26. Easton

Chapter 26

Easton

"Are you sure?" Marcel asked.

"For the umpteenth time, oui ," Royal replied. "Go have fun."

"But you're the one who should be celebrating your first-place win."

"And I will… with a can of ravioli and glass of Callie's sweet tea."

"Are you positive you're okay? You've had a hard day too." Concern laced Marcel's voice.

"Perfectly exceptional. Listen, Easton will probably sleep all night from the painkillers, and I just want to…." He sighed. "If I'm going to drive the first leg back to Maringouin, I probably need to hit the hay early too."

"Well, if you're sure."

"Yep, and take that knucklehead with you."

"You can kiss my hairy—" Upton began but stopped when Marcel pinched his bicep. " Ow! Nonc, that hurt. Now I'm going to have a bruise."

"Come on here, boy," Marcel ordered. "I'm not dealing with your foul mouth all night."

Easton listened to the RV door close as he continued to stare up into the darkness of his bunk. He hadn't taken the painkillers. Oddly, he wasn't in pain. He had been, but then….

Even if he had been in pain, he doubted that he would have taken them. Recently, he'd been prescribed too many, and addiction was no stranger on the rodeo circuit. The ugly truth shrouded in the medicine cabinet was that many of the riders were strung out on oxy and fentanyl. Although people liked to delude themselves because it maintained their sparkly comfort-zone insistence that all is pretty in the world, the sport billed as family-friendly and bursting with funnel cakes and chocolate-chip and nut-sprinkled caramel apples had all sorts of seedy rougarous lurking in the corners. No one ever set a goal to become a junkie, but less strong over-the-counter painkillers didn't skim the torture their bodies felt. And if the circuit medic who handed out prescriptions like breath mints failed to write a legit one, riders never had to wander far to find a seller. However, it wasn't just the riders. It also was the bullfighters and the stock contractors. It trickled down from there to spouses who needed to dull the emotional pain of watching loved ones suffer and slowly spiral down a pit of drug use—easier to join them than attempt to reform them. But that wasn't why Easton hadn't taken the meds.

Drugs not only evaporated his pain, but they also stripped him of his ability to think clearly. He'd seen something out there again tonight, and no one—including himself—was going to convince him that drugs were clouding his thoughts. Something strange had happened—had been happening.

The curtain was yanked back, and light flooded in from the compact walk space.

"I know you're not sleeping," Royal stated, leaning against the bunk post and flashing a photo-acceptable smile. "I saw you cheek those pills."

"You see too much," Easton answered, squinting against the light. "Royal?—"

"You know you're going to wake up feeling like shit in the morning."

Yeah, just like he knew Royal had intentionally interrupted him to avoid having the conversation Easton wanted to have.

"You think I won't be able to handle it?"

"Oh, I know you can handle it. But why should you have to when there's another way?"

"You power through pain."

"But I've also not been bumped around as much as you have been lately."

Easton smiled. "Gloating?"

"Of course not." Royal grinned back in return. "But maybe I will tomorrow."

"Nice win tonight. You were damn near perfect."

Royal snorted. "What do you mean, near ? I was phenomenal."

"Geez, it never gets old with you."

But I want to get old with you. I want to get naked with you.

"Why Maringouin?" Royal asked.

"I got a hankering for sac-a-lait."

Royal arched his brow. "Who's going to bait your hook?"

"Screw you," Easton rebutted with his best effort to sound offended. "We were ten, and I only asked you once."

"Hm." Royal tilted his head toward the floor and then peered up at his friend through his dark lashes. "Seems hitting your head has altered your memory, as in diminished your ability to count."

Squirming, Easton settled back on his pillow. No, he hadn't forgotten. Bloodworms weirded him out, and the mere thought of touching one made his skin itch like a dog infected with mange. So, yes, much to his chagrin, he'd had Royal do the honor of baiting his hook. Who knew he would need an NRA—non-reminder agreement?

"Actually, there's a guy on Rue Vol who sells?—"

"Flipping hell, we're going to jail over some damn crappie."

Easton snorted. "When was the last time anyone was prosecuted over five pounds of fish?"

"Indeed." Royal flopped onto the end of the mattress by Easton's feet. A moment of silence passed. "Now, do you want to tell me why you really want to go to Maringouin?"

Easton knew he would get nothing past his best friend. " Je ne sais pas. I just feel like I need to be there…. Regroup. Mawmaw always claimed us Faucheaux draw energy to align our chakras from the bayous."

"Chakras?"

" Oui , it's the?—"

"I know what it is, but I'm surprised that you do."

"Why?"

Royal hunched his shoulders. "It's not exactly everyday conversation in our circle."

"Well, I learned about it a long time ago to protect my ka ."

"Wh-What?"

" Ka . It's?—"

Royal threw up his hand, his cheeks splotching red and spine stiffening. " Arrêté . Stop."

Baffled, Easton swallowed the rest of his sentence.

What in the world?

Easton studied his companion, who looked as if his gall bladder had ruptured.

"Yeah. Okay." Easton rarely saw Royal freak out, but there was no mistaking the expression of absolute horror on his ride-or-die's face.

