Royal Indiscretion, chapter 14 (Patreon)

The fall from the broken stair left Doug winded as he lay on the glass, broken bits of wood around him. A worn edge of stone under his hip was so painful that he rolled to the side and braced his forearm on the cold rock. The flair of pain in his ankle scared him. He might have even had a small panic attack as he realized he had genuinely hurt his ankle, not just bruised it. Curse this castle and curse the stupid princeling who didn’t even appreciate what he had. God damn all entitled assholes.

“Are you alright?” Yves asked with what appeared to be genuine concern. He rested his hands on the same block of stone Doug was lying on and peered down at him.

Doug took a second to inventory his various pains. His ribs hurt, but they didn’t get worse when he breathed and the pain was dull and manageable. That suggested bruises rather than any serious trouble. He hadn’t hit his head, thank God. The league did concussion testing and Doug never would have been able to hide even a mild one. However, his ankle was a different story. It was sending sharp pains up his calf. 

Scared of what he might see, Doug slowly bent his knee. The ankle wasn’t broken. “No, damn it. I’m not alright. I’ve really twisted the ankle.” Fuck. Helpless rage rose in Doug’s chest. If his ankle was weak during spring training, that was a violation of his fucking contract. “Why the fuck didn’t you warn me that stair was unstable?” While Doug knew his anger was unreasonable, that didn’t stop him from feeling it.

“Don’t panic. I’m sure you will be fine,” Yves said in that annoyingly proper voice of his. Then he looked around as though expecting a servant to magically appear and deal with the problem.

“Fine? Are you kidding or stupid?” Doug demanded. 

Yves’s gaze snapped back to Doug. “Excuse me?”

“I’m a professional athlete!”

Yves took a step back. “Then you will heal faster.” Any hint of sympathy or concern vanished under cold scorn.

Rage nearly blinded Doug. Never in his life had he wanted to bitch slap someone, but Yves had that effect on him. He didn’t want to punch him, but Doug desperately wanted to walk over and open handed slap Yves until all his superior attitude fell out. The feeling scared the shit out of Doug, and he quickly focused his gaze on the stately structure around them—the ancient gray stones all carved so exactly that they fit together like puzzle pieces. This is what he got for trying to do a favor for a fucking royal. “Fuck you,” Doug said softly.

“How dare you.”

“You have no clue what it means to be an elite athlete.” Doug used the stone Yves had been leaning on to drag himself up. He tested his ankle, but he couldn’t put much weight on it at all without the pain spiking. “You can’t even imagine what it’s like to be the fucking quarterback on a major team.” Hell, Yves couldn’t even figure out what to do with his own land, so he definitely didn’t suffer an excess of imagination.

“Oh, enlighten me.” Yves’s voice dripped with condescension and disdain. No wonder the duke wanted to get Yves out of the spotlight: the man had the survival instincts of a lemming. He would have been eaten alive in any locker room, and if royal life was as cut throat as it seemed, he didn’t have the skill to survive.

“It means that I have dozens of eyes on me all the time looking for any weakness so the fucking owners can get out of the contract or demand concessions, and younger players are gunning for my spot every fucking day. I can’t afford to be hurt, damn it.” Doug stopped when the emotion cut through his self-control and his voice broke. Humiliated that he had shown weakness in front of Yves, Doug glared at the man and silently dared him to say something shitty.

After a long silence, Yves said softly, “I didn’t understand.”

“No, because you’re too busy playing the martyr. Poor little rich boy has daddy issues,” Doug snapped.

Yves’s mouth came open and Doug braced himself for a truly cutting insult. He’d brought it on himself. Instead, Yves closed his mouth, took a deep breath, and said calmly, “Excuse my vulgarity, but I’ll take a page from your book and say fuck you. Can you move it?”

Doug wiggled his foot and grimaced. “Not without it hurting.” Doug let his forehead drop to the cool stone. This hadnt’ been part of his plan.

“It doesn’t look broken.”

“I’m not afraid of it being broken,” Doug said. “Tendon or ligament damage is the nemesis of professional athletes. Damn it. I can’t afford this. Not now.” If Doug had a serious injury, he didn’t know what he’d do. Without the celebrity status his job afforded him, he would never make the right connections. Sure, small town kids made a big splash in the business world all the time, but they didn’t carry the burdens Doug did.

They didn’t have a murderer for a father or a mother who had gone on fucking daytime television high as a kite to argue her husband’s case. A quick Google search of his name told people far too much about his white trash past. He’d worked his whole life to bury that part of him—to get newspapers to write articles about his contracts or charity events. It was always a race—his deeds against the announcement of his father’s execution date. His agent announcing a new contract versus the tabloid with pictures of his mother coming out of a crack house.

