll see the disappointment in mine.
“Hey,” she whispers, “It’s her loss. She’s the one missing out.”
“Is she?” I argue. “I’m not even really racing. So she’s not exactly missing anything.”
“She doesn’t know you aren’t racing, though, and she’s still not offering any support.”
I laugh. “Yeah, even my haters are more supportive. At least Landon’s out there trying to sell tickets to my downfall on YouTube, that’s a whole lot more than what my mom’s doing.”
She pinches her nose, “Did you just compliment Landon for hating you?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t slept well in a few days, I’m just delirious at this point.”
She looks over at me concerned, “Why aren’t you sleeping?”
I look down at my swollen leg, “I’m just in a lot of pain. I can’t help but worry that the surgery won’t work.”
“Dr. Marlow said he was confident that it would. You have to trust that everything is going to be okay. You’ll be riding like normal in no time.”
Those words make my chest ache. I don’t want to disappoint her, but I also don’t want to lie to her either.
“I don’t know if I want to risk it. I don’t know if it’s really worth the risk.”
She pulls her brows in, “But you love racing.”
“And I always will,” I agree. “But the older I get the more I fear the consequences of racing.”
“You’re afraid of getting hurt again?” she asks, surprised, knowing it’s not like me to admit somethinglike that. Especially not when I’m known for showing no fear on the track.
I look down, embarrassed that I’m kind of looking like a pussy right now.
“No,” I say. “It’s not a fear of if I’ll get hurt again, it’s when and how badly.”
She just looks at me, knowing that I’m right. Motocross is dangerous. Racing is dangerous. That will never change. Injuries are common, even fatal ones.
She’s shocked, “Are you saying you don’t want to go pro?”
“I don’t know,” I shrug. “There are so many things I want to do in my life and I don’t want to do them while in constant pain.”
“Are you afraid of getting hurt again or are you afraid that you won’t come back stronger than before?”
“Maybe a little of both,” I sigh. “I watch my dad and remember all the things he couldn’t do with me because of his injuries. I don’t want that for my kids.”
“Colson, that’s pretty far down the line. If you love riding and you give it up, then you’re just surviving. If you give up what you love, that’s not living.”
“I wouldn’t be giving up what I love,” I admit. “I’d be giving up racing, but I will never stop riding. It might seem like surviving right now, but in ten years it might feel like living.”
She shrugs, “I just want you to be happy.”
“I don’t want you to think I’m giving up because it’s not like that for me.”