Do something. Say something. Fix this.

"It's, um… been a while since I visited my mom. I tell her I'm okay on the phone, but she likes to lay eyes on me every now and then to see for herself. You know how it is."

" Oui ." Royal nodded.

Silence.

Geez, this is awkward. Fucking weird. What is he thinking? Talk to me, dammit.

"Royal…."

"I'm going to fix that ravioli now." He stood.

" D'accord ."

* * *

Royal

Royal pressed the timer on the microwave and then stared up at the dome light on the ceiling. He recalled the Knight Bus scene in the Harry Potter movie when the titular character observed the chandelier from the Titanic —at least Royal had always associated the light fixture with the doomed ship—ominously swaying as the bus jetted through the streets of London. The RV was parked and in no danger of sinking, but Royal felt the dread, angst, and helplessness of being flung around as he imagined the passengers on both the bus and ship had. His heart told him he should be able to have a discussion with Easton about…. About what, exactly? That was where he got stuck. His mind wouldn't permit him to turn that curve, not even with the man he shared everything with. It was more emotional baggage being stockpiled, and one day—sooner than later—Royal would need to conduct a deep clean of that storage shed. He didn't want his silence to become a wedge between him and Easton.

Perhaps going to Maringouin would be a good thing. Not likely, but at least Easton wouldn't be getting on any bulls. The part of Royal worried about that could relax momentarily.

"You going to take that out?"

Easton's question dragged Royal back to reality. " Quoi? "

Nodding at the beeping microwave, Easton added, "I thought you were hungry."

"Yeah…. Um…. What are you doing out of bed?"

"Same as you."

Royal opened an overhead cabinet and removed two bowls. "I would have brought it to you."

Easton frowned. "I'm not an invalid."

"No one said you were," Royal responded, collecting the baking dish from the microwave and then spooning pasta into the bowls. "These look small to be double stuffed."

Easton moved into Royal's personal space but remained silent. They were inches apart. All Royal needed to do was turn his head, and their lips would have been on each other. But Royal didn't turn. He froze, staring at the steam drifting from the food. Well, the majority of him froze, with the exception of his dick that bounced to attention.

Fuck!

The timing wasn't at all appropriate or convenient. It was as if he was twelve all over again and springing a boner at the slightest breeze. Except this wasn't some random northeast wind that deprived him of bodily control. Not only that, but a thousand and one other things were happening. His dick should have been in time-out. But no. It was having its own party, creating an all kinds of fucked-up situation.

Silently, he counted to ten and released a long, sluggish breath. Easton hadn't moved. Royal hadn't expected him to. Slowly, he turned, and their mouths lightly grazed each other. Royal's insides ignited like a furnace, his pulse beating erratically. Instant combustion.

"I've waited for this all day," Easton whispered, positioning his hand at Royal's waist and urging up his T-shirt until his fingertips skimmed bare flesh.

"We shouldn't…." The words faded from Royal's lips. Why bother protesting when he wanted the same thing and was humming with sensations? "We have to be quick. Marcel and Upton could return at any minute."

"They'll be gone for most of the night," Easton rebutted, nibbling on Royal's bottom lip.

Royal took a step away. "East, this isn't safe for either of us. We can't afford to not be careful."

" Je sais. Je ne suis pas bête ."

"When have I ever called you stupid?"

"Never," he agreed with a shy smile. "But your actions?—"

"Actions?" Royal observed genuine hurt in his best friend's eyes and reclosed the distance between them. Pressing their rock-hard bodies together, he toyed with the soft curls at Easton's nape before kissing the tender flesh below his ear. Meanwhile, he grasped Easton's right hand and coaxed it to his bulging crotch. "Because I worry?"

"No, be?—"

The doorknob rattled, and both Royal and Easton jumped back just as Marcel entered with Balor Adder trailing. "I ran into…." His eyes darted between the two men. "Y'all look guilty."

"Unless you have court records and videotape evidence, I unanimously plead the fifth." Royal shoved a bowl of pasta toward Easton, being sure to use a towel as a potholder to shield his swelling situation. "And the sixth, seventh, and eighth for good measure." He settled his gaze on Balor.

The lines in Marcel's forehead bunched together. "You have more than a twinge of crazy going on upstairs in that noggin. As I was saying, I ran into Balor as I was about to hop in the truck, and he had a brilliant idea that he wants to run by y'all."

"Well, if it's more work, it can keep running." Royal stabbed a ravioli with his fork and crammed it into his mouth.

Marcel crossed his arms and eyed Royal's bowl. "You were serious about fixing ravioli, weren't you?"

"I don't joke about food. Now…." He moseyed to the table and sat. "What is this brilliant idea?"

"You tell 'em," Marcel instructed the promoter.

Balor cleared his throat and smiled in the way that let Royal know he would dislike whatever followed, especially since he was pitching directly to him and not his agent. Marcel kept Royal on schedule and his crew tight, but he didn't talk money.

"People these days enjoy the personal aspect of entertainment—the behind-the-scenes, if you will."

Royal's lips curled downward. He could smell where this was headed. "Uh-uh."