Yves looked at him with an emotion that came dangerously close to pity. Doug narrowed his eyes until Yves cleared this throat and looked away. “I thought the bane of professional athletes was drug use. Or dog fighting. Or domestic abuse and assault charges,” Yves said with a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re a funny guy,” Doug said drily.

“Perhaps I’m thinking of traumatic head injury? As I understand it, players on the opposing team strive to knock you down. I would think you would be used to injury. I would also think your profession would require you to be a masochist.”

“It pays the bills. I probably have more money that you ever will,” Doug said with a touch of malice. Clearly Yves was trying to play nice, but right now Doug didn’t feel like making friends, even if that was exactly what he’d promised he duke he would do.

“I certainly hope so. If I come into a large amount of money, it will come attached to a crown, and no one wants that.” Yves sounded disgusted at the very thought. This was the opening doug had been waiting for; however, he hesitated too long and Yves said, “I should go get Nick.”

“You should go get medical help,” Doug said. “A helicopter would be nice.” The faster Doug got his ankle iced and scanned, the less the likelihood he would suffer any long-term weakness.

“That’s unlikely out here. Unlike you have a life threatening emergency, they won’t come.”

Doug closed his eyes rather than let his frustration get the best of him again. “This is life threatening. Football is my life.”

“I don’t think emergency services would agree. And as much as I feel horrible that you were injured on my property, I would take their side in this issue. Would you really want to divert a medical helicopter all the way out here when someone else might be having a heart attack or a child might need to get to a hospital?”

Doug hated that Yves was being logical. “Fuck you.” He didn’t put any heat behind the words.

“Should you be saying that to a gay man? Or are you choosing that particular insult because I’m gay? I have trouble telling.”

“I don’t give a shit if you’re gay. It’s a generic, all-purpose insult.”

“I find specific insults more effective,” Yves said. He got a hand under Doug’s arm and helped him sit up higher on the stone so his leg would fit up on it and not dangle off the edge. “For example, you’re an uncouth, vulgar and surprisingly over-dramatic American.”

“Are you using ‘American’ as an insult?”

“I am.” Yves’s lips twitched into a smile. It was as good as a double dog dare.

“Fine. Fuck off you rich, brains-eating spoiled brat.”

Yves sighed. “Your shot flew so wide that you didn’t even hit the target with that one.” He shrugged out of his light jacket. “Take this. I’m going to ride back to the cottage and get Nick.”

“I’m not taking your jacket.” Doug shoved it away.

After picking it up, Yves brushed it off and then flung it at Doug’s head. Doug barely avoided getting hit in the head. “You’re shivering,” Yves said.

“And you’re going to be riding a quad across the god damn hills, and that wind is cold. I’m not a damsel in distress so keep your jacket.”

“I never thought you were a damsel.” Yves looked Doug up and down with such an openly sexual interest that Doug was shocked into silence. “The shoulders would be all wrong in an evening gown. I thought you were a thin-skinned American with no tolerance for even slightly chilly temperatures and you’re in the shade here.”

“Just keep the jacket.” Doug held it out.

Yves crossed his arms. “After you ordered me to, I wouldn’t keep it if you paid me. You can keep it or I can chuck it off the fucking cliff.” They stared at each other, the only sound the sea crashing against the rocks at the bottom of the cliff. Doug kept expected Yves to back off, but eventually he figured out that it wasn’t going to happen. Since Doug’s ankle was out of commission, he couldn’t exactly chase the man down and force the jacket on him.

Doug slowly lowered the jacket so it rested on his lap. “Points for using ‘fucking’ correctly,” he said.

Yves’s smile was fleeting. “Thank you. I am sure my father is infinitely pleased that our time together has improved my English.” Yves left, and a few seconds later, Doug heard the ATV engine start. 

Until help came, Doug was stuck here. The castle had such potential. Even now, when Doug hated the place a little, he could imagine the place fully restored and renovated. The window openings were large enough that a company could fit modern windows without having to drill into the stone at all. A cast could be made and the frame custom built. The guard house was the worst preserved part of the castle, and one side could be closed in with modern framing to create a custom bathroom. Or maybe it would be better to have two bathrooms and two bedrooms. That would open up more possibilities, either for a family or for a couple to bring servants.

But apparently all the potential would be lost because the Stenbock’s had inherited obscene amounts of wealth and no real ability to run a business. At least that described Yves. Doug still wasn’t sure what he thought of Duke Gerard. Part of him wondered how many of Yves’s assets were connected to his title. It was possible that the duke was far more business savvy and pragmatic than Doug had given him credit for.