Chapter 2 #3
Not because Dawson wouldn’t be interested in a guy.
Before he’d gotten married, he’d had his pick of women and men in the Baltimore dating scene.
Cam might or might not have watched from afar, from his small-ass town in Montana, and thought, that might be me, someday.
Depending on the day, he’d imagined himself as Dawson and as the guys Dawson had taken home.
Cam had never imagined they’d end up on the same team.
But now they were, and Dawson barely seemed to tolerate his presence. Certainly never went out of his way to seek Cam’s company.
If he’d ever had any insanely fantastical expectations, reality had punctured those succinctly.
“Hey,” Dawson said. “I forgot you lived in this building.”
Cam internally winced. If he wanted more evidence that he never crossed Dawson’s mind, then here it was.
“Yeah,” Cam said.
But then Dawson actually surprised him by gesturing next to him. “You wanna pop a squat?” he asked.
“Uh,” Cam hesitated.
“Or are you here to be all productive on our day off, and swim some laps?”
“No. No laps,” Cam said. He settled down next to Dawson, making sure to leave at least a foot between them as he dipped his feet into the pool. The water was warm and felt refreshing against his skin.
For a long moment, neither of them said anything.
Cam couldn’t speak for Dawson but he knew he couldn’t think of anything to say. Didn’t want to bring up the Thunder, because it was their day off, and on top of that, that missed field goal from Sunday was lingering between them like a bad smell.
He wanted to talk about it—talk it out, at least—but he knew this wasn’t the right place to do it. Besides, there was no way Marty wouldn’t end up going over the footage with them tomorrow with a fine-tooth comb.
Cam was surprised when Dawson turned to him, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “So you gonna tell me why you came down here, then?”
“You actually want to know?” He shouldn’t have said it with so much surprise. Cam knew it. But he didn’t realize just how ugly that was until Dawson’s expression crumpled.
“Shit, I’ve been an asshole, haven’t I?” Dawson tipped his head back.
Cam knew he shouldn’t feel guilty—that was really on Dawson, who’d been the one to do it in the first place. He’d just, in the mildest way possible, called his stupid ass on it.
“Uh, yeah, well, for a good reason,” Cam said, surprising himself again, by not being as tough on Dawson as he really should’ve been.
Dawson reached over and smacked him on the side.
“Ow,” Cam said reflexively, even though it didn’t really hurt. Burned a little, but more from the fact that it was Dawson’s hand touching him on bare skin.
Despite how many times he told himself to not think it, Dawson was a hot guy.
“You don’t need to be so nice to me,” Dawson said.
“Why not?” But Cam knew exactly why not. Because you don’t deserve it.
“Because I don’t deserve it.” Dawson’s tone was morose. Which was exactly why Cam had held back.
“You’ve been going through a lot of shit,” Cam argued.
“Rook, I appreciate the defense. Trust me, I do. But I really don’t deserve it. I’ve been . . .” Dawson swallowed hard, and even though Cam was trying to ignore it, his eyes followed his Adam’s apple as it bobbed—tan and smooth. “I’ve been sort of shit to you.”
“Not that shit,” Cam said loyally.
Dawson shot him a look.
“Okay, kind of shit,” Cam corrected gently. “But you had good reason. And everyone’s been sort of distracted, so that makes sense. I get why. It just . . .” It just sucks that everyone forgot about me.
Dawson straight up put his hand right on Cam’s bare thigh. He’d never thought his swim trunks were short or long, or really had any thoughts about their length, but now he was praising every deity out there that he’d made sure there was a good amount of bare thigh showing.
A good amount of bare thigh that Dawson could touch any dang time he wanted.
Even if he didn’t mean it that way.
“Wait,” Dawson said, “what are you talking about?”
“Um, what you were talking about?”
Dawson let go of his thigh. Cam didn’t let himself cry about it—he didn’t. He was just being a good bro, a good teammate. That was all. “Are you telling me that nobody’s been making sure you’re good?”
“I wouldn’t say nobody,” Cameron said, so he didn’t have to say who exactly had been watching out for him.
“Then who? ’Cause it sure as fuck hasn’t been me. I’ve been . . .well, you know. Distracted. Messed up.”
“Exactly.” Cam nodded enthusiastically, hoping that would be the end of it.
“Rook, don’t fucking change the subject.” Dawson’s tone had gone stern, and a thrill shouldn’t have shot down his spine when Cam heard it, but well . . .he was only human, right? And his dick had already established, unequivocally, that Dawson was a hot guy.
“Sorry.”
“Marty told me I was being a self-centered ass, but I didn’t want to believe him.” Dawson said it like he wasn’t even saying it to Cam—more like he was lecturing himself.
“I wouldn’t call you entirely a self-centered ass,” Cam offered.
“Well, I’m sorry, anyway.” Dawson let out a hard breath. “Forgive me?”
Like Cam was ever going to get that tilted smirk-smile of Dawson’s and not fall for it. “Sure. Of course.”
“I’ll do better,” Dawson said.
