25. Royal

Chapter 25

Royal

"East!"

Dear God, please be all right.

Royal's heart lurched in his chest as he kneeled beside his best friend, who hadn't moved since being slung from the bull. The rise and fall of his chest indicated life but not much more. "East, talk to me."

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Sure, they took risks. Sure, shit happened. But this…. No. Absolutely not.

Royal clenched his teeth, feeling helpless and cognizant of his every move. He reached to stroke Easton's cheek but quickly redirected his hand to touch Easton's shoulder in a way that couldn't be mistaken—not even by the most homophobic alpha male's scrutiny—for anything more than brotherly affection. All eyes were on them. The spectators. The cameras. The promoters and sponsors. He wanted to do more, say more, but he knew better. Now wasn't the time for missteps.

Easton's eyes fluttered open. "Did I make it?"

"Well, shit, if that's not the first thing you ask." Upton chuckled with little humor.

Marcel shot Upton a glare before refocusing on Easton. "Are you okay, son?"

"I feel… weird. My legs…. I couldn't feel them, but now, they're tingling. That thing came at me."

Upton's expression twisted. "What thing?"

"That—"

"That son-of-a-bitch bull," Royal interrupted. "What do you think?"

Easton stared up at Royal, and Royal stared back with a warning glare.

"Can you stand, or do we need to call for a stretcher?" Marcel asked.

"No stretcher," Easton objected. "Help me up."

"Not a problem." Royal hooked Easton's arm around his neck and hoisted him to his feet.

Easton swooned, threatening to collapse.

"You okay?"

" Oui , just need to get my bearings."

Swiftly, Marcel draped his nephew's other arm around his shoulder. "Let's get you to the medic."

"I'm fine."

"Uh-huh," Royal grunted. "Tell me that when you can walk upright."

"I can," Easton protested. He jerked his arm to remove it from Royal's shoulder to prove his statement, but his friend's grip on his wrist was too firm to break.

"Hush, both of you." Marcel shook his head. "You two will be bickering on your deathbeds."

Ordinarily, Royal would have a smart comeback, but his thoughts were pinging in too many directions for him to say anything. Silently, he assisted Easton out of the rink amid the crowd's standing ovation howling from the bleachers. The cheers somehow seemed different now—not necessarily for a job well done but, rather, for a near-death experience. Many cowboys died in the arena or as a result thereof. That was acceptable for others and even for himself but not for his friend. Royal couldn't be happy. He couldn't cheer. All he could do was feel relief.

* * *

Ninety-one point seven. Damn! Hearing the score announced over the loudspeaker brought Royal no joy. Just a half second less and his peace of mind would have been restored. Instead, the half second struck him with misery. It wasn't because he feared competition. No, he thrived in the face of being challenged. Rather, that damn score kept Easton in the running to win. It meant he would be riding again, and again in harm's way.

Frowning, Royal propped his feet on a crate as the medic examined Easton at the medical station. He'd grown up around ranching and rodeo. However, he suspected he was about six before he understood the seriousness of bull riding. He'd been shopping with his mother in a rural lifestyle store for greenhouse supplies when Shaw Verglas, a rodeo veteran, slowly hobbled into the store. As he moved down the aisles, he'd clutched his buggy like a walker. His boots scraped against the floor as he shuffled more than stepped. His hands trembled as he removed items from the shelves. Up close, he seemed nothing like the vibrant, sprightly ball of spitfire from the arena. Even his voice didn't have that much boom.

"What's wrong with him, Duchess?" Royal had asked, tugging his mother's hem.

"It's the life of a cowboy, Petit."

Royal had witnessed Shaw ride many times and had been there the night he'd gotten stepped on by a monster beast named Bubblegum Machine—wittily named due to riders not being able to predict how the bull would behave. But Shaw had gotten up that night and walked out of the ring with the assistance of the bullfighters. He'd smiled and waved at the crowd before exiting. Aside from a limp, he'd looked healthy and strong. However, the man in the store looked fragile, haggard, and broken with his beard scruffy, cheeks sunken, and eyes dulled. That had been the day Royal learned a difference existed between showtime under the bright arena lights and reality.

Watching Easton be examined was reality.

"I doubt you'll take my advice," the medic said, removing his stethoscope from around his neck and shoving it into a medical bag. "I think you should schedule an MRI."

"For what?" Easton snorted.

"Because you took a nasty fall, and your legs going numb isn't ever a good sign."

"But I'm fine now."

Royal rolled his eyes. He could tell his friend was anything but fine, but what was the point of arguing? Easton wouldn't change his mind, and he'd feel betrayed if Royal argued otherwise. After all, Royal was the one person who was always supposed to have his back—even if he bitterly disagreed. His only option was to wait until they were alone and try to talk some sense into him. Thus, as long as they were in public, he would present a united front.

"You're wasting your breath talking to that hardhead. He thinks we're in gymnastics where somersaulting off a vault and sticking a landing is just part of the score—not that he could have broken his neck." That had sounded more supportive in his head than coming out of his mouth. "Besides, his head is hard as rocks. You can't hurt nothing there, and you sure as shit can't knock any sense into it."

"If you're not going to say anything helpful," Marcel snapped, "then sit there and be quiet."

Easton grinned at his friend, and Royal acknowledged it with a small nod.

"Lawd, I hope your mama wasn't watching tonight," Marcel muttered, shaking his head.

The medic leaned back and pushed up his glasses. "If you're not going to go for a scan, at least take it easy for a couple of days."

"He will," Marcel interjected. "The next event isn't for three weeks, and I'll horse-tie him to a bed if I need."

Royal snickered. "That's a bit kinky, wouldn't you say?"

"Roy!" Marcel spat. "I'm warning you."

Easton chuckled. "I promise to take it easy, Doc."

Marcel nodded. "We'll be leaving tonight for Tifton."

"I'm not going to Tifton."

" Quoi? " Royal and Marcel inquired in unison.

"I want to go home… to Maringouin."

Without skipping a beat, Royal replied, "I'll take you in the truck."

"No need," Marcel replied. "We can all go in the RV. I have to drop Upton off in Opelousas anyway. What's one more stop? Besides, it'll be nice to spend some time with family."