Everything on me hurts like hell, but I push through it anyway. Even the drive to the arena is hard, but by the time I pull into my spot for loading, my pain is dulled. It’s all Charlie. She talks to Mac when things get tough, so I talk to her—even when she’s not around. She’s caught me before, and I think she knows what I’m doing, but I keep it my secret. Like I have two versions of her—the one I hold at night, and the one in my head that guides me—and they’re both f**king perfect!
“Hey, loser. You’re late,” Jessie says, her legs kicking back and forth on the loading dock. I rush around to unhook the trailer gate and roll off my bike.
“I know. She here?” I say, a little winded already. I’m not ready for this, I’m in terrible shape. Fuck! What am I thinking?
“She’s here. She’s not totally sure she can watch you do this, but she’s here,” I hear Charlie’s voice behind me, and I’m rushed with instant calm.
She’s wearing one of my hoodies, and a pair of skinny jeans, her feet shoved into the same Uggs she wore on our very first date. I love those boots, and I love the woman in them. I let Jessie take over filing the entry papers and checking out my gages while I kiss Charlie until I can feel her lips curl into a smile against me. It’s like a challenge to me, every time I kiss her.
“Piece of cake,” I say, winking at her when I pull away. “Just stay by Jessie. She’ll hold your hand if you get nervous.”
“More like she’ll slap me,” Charlie says, rolling her eyes at Jessie.
“She’s right, I’ll slap her,” Jessie jokes, and then goes right back to my paperwork.
I pat Charlie on the ass as I pull on my helmet and flip it on my head to go inside for my round. She nods once and takes a deep breath before wishing me good luck. It’s a pretty big event for my first stint back on the tour. My name bought me some clout, and part of me wishes I was somewhere in some West Coast suburb with a few teenagers for my first big ride out.
MTV’s covering my ride, which is cool…I guess? All the attention has my palms sweating. I down at least three energy drinks while I sit in the dirt on my bike, just waiting. I have to pee. I can’t believe this, I’m minutes away from scaring the shit out of myself over some crazy dream, and I have to piss.
They’re calling my name. I have to go, and all I want to do is hop off this bike and run to the blue Port-o-potty 100 feet away. The whole thing has me chuckling, but there’s no use dwelling on it. I’ll have to hold it—I can piss in about 45 seconds.
I pound my fist with one of my old riding buddies and flip the front down on my helmet. I hate wearing these things; everything in here is so f**king small. I swear I think I always hold my breath the entire time, all the way until I slide my helmet off again.
I cruise by the front row before I rev my engine enough to loop around and climb the hill. I know I’ll never spot Charlie here amid the hundreds of family members that sit in this section, so I look for Jessie’s purple hair. That lame-ass dye job has saved me more than once—if I could, I’d make her sit on my car so I could find it in a crowded parking lot.
I’m about to give up when I see the flash of purple, and I notice her hands waving for my attention. Charlie is clinging to her arm, her face buried in her shoulder, so I stop at the side for just a few seconds to pull her away and kiss her in front of the arena full of people.
When I pull away, she’s smiling again, her eyes blinking rapidly with embarrassment, because they just showed her face on the big screen. I kiss my thumb, and then press it to her lips one more time; she giggles. I carry that with me as I ride the rest of the way up the hill.
Once I’m at the top, all sound fades away, and everything looks just like home—I’m right back at the pits, only the lighting is better. I’ve done this—every single thing I have planned for today—at least 100 times over the last month. My nerves are like ice, and my bike feels like it’s just an extension of me. I can feel everything, but I also feel nothing. No pain. My leg is meaningless up here as I look down at the line of dirt and the giant gap between both sides.
I’m ready to fly. I know my grin is cocky as I open up the throttle, and when I feel the speed building as I rush down the ramp, and back up again, my body is overcome with the most amazing calm. The ground is rough, but my arms take every bump and melt it away until suddenly, there’s nothing.
It’s the same sensation you get when you’re a child, finally learning how to swing your way to be even with the bar of the swing set. That little bit of slack—the moment when the chains go limp, and you’re actually free falling, nothing there to hold you. Yeah. That’s what I’m feeling right now—and it’s f**king glorious!