7. Easton

Chapter 7

Easton

Easton settled into a hotel chair by a window with several slices of pizza stacked on a flimsy paper plate. It wasn't the most comfortable chair. Then again, the hotel wasn't some posh five-star resort with marble lavatories, bohemian chandeliers, exotic wood floors, Persian rugs, velvet-lined furniture, and a garden view. It was three-star at best. Plus, his body was in no condition to differentiate between lumpy furniture and the knotted muscles that were beginning to ease with drugstore-brand pain medication, creams, and patches. He stunk of menthol and witch hazel to high hell and back, but it served as a better alternative to other options.

The idea of taking anything stronger made him wary because that was how addictions began. For now, he decided to stick with the over-the-counter meds instead of hitting the hard stuff in his suitcase that doctors had prescribed. His father had traveled down that murky path—though for different reasons. However, Easton didn't suppose the cause made any difference if the outcomes were the same tragic ones. It was far too easy to plunge into the trap without any biological predisposition being added to the equation. All he needed to do was linger around a stall for a smidgen too long by himself, and the pushers would find him. It was no secret—although the circuit media reps kept it on the down-low—that many of the veteran riders depended on the services of pharmaceutical entrepreneurs. Hopheads on bulls wouldn't be good for the family image the tour promoted—a wholesome, clean, healthy sport. Proud cowboys taming wild beasts.

Eh. That wasn't exactly the truth. The bulls were trained to be "wild," although the training did play off their beastly instinct and bred-in temperament. Aurochs weren't being rounded up from the unexplored Western frontier as was sometimes implied. These were domestic animals trained to buck off anything on their backs. Horning and stomping the trigger—a.k.a. riders—came as a package deal. So, when a bovine harmed a rider, it truly wasn't the animal's fault. Likewise, when a rider got injured, it was his—or her—job to suck it up. The risks weren't unknown.

Easton didn't judge those who turned to extra help in coping with the pain. He understood the why. He, too, felt the temptation to have it instantly taken away. The body could only withstand so much. But he'd also seen the damage and destruction of prescription drug addiction. The cons outweighed the pros. He consciously chose to manage his pains with soaks, home remedies, and OTC medication until he could no longer physically endure them.

"What do you want to watch?" Maddox asked, plopping into the only other chair in the room and aiming the remote at the flat-screen on the media console.

"Doesn't matter. Anything." Easton lifted his limp pizza to his lips and suppressed a frown. He'd eaten enough on-the-road take-out pizza to tell by the way the crust sagged that it would taste a step above licking Styrofoam. But beggars couldn't be choosers, though Easton wasn't convinced of the sentiment's accuracy anymore. Sometimes, the choice was to accept nothing in opposition to mediocrity. However, tonight wasn't that night for him. "Thanks for picking this up and bringing it back to the hotel."

"No problem." Maddox smiled. "Actually, I'm glad you needed me to."

Easton's brows bunched.

"I don't mean I'm happy you got slammed, but I'm thankful for a chance to get to know you better. We've never had a chance to talk before now."

"What do you mean? I'm always around."

"And always surrounded by a ton of other people I don't know. Everyone already seems so close."

"We are," Easton agreed. "We've been together a long time—a gaggle of Maringouin boys, even if some of us don't live there anymore. We're like family. Well… some of us—a lot, actually— are family. Blood-related. It's why I think bull riding may be genetic. I can't remember a time when I didn't know the rodeo. I started roping—well, tossing a rope at sheep in a pen—when I was three. I can't say my mama was too happy about it, though she never tried to stop me." He took a swig of soda. "You have family in the business?"

"Only a distant cousin. He lives somewhere out in California, I think." He paused to bite his pizza. "Heck, I don't know. That was years ago."

"I take it the two of you aren't close."

"I only met him a few times when I was a kid."

"You have siblings?"

Maddox shook his head. "Not unless fosters count. I have plenty of those. I got bounced around a lot."

Easton froze and swallowed the contents in his mouth around the large lump that suddenly formed in his throat. "Shit, man, I'm sorry. I had no idea. I didn't mean to?—"

"You didn't do anything. The past doesn't conveniently change just because it's not all rainbows and sunshine. Or sunshine and rainbows—whichever comes first." Shrugging, Maddox dragged his hand through his hair.

"I think that would have to be the sun, since rainbows are reflective light on the rain."

Maddox grinned. "Listen at you, my little meteorologist. So smart."

"I don't know about smart. I do climb atop a bull every night."

Maddox softly chuckled. "I suppose we all will get points deducted for that, but what profession doesn't have hazards?"

"True, although most don't have the hazard of death."

