11. Easton

Chapter 11

Easton

"No, ma'am," Royal answered the reporter. "I don't ride or train on any bull that has had hotshots or spurs used. Bucking straps are lined with fleece to prevent burns or chafing. Much care is taken not to harm these animals, which, by the way, are trained athletes. They are handled with the same respect as traditional and legitimate ranch work. They are rotated between events to allow them plenty of time to recuperate and rest, fed a healthy diet twice a day every day, and given ample space in transport trailers with dividers to reduce fighting. As with any sport, rodeos—bull riding in particular—are evolving and progressing. Not everything is perfect, but it's being worked on. Without animals, there is no rodeo. It takes years of training to get them to compete at this level. That's an enormous financial investment. Therefore, it serves no one's best interest to mistreat them."

Easton leaned against a stall railing as he watched Royal give an interview addressing protesters. Interviews had never been a favorite activity for Easton. In truth, he shied away from the microphones and cameras. However, dealing with these kinds of interviews, he wholeheartedly detested. He had spotted these protesters before they'd entered the fairgrounds and suggested they hang back for a while.

"We'll go in the back," Marcel had declared. To which Royal had huffed and marched into the den of haters. Typical Royal. It was the quality Easton admired the most about his comrade. Royal never failed to defend the things or the ones he loved. The heated and poignant questions flew at him, and unfazed, Royal responded with matched zeal, as if he'd been ready for this fight today. Perhaps he had been. All morning, he'd seemed edgier than usual. Then again, Easton shouldn't have been shocked by this. Royal hadn't slept well. Easton had felt him tossing and turning for much of the night. Something was bothering him, and Easton didn't fancy the idea that his brohan was holding back a secret. Ack! Secret. There was that word again. He and Royal didn't have secrets. Well… .

"He's taking a huge risk with those reporters, don't you think?" Maddox inquired.

"How so?"

"Those protesters are looking to shut us down. One wrong word and he gives them the ammunition to do so. How come he can't ignore them like the rest of us? Why does he have to act like he's some intergalactic hero?"

Easton's expression soured. "Because that's who he is. Besides, he's leading the winner's board. Who better than him?"

"I suppose." Maddox didn't sound convinced. "It only seems unnecessary. Ignore them and they go away."

"But they won't stay away. Problems, no matter how hard or how far you try to push them down, always find a way to resurface."

I should know.

Maddox shoved his hands into the front pockets of his Wranglers. "Do you truly believe he'll get anywhere with that crowd?" He jerked his head toward the gathering assembled around Royal. "They're not here to be reasoned with or listen to alternative points of view."

"That's where you're missing the point. Royal isn't trying to change their minds and convert them into rodeo lovers. He's putting the truth out there for those who may not know. Do you have any idea how many people have only heard one side of the story? If there's only one version out there, that is what people will accept. There is no other choice."

"Again, what difference does it make if there are a thousand choices but they've already settled on one?"

Drawing in a deep breath, Easton inhaled the scents of churros, sausage, and cedar. Oddly, the motley of aromas reminded him that he was both on the road and at home—which, on second thought, seemed appropriate, since the road had practically become his home.

"When I was coming up, I used to hear about a school that was a reformatory for delinquents. All the old folks used to threaten to send us kids there when we misbehaved. The school had a reputation for having the worst of the worst students. But what no one ever talked about was the teachers or the educational program they developed. Those teachers took the time to teach those students. They asked questions and found answers. They didn't base their methods on the hearsay that the students were lost causes or a barrel of bad apples. Today, that school is known for its superior training. It's a privilege to attend. The majority of the graduates win scholarships to Ivy League colleges. That's because it was never what the rumors claimed it to be. The students weren't delinquents. They had learning disabilities that interfered with their functioning in a traditional classroom setting. Once that was realized, appropriate changes could be made. Little by little, year after year, the teachers had been releasing the stats to the public until one day, they couldn't be ignored. Rodeos don't have the prettiest of pasts. There's plenty of truth to the accusations. But just because something once was doesn't mean that it must remain that way, that it can't develop into more."

Maddox tilted his head. "Are you only talking about rodeos?"

Easton's cheeks heated. "Um…."