Cam wondered what that would look like, but before he could ask, Dawson opened his mouth again. “What have you been up to?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, what have you been doing? Where have you been? I haven’t spent much time up here, but I know it’s a great city. Vibrant.”
Cam pressed his lips together. I’m afraid to leave my apartment. That’s how great it is.
“I know we’ve been to Vault,” Dawson continued, like he hadn’t realized yet that Cameron hadn’t actually answered him. “But I bet you’ve found all the other good spots.” He nudged him in the thigh. “Cute guy like you, I bet the boys are all about it.”
“Uh,” Cameron hesitated. He wasn’t sure when his brain had shorted out. The fear that Dawson might find out the truth that had gripped him suddenly? Or that Dawson had called him cute?
“I’m almost a little jealous,” Dawson said. He threw his arms up and stretched, then set them behind him, propping himself up. Cam watched this performance, trying to ignore the pull of his muscles, the ripple of his shoulders.
Sure, he saw naked bodies all the time in the locker room. But that didn’t mean he was immune when it came to Dawson, or that he could be immune when all that mouthwatering shit was right there.
Right there for the taking.
Maybe if Dawson thought he was cute, he wouldn’t even push him away.
“Jealous of what?” Cam questioned. He was hooking up less than he had in Montana, which was actually pretty fucking sad when he thought about it.
“Jeez, dude, how much ass you’re probably getting. A young hot player? Fresh from the middle of nowhere? I bet they’re just eating you up.”
Cam didn’t know whether this was a worst or a best-case scenario.
“They’re not,” Cam said flatly.
A confused frown appeared on Dawson’s face. “Huh? I thought you were gay—”
“I am,” Cam interrupted, before Dawson could go on.
“You with someone?”
“No, I just . . .” Cam huffed out, embarrassed. Telling his dad had been hard enough. Telling Dawson felt impossible. “It’s weird to go out by myself. I’m not used to such a . . .big place, you know? It’s so big. Big and strange.”
Comprehension dawned horribly on Dawson’s face. “Shit. Nothing bad happened to you, right?”
“No, no,” Cameron said. He didn’t have to tell Dawson what happened. Or what almost happened. “It’s just a lot to handle, that’s all.”
“Well, I can’t say I’m cool or hip necessarily, but maybe—”
“No, it’s really okay. It’s okay.” Cam could feel the red flush creeping up his cheeks. “I’m okay.”
Could he use a hand that wasn’t attached to his own arm once in a while? Sure. But he was managing. And maybe with some time and adjustment, he’d be okay, again. He’d learn to keep his fear controlled—without Dawson finding out his issues or even more embarrassingly, trying to be his wingman.
“Jeez, okay, I guess I really am old and uncool,” Dawson said wryly, rubbing his jaw. “Don’t hold back, rook.”
Cameron wondered, for a single wild second, how Dawson would react if he told him exactly how little the ten years between them mattered.
But of course he didn’t say that, because he wasn’t insane, and he wasn’t about to screw it up, now that Dawson was finally acknowledging his existence outside a football field.
“Not that old or uncool,” Cam said instead. He risked a quick nudge of his own, right back at Dawson.
Dawson chuckled under his breath. “Keep telling yourself that.”
“I’m gonna,” Cam said. Hesitated. Took another risk—this time bringing up a subject that felt .
. .loaded. But if they didn’t talk about it now, Cam knew they’d have to face it tomorrow regardless, and tomorrow it would feel worse.
Everything magnified by the seriousness of the building they were in.
Today, it felt lighter. More casual. “Are we gonna get our asses kicked tomorrow?”
“Don’t know why you’re worried,” Dawson said, making a face.
“I’m worried ’cause it’s on all of us, not just you,” Cam argued. “I didn’t—”
“You didn’t,” Dawson interrupted, not letting him get the rest out.
Patted his knee absently, hazel eyes distant and lost in the past. In the near past, on Sunday when he’d missed the field goal?
Or farther back? Last year, when he’d had the worst season of his career?
Or farther back even than that, when he’d reigned as the best kicker in the NFL?
“You’re still money. You know?”
Dawson’s gaze swiveled to him again. “Alright. If you think so.” He sounded almost amused. Like Cam was saying it to be funny. Or to placate him, which was even worse.
“I mean it,” Cam argued. He was beginning to think it wouldn’t matter what he said, it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference to how Dawson saw himself. It was humbling and more than a little humiliating.
“I know you do,” Dawson said, smile wry. “But yeah. Probably gonna regret waking up in the morning. And I’ll—we’ll—deserve it.”
Cameron nodded. He’d been through his share of shitty practices. Probably not as many as Dawson, but enough to know what it was probably going to be like.
He gestured at the pool. “I think I’m going to . . .uh . . .get in?”
“Sure,” Dawson said absently, and as Cameron slipped into the pool, he told himself that even as bad as tomorrow was probably going to be, they’d have each other.
But when he emerged on the other end of the pool and glanced back, Dawson was gone. Disappeared like he’d never been there at all.