Chapter 3
“I called you yesterday,” Aidan said, jogging over and catching up with Dawson as he headed towards the field.
“Yeah,” Dawson said. He hadn’t been much in the mood to talk. Not since he’d gone to bed, replaying that stupid field goal on his eyelids, and then woken up to a text from Brynn. Wanted to tell you before you heard it anywhere else, but Carlos and I are expecting. Due in the spring.
“So?” Aidan questioned, giving him that same look he’d done back in Michigan. A little disgruntled, a little offended, like there was anyone on earth who’d get a call from Aidan Flynn and then not call him right back.
But Dawson hadn’t been in the mood. The fucking understatement of the century.
He’d told himself that his ex-wife wasn’t trying to rub her happiness into his unhappiness, but it felt like she kept pressing on every bruise, never letting them quite heal.
He didn’t even know if he wanted kids, but of course, now he couldn’t stop thinking about that other life, the one he’d lost. The one where they’d stayed together, in Baltimore. Where her dad hadn’t stolen his money. Where she’d become pregnant with his kid.
It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been particularly happy. It didn’t matter that they’d both barely been going through the motions of a marriage.
That sliding-doors moment still beckoned tantalizingly, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Tempting and nearly attractive enough to lure him in, before it swiped hard at his tender midsection with its sharp claws.
“So I was busy,” Dawson said to Aidan.
Aidan made a face. “That’s my excuse, now,” Aidan said, annoyingly self-righteous. Annoyingly happy, too. Like he’d finally gotten a boyfriend at the ripe age of thirty-three and was going to be insufferable about it for the rest of eternity.
Dawson was happy for his friend. While also wishing Aidan would fall right into the nearest black hole and stop harassing him.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re happy as fuck. We know,” Dawson grumbled.
“Still doesn’t tell me why you didn’t call me back.”
“Maybe ’cause you called me like a freaking old man,” Dawson said.
Aidan’s face did something hilarious. Worth every bit of the shit he was about to get dished right back. “You’re literally only a year and a half younger than me,” he said blankly.
“It’s enough.” Dawson paused. “I went out, actually.”
Aidan looked skeptical. “Did you really or are you just saying that?”
“I go out!” Admittedly, not often, and usually only when someone else made him, but he did do it.
He wasn’t sure if he’d call heading down to the swimming pool so he wouldn’t have to look at the blank walls of his apartment any longer going out, but nobody was going to stop him from calling it that.
And if pressed, he could say he’d run into Cam, too. Almost like it had been planned.
“Could stand to do it a bit more,” Aidan said. “I wanted to know if you wanted to come along to the linemen’s dinner this week. Trying to get a count.”
“I’m not a lineman,” Dawson pointed out.
Aidan grunted in frustration. “I know that. I’m just trying to make sure everyone’s feeling good. You know, welcomed.”
“You mean you’re trying to make sure I’m not throwing myself off a cliff after missing that field goal on Sunday, and you’re too busy fucking—or getting fucked by?
I’m not sure which and please don’t tell me—your hot new boyfriend to pencil me on for a separate date, so you’re just going to group me in with something already on your schedule. ”
Aidan stared at him incredulously. He didn’t seem to know where to begin with what Dawson had just said. And Dawson had to admit that when he word vomited these days, that was often the reaction. “Do you even listen to the shit that comes out of your mouth?”
“Rarely,” Dawson said wryly.
“I am not making sure you didn’t throw yourself off a cliff,” Aidan said slowly. “But yeah, I know you’re going through it—”
“And this is exactly why I didn’t call you back. I don’t need to be coddled,” Dawson said. “You should get that I don’t want to talk about my feelings. When have you ever wanted to talk about your feelings?”
That got him an actual Aidan Flynn smile. Never an easy feat to accomplish, though easier than it had been, before Levi had shown up and Aidan had fallen in love with him.
“Fair,” Aidan said. “But you’re good?”
“Solid. Never been better,” Dawson lied breezily. “About to have a fucking great practice. How are you?”
Aidan just rolled his eyes. Patted him on the shoulder as he walked past. “You’re so full of shit, Hall,” he said.
And yes, that was true. Dawson was totally full of shit.
He was a shit teammate.
Had been a shit husband.
Was possibly now a shit kicker.
Dawson made a face at his own bad mood.
And then, of course, that was when a voice piped up behind him. “Hey, Daws,” Cameron said sunnily.
He wasn’t always this upbeat, but he was usually unflinchingly and unfailingly positive in a way that Dawson only resented because it made him feel even grumpier.
“Hey,” Dawson said, trying to fake it til he made it, because he remembered a little too well how guilty he’d felt last night when he’d realized that nobody had been looking out for the rookie.
It should’ve been his job. He’d known it and he’d still let it slip through his hands, telling himself a bunch of lies that someone else was taking care of Cam.
But of course, nobody else was. Why would they?
“You ready for this?” Cam asked, but he was still smiling, like he might actually enjoy Marty kicking his ass into next year.
“Sure,” Dawson said, lying again.
He couldn’t say he’d slept any better last night than he’d slept the night before, but at least he’d slept some.
When the alarm had gone off, he’d shaken out of sleep, the remnants of some kind of dream he didn’t want to remember lingering in the corners of his mind.
He and Cameron at a club, flashing lights and pulsing bass, and he’d been watching from the edges as Cam danced with one guy and then another and then kissed a third.
There was an unsettled heat at the base of his stomach as the images flashed through his mind again.
“Come on, you two. Time to get to work.” Marty approached, dispelling any discomfort Dawson felt.
He’d just dreamed about Cam because he’d seen him at the pool, and they’d talked about going out and hooking up. It was just his brain dredging up recent events and re-forming them into a new pattern. That was all. It didn’t mean anything.