"Maybe. Or maybe it's embedded in all jobs. Ever heard the saying ‘working yourself to death'?" Maddox didn't wait for Easton to answer. "Any job can be strenuous or, at the very least, stressful. If it takes enough toll, it doesn't matter if you're a firefighter or librarian. A job can kill you—be it from high blood pressure, heart attack, cancer from a toxic material, or falling off scaffolding. Death makes all things equal. Some hazards are just more visible than others."

Easton thought for a moment. "I've never thought of it that way."

"Do you ever think of dying when you're riding?"

Looking up from his pizza, Easton stopped chewing. "No," he stated firmly. "If I had those types of thoughts, I wouldn't be able to ride at all. Do you?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Honestly, in the moment, I don't know what thoughts go through my head. It's only when I'm at the exit does the world come into focus again to make sense, yet while I'm up there, I'm aware of everything." Maddox shook his head. "I know it sounds bizarre. I can never explain it well enough to make anyone understand."

"No, I get it. It's the same for me. Maybe it's that way for all riders. Once you're out there, it's second by second, and God willing, you get through it."

Maddox studied Easton evenly. "Are you religious?"

"I was brought up that way, sure. I don't really practice any organized religion anymore. It's pretty challenging doing that with being on the road all the time. I'm not about to waltz into any ol' church concocted up on a hill. They claim to be Christian and to love thy neighbor, but not all of them are welcoming. Plus, it's no guarantee what they're preaching. It may be some whack-a-doodle shit that says if we don't eat anchovies farmed by purple aliens from Stonehenge, we'll all grow a second butthole. No offense to anyone, but I'd prefer not to end up in a place pulling rattlers out of baskets or being tested if I can float with a fifty-pound weight on my chest. But yes, I believe in a higher power, good and evil." He paused, then added, "And other mystical spirits. How about you?"

Maddox hunched his shoulders. "I don't know. Sometimes. I have questions."

"It's okay to question, especially if it challenges something that we thought we knew. It prevents us from getting… comfortable." He paused again. "From taking things… relationships… for granted."

Maddox's brow rose. "Relationships?"

Why had he said that? Easton felt the heat growing on his face. "You know. How we interact with the world…. People."

"People? Or a specific person?"

Oh my lanta! How had this conversation swerved this far this fast?

"I guess in general."

"You guess?"

Easton gulped. He couldn't shake the feeling that Maddox may be fishing for something. But why? "I didn't have anyone specific in mind." The hell he didn't! "Did it sound like I did?" Careful what you ask.

Maddox shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. I would think someone like you would be seeing someone."

"What do you mean, someone like me?"

"You know, a good-looking rodeo star. You're bound to have tons of groupies."

"Naw," Easton tittered, shaking his head and shifting. "Buckle bunnies aren't my style. And if I can't find time to make it to church once a week, there's no way I could manage a relationship."

"Not even with someone who's on the tour?"

"Uh…." Easton shifted again. Tread lightly, as in tiptoe, through this minefield of fucking tulips. "You mean like one of the energy drink models?"

"Sure. Could be one of those."

What the…? Easton tilted his head, uneasy with Maddox's tone. Is he hinting at something? "They're hired to do a job. I'm certain they get tired of being hit on all the time when they're simply trying to earn a paycheck. It borders on workplace harassment."

Maddox smirked. "You go, Mr. Woke Women's Advocate."

"It has nothing to do with being woke or advocacy. Everyone deserves respect."

"True. I didn't mean to imply otherwise. I only meant being on the road can get lonely."

"That's why it's important to have friends on tour with you. Someone who makes the downtime tolerable."

"Like Royal?"

Uh-oh.

"You two seem close."

"We are. He knows damn near everything about me. But how could he not? We've known each other since grade school."

"But there are things that you don't share with him."

"I didn't say that."

"Yeah, you kinda did."

Shit! "Well, no one tells anyone everything ."

"So, you have secrets?"

Shit, shit, shit! No, this wasn't a conversation he desired to have. He pulled his best game face and emitted what he hoped to be a convincing chuckle. "I guess you're not the only person not good at explaining things." He finished off his pizza slice and stood. "I need to use the commode." He didn't, but he did need an escape to regroup. How the hell had he gotten himself into this mess?

Maddox nodded, but Easton could tell by his expression that he didn't buy the excuse. Well, hell. "On second thought, I think I'm going to call it a night. The ground never gets any softer when you land on it."

Disappointment flooded Maddox's eyes as he stood. "Um, sure."

I'm acting like an ungrateful ass. Stop it. Don't be a tool. He didn't have to spend his evening with me. Be gracious. "Thanks for understanding and for hanging out with me. I appreciate it. We should do it again."

"Really?"

"Of course. You're one of us now."

Maddox's expression brightened, and Easton felt his conscience ease.