"These fuckers who supported slaughtering a year-old bison colt bred in captivity as part of a conservation breeding program are okay with allowing kids to watch it being skinned, hacked to pieces, and fed to tigers in the name of population control yet have a problem with me on the back of a bull. I can't stand narrow-minded folks," Royal griped, rounding an open gate. "If you don't want to know the answer, don't ask the question. Bunch of keyboard-wannabe gangsters. They'll Billy Badass in packs or behind a screen but piss themselves before saying it alone to my face."

Maddox snorted. "Yeah, well, all you did was stir the hornet's nest."

"Then it needed to be stirred," Royal quipped in return.

"For the rest of us to get stung," Maddox bit back.

"I assumed you'd be accustomed to having a little prick."

"Hey! Sa c'est assez ," Easton interrupted, stepping between the two men who'd both taken steps toward each other. "This isn't the place for this."

" C'est pas ma faute. Tell it to your new friend," Royal snapped. "He's the one who started the bull."

"I'm just calling out your attention-seeking grandstanding," Maddox retorted.

"Trust me, I get enough attention by winning."

"Oh yeah? Did what you did up there win you anything?"

"Listen, bub, there are groups that legitimately care about the treatment, welfare, and conservation of animals and do good work. I respect them. But this isn't one of those groups. They are politically motivated and need to be on someone's watch list."

"You're just saying that because you made matters worse. They are ten times louder now, and that's on you."

"No one's to blame," Easton interjected.

Before Easton could respond further, Royal stomped off down the midway toward two of the event promoters who alternated pointing between clipboards and empty stalls.

" Y'ou t'es parti? " Easton called at Royal's back.

" A l'ouvrage ."

"Oy."

Maddox's brow furrowed. "What did you say?"

"I asked him where he was going. Sometimes when he gets in a mood, he does something stupid."

"Imagine that," Maddox mumbled. "So, where did he say he was going?"

"To work. In other words, to do something stupid."

Maddox grunted and then shrugged. "So, do you want to hang out a bit?"

Easton didn't. He wanted to follow Royal and talk, but he'd seen that dark glint in Royal's eyes. It meant he needed time alone to decompress from whatever was agitating him. More so, Easton still felt dickish from the way he'd treated Maddox yesterday, and Maddox seemed like he could use a friend.

"Sure. I'm not busy until later. Balor asked me to meet him around four."

It would be three days before he rode again, but promoters had requested riders to come early to do PR. Now Easton understood why. This gig wasn't solely about selling tickets. It was about selling politics. He sighed. Just another day in rodeo life. Sometimes, the simplest thing he did was climb on the back of a bull.

"What do you want to do?" Easton asked.

"I saw a sign for a Supercross race. I don't know if you're into that kind of thing."

He wasn't, but it didn't mean he couldn't get into it. In the past, he'd had plenty of opportunities to attend. After all, Supercross was a sport fairly common at these types of county festivals. One night it would be concerts, the next monster trucks, and the next rodeo—anything to keep the people coming back and appealing to as many interests as possible. If protesters caused attendance to drop and interrupt cash flow, there existed a real probability that the rodeo wouldn't be invited back. The pushback wouldn't only be from local oppositional animal rights groups but also vendors who would suffer collateral damage. But from Easton's understanding, dirt bike racing was receiving some flak for safety concerns at these events too. At the very least, he could attend to show support for fellow athletes.

"Sounds like a plan," he replied, dragging his eyes away from Royal and back to his current companion. For the first time, he noticed a depth of concern in Maddox's expression. "Hey, don't let those protesters get to you."

"How can I not, and how can you remain so unconcerned?"

"It's all a part of it these days. Our profession doesn't start and stop at eight seconds in an arena. That's what the fans come for, and that's what they see. Every city has challenges, and we deal with them as they come. Sometimes, they're the same. Other times, they aren't. Some get resolved, and others not so much."

"All I want to do is ride bulls. It's all I ever wanted."

"I dare to say every rider on this tour feels that way, but that doesn't stop reality. Not everywhere we go will greet us with open arms, but we go where the promoters direct us. It's our job to keep the sponsors happy."

"Well, I'm glad it wasn't like this in Austin."

"I don't think we were any more welcomed there," Easton huffed, reflecting on his last ride and that thing in the dust.

"What do you mean?"

The memory made him queasy, and bile collected in the base of his throat. "It's nothing," he replied, shaking away the image. "Let's go find some tickets to the race."