Balor threw up his hand. "Now, hold on a minute before judging, and hear me out."

Easton moved to sit beside Royal at the compact table. Royal gathered his friend hadn't put two and two together yet.

"You wouldn't have to do anything other than be yourselves and go about your usual day. Filming crews have learned how to be noninvasive, and?—"

"Filming crew?" asked Easton.

Ding, ding, ding. He got it.

"You mean to have people follow us around?"

Balor shuffled. "Only for part of the day. Once the cameras are set up?—"

"Set up where?" Easton questioned, slowing chewing.

"They put them in various places, but you'll forget they're there."

Easton's fork clanked loudly against his dish. "I'm not having cameras installed in my mama's house. No way. You can't be serious." He glanced at Royal.

"I already said no," Royal responded, shoveling more food into his mouth.

"Now, listen, boys. This is a good opportunity for everyone," Balor continued. "This franchise could use some positive publicity, and both of you are on the leaderboard. Several of the other guys have already agreed. For example, a crew is going to film Maddox Pyrite ranching bison in Arizona."

"Monkey see, monkey do."

"Roy, mind your manners," Marcel warned.

"We're going home to rest." Royal jerked his head toward Easton. "He needs to rest. How are we supposed to do that with cameras constantly in our faces?"

Leaning forward, Easton propped his elbows on the table. "We only have three weeks. Doesn't it take time to arrange something like this?"

"The cameras can be set up in less than twenty-four hours. With your go-ahead, everything can be installed before you arrive. I'll get you set up with personal cams for vlogging, and if Marcel agrees, we can get cams in the RV before you leave."

Easton sat back again. "I think I've lost my appetite."

"I know what you're thinking."

"No, you don't."

"Roy!"

"He doesn't." Royal stiffened. "Neither of you do. You're asking us to put our lives on display for public consumption and sacrifice every bit of our privacy. We won't be able to fart without the world hearing."

"That would be edited out," Balor replied.

Shaking his head, Royal wasn't buying it. Despite his public profession, he resented the conclusion drawn by some that his profession translated to his entire life being fair game, displayed to and dissected by others. Those types of people ignored the dichotomy within him.

"We both know that isn't true. I'm no expert, but I know how these things work. Film gets spliced together any old kind of way to make a contrived storyline for shits and kaboodles. Meanwhile, we get left looking like Bobo the Clown. Not that you would give us final approval, but we don't have the time to be in some editing hack room. We have a championship to focus on. Remember? Besides, cut footage always leaks. Once out there on the internet, it never goes away. One wrong word taken out of context and our careers are done." Royal shook his head again. "Trust and believe, I understand the assignment."

"And I take it you agree with him, Easton."

"I do."

Balor sighed. "Well, I'm sorry you both feel that way." He turned to Marcel. "I guess I'll be going."

Marcel smiled weakly and opened the door. "Let me talk to them alone, and I'll call you."

Shit. Here it comes.

"Sure." Balor glanced back at Royal and Easton. "You boys have a safe trip home."

The second the door closed behind him, Royal took the initiative before Marcel could. "This isn't a mistake, Marcel. I know we've all always believed in taking our pennies where we can get them, but this transcends business. We're talking about putting cameras in our houses. Our homes. Why are we expected to do that? Isn't it enough bloodlust what we put our bodies through in the arena, or do we also have to invite them into our beds too?"

Marcel snorted. "Let's not exaggerate you being shy about who you invite home. Half of the lower forty-eight's female population has taken a toss in that hot skillet of sin you call a bed."

A hearty laugh burst from Easton. "Good one, Nonc. I didn't think you had that in you."

Royal bounced a glare at Easton and grunted. "Whose side are you on?"

"Yours, but you have to admit, it was funny."

"Listen, Royal, I hear you. It's a big ask, but I do believe the pros outweigh the cons. This industry is struggling, and any positive light that can be cast on it is worth a little sacrifice. Everyone's giving a little."

"What if," Easton asked, strumming his fingers on the table, "we meet in the middle?"

"Middle? There's no middle."

"Hush, Roy. What did you have in mind, East?"

"Forgoing the house cams and film crew and let us do all of the vlogging."

Okay, so maybe there was a middle. Easton's strong point always had been acting as a peacemaker and negotiator, so it should have come as no surprise to Royal. He blew on a ravioli.

"That may be doable," Marcel agreed. "I'll call Balor, and if he agrees, I'll have him send over contracts to the agents." He narrowed his gaze at Royal. "Don't play hardball with salary."

"I nev—" Royal began.

"And don't fix your mouth to lie. I know you. Balor has shared with me that he's willing to be more than generous."

Royal grunted, shoved pasta into his mouth, and chewed slowly. This wasn't an argument he'd win nor a discussion he wished to continue. He waited until Marcel left before speaking again.

"Now do you understand?" he asked, reclining in his seat.

" Oui ," Easton begrudgingly agreed, resting his chin on his fist. "But what are the odds that Balor Adder would have come here?"

"It's been a weird fucking day."

"The weirdest."

Royal's phone pinged. He withdrew it from his pocket and pinched the bridge of his nose as he read the message.