29. Easton

Chapter 29

Easton

" Eh bien, c'est ?a ," Marcel huffed, setting his phone on the counter.

"What's it, Nonc?" Easton asked, stuffing the last of his dirty clothes into his laundry bag.

"That was Balor on the phone. He said the fire marshal has concluded his investigation and determined the cause to be accidental."

" Quoi? " Easton, Royal, and Upton asked in unison.

"How can that be?" Easton continued. "It hasn't even been twenty-four hours."

"What kind of shoddy Inspector Gadget sleuthing could he have done?" Royal inquired.

"The only one anyone needs," Marcel replied, leaning against the counter. "It's only the preliminary report, but Balor doesn't anticipate anything changing."

"So, it's over?" Royal shoved his hands into his pockets. "The sons of bitches just get to get away with it?"

"Afraid so."

"Can't Balor and the other promoters appeal, ask for a second opinion, or something?" Upton inquired.

"I suppose, but they're not."

"I don't get it, Nonc," Easton griped. "Why wouldn't they put up more of a fuss?"

"My guess is to avoid any delay in the tour. If it's arson, the insurance isn't going to pay until everyone associated with the rodeo has been cleared. That means diving into every crevice and crease and whereabouts and getting-uppings of each person. I'm sure there are plenty of cowboys who'd rather not explain what they were getting up to when the fire started."

"But they know protesters broke in," Royal continued to dispute.

"What they know, Roy, is that people were there—lots of people. They can claim they saw the smoke and rushed to help, the same as you. They can claim that someone arranged it all to frame them to cover for an inside job."

Royal snorted. "That's ridiculous."

"Ridiculous or not, the point is, they can say anything. And once one begins venturing down that crooked road, he can't stop until reaching an end. There are a lot more people who could have reason to sabotage the circuit than the ones carrying picket signs—owed vendors, disgruntled stock hands, drunk cowboys, delinquent teens, in-debt breeders… and the list goes on. All of those people have to be ruled out. This way is easier."

Easton cinched closed his laundry duffel and made a face. "It just doesn't seem right." He glanced at Royal, who was replacing the air freshener beneath the sink.

Marcel pinched tobacco from a tin, stuffed it between his cheek and gum, and snapped the lid back onto the tin. "All right. I want all three of you boys to listen to me and listen good. I know this tour has been grueling for each of y'all, but now isn't the time to lose focus. You can't concern yourselves with this. Let the promotors handle it the way they see fit. Understood?"

" Oui ," the three answered in unison.

"Now…." He straightened. "Upton, you take out the trash while I top off the water in the tank before we get back on the road."

Easton waited until Marcel and Upton exited the RV before speaking again. "You think protesters will leave us alone now?"

Shrugging, Royal patted the border collie brushing against his legs. "For a while, perhaps, but they're like a grade-school bully. One day, they enter your life and stick around without much of a reason. Then they move or you move. Either way, they vanish as quickly as they appeared—sometimes sans explanation. The reason doesn't matter. You may never see them again as long as you live. Or you may see them at your twenty-fifth class reunion. Or they may take a job managing the local grocery and you see them every day. You just don't know, but you can't waste your time wondering and feeling like it's a loose end. It's like the Maya Angelou quote. If someone with the inside knowledge tells you something, believe him."

"I don't think that's the quote."

"Close enough. If Marcel says that's the end of it, that's the end of it." He pointed at Easton's bulging duffel bag. "Unlike your laundry. Dude, when was the last time you got intimate with a washing machine?"

Easton chuckled. "Leave me alone. I've been busy."

Grunting, Royal turned and walked toward the rear of the RV. "Not with winning."

"Oh, screw you."

Royal glanced over his shoulder, wiggled his eyebrows, and flashed a wicked smile. "You'll have to wait. I'm going to grab some shut-eye. Wake me when we cross the state line."

* * *

Home sweet home .

Easton climbed the hill and sped past a tall balding cypress with its charred bark split on one side like a banana peel. Lightning. He swerved left to avoid a large limb with a splintered end on the ground partially hidden by water and thick foliage, but his back tire clipped the edge. The rear end of the four-wheeler bounced high before slamming back down. Water and mud splattered onto his face, prompting a hearty chuckle. He missed home. These woods. The bayous. The…

Ew! Rodent disposal unit.

That he didn't miss. Although he wasn't close enough to be certain—but closer than he desired—it looked like a western ribbon. Nonvenomous but still a hell no in his book.

Goosing it, he veered the ATV right, plowing over another downed branch. The quad tilted. Leaning to shift his weight to prevent overturning, he missed seeing a low-hanging limb. The quad landed with a callous jolt at the same time as his shoulder made brutal contact with the limb. He jerked, snatching the wheel, and the four-wheeler began skidding sideways down the ravine.

"Crap!"

Up ahead, Royal screeched his four-wheeler to a halt, his smile slipping from his face.

Easing off the throttle slightly to maintain a steady speed, Easton yanked at the handlebar, hoping to turn his direction downhill. However, the nose pitched up.

Game over .

Easton released the handlebar and was slung to the ground as the four-wheeler began tumbling down the incline to the bayou. He slid a couple more feet before coming to a stop in a patch of spider lilies.

"East!" Royal cried, sprinting toward his friend.

"I'm good, except for maybe a hunk of clay-doh now modeled up my ass," Easton answered, rolling from his stomach to a sitting position and catching his breath. "And my quad may now be salvage yard savvy."

"Fuck the quad." Royal kneeled and snatched Easton forward by the shirt. "The important part is, you didn't knock all your damn teeth out." Lightly, he grazed his lips across Easton's once, twice before gradually sinking into the tender kiss.

"Mm." A warmth of sensuously delicious emotions spilled through him, swelling his heart with love, tenderness, and joy. A raw gleam of heat glimmered in his eyes. "You're only saying that because you don't want to help push it up this steep-ass hill."

" Oui , that's true too." Royal snickered.

"I knew it!" a male voice growled low and steely.

Both Easton and Royal swiveled to see Wade standing beside Royal's four-wheeler.

"I knew the two of you were a couple of depraved, disgusting sickos," Wade continued, his eyes gleaming lasers of venom and malice that cut through Easton like a serrated dagger. "The pervert vibes have been looming around y'all for years."

Homophobia activated.

Easton sat paralyzed, unable to speak or respond in any way as he focused on Wade and his scowl of utter repulsion. Never in his life had he ever had anyone look at him with such revulsion, judgment, and animosity. Even animal rights activists had never regarded him with as much loathing and condemnation. Yet here Wade was, doing just that—a man he'd grown up with and considered family. But in an instant, all of that had vanished. He could tell by Wade's expression that he was dead to him.

"Wade, listen?—"

"No, don't tell me to listen, Royal. I'm not one of your little media groupies who you can wheel some bullshit excuse at. You're a fucking fag. I know it, and—" He held up the digital camera Royal had attached to the grill of his ATV to film footage for the vlog they'd agreed to do. "—now the entire world will know too."

"Hold on." Royal stood, his knuckles blanching from his clenched fists. "You can't show whatever's on that camera to anyone."

"Oh, can't I?"

"It'll destroy our careers. You know that."

"So? Not my problem."

"Is that how you want to win? By default, when the Association kicks us out and blackballs us? Because that's what will happen. Are you that desperate?"

"This has nothing to do with desperation or a fucking championship and everything to do with y'all being fa?—"

"Fine! I heard you the first time," Royal rebutted. "I'll give you whatever you. Money. Endorsement. Drop out. Grovel at your feet. Name it, but leave Easton out of it."

"Oh, he's all the way in this. Or are you in him?" Wade shifted his weight. "Who sticks who? Is he the bitch, or are you?"

"Enough!" Marcel snapped, emerging from the path obscured by trees.

"But they were?—"

"I don't give a good goshdarn what they were doing. It's their business. Gimme that," he demanded, snatching the digital camera from Wade. "Now git on home and open your mouth to no one. Comprendez-vous? "

"Yes, sir," Wade sulked.

"Your mama, rest her soul, would be so ashamed of you right now. These boys are your family."

Wade shook his head. "I'm not kin to that."

"Stop this nonsense. These boys helped take you in when you had nothing. If not for them, you'd still be sleeping in that burned-out abandoned train depot. But they fed you. Clothed you. Bought your gear with their allowance, and never once told anyone. They'd never throw that in your face. Now here you are, stealing off Royal's quad, acting all highfalutin as if they owe you something. You've got some nerve judging them when they never once judged you."

Wade hung his head.

" Mais là ," Marcel further chastised. "Skedaddle."

Deflated, Wade trotted up the hill.

"And you two." Marcel spat, his frown lines deepening. "Disappointing."

"I can explain," Royal began.

"There's nothing to explain. If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times. You don't get on those blasted rolling mudslingers without wearing a helmet. Y'all not gonna be satisfied until someone gets their skull cracked wide open. Both of y'all know better. Y'all git on back. I better not see y'all going more than five miles per hour."

"Yes, sir," Royal responded.

Turning, Marcel shook his head, laid the camera on the four-wheeler's seat, and grumbled, "A man can't even fish in peace around here anymore. These used to be decent woods where you could placidly feed a body to the gators and mosey on your way. Now y'all whooping and hollering out here like it's a Saturday-night ‘Cotton-Eyed Joe' brawl at a juke joint with bad clam chowder. And East," he called over his shoulder, "there's calamine lotion and Benadryl in the bathroom cabinet for when you decide to stop waddling in that poison oak."

Easton glanced down to indeed see the itchy vines mingled among the spider lilies.

Shit!

He hopped to his feet.

Royal waited until Marcel disappeared back into the trees before turning his attention to Easton. "You okay?"

" Oui ," Easton answered, finding his voice for the first time since Wade's appearance.

"I'm sorry."

"What for? It's not your fault Wade is Wade." Easton swiped his arm across his forehead to dry the sweat but smeared mud instead. "Think he'll tell anyone?"

"Naw. If so, I'll have to kick his ass, but I think Marcel will keep him in line."

"Who would have thunk Nonc would be cool with this?"

"Sometimes, I think there's a lot more to that ol' man than we know." Royal looked to where Easton's ATV had landed. "Well, let's go examine the damage."

Easton nodded and started down the ravine. On the surface, he seemingly had pulled it together. However, his insides still quaked with the magnitude of a 9.0 earthquake. His initial reaction to Wade discovering them and subsequent threats of having his sexuality wagged around like soiled linen for avid eyes to gawk at had been horror followed by anger. But now, he just felt sad—sad that a friend could turn so easily and that the world hadn't progressed. Of course, Easton had known a lot of intolerance and hate existed in the world. But there was knowing and knowing . There was being aware and experiencing. This hit on such a different level, and it hurt—bad. More than he ever imagined it could.

He watched Royal make his way ahead of him down the incline.

"Watch your step," Royal advised. "I spotted a poison extension cord before you spun out."

" Oui , I saw, but I think it was harmless. Garter."

"Dude, get your eyes checked. That was a fucking copperhead."

That was Royal—always looking out for him, coming to his defense, and seeing what he was oblivious to. Easton managed a tiny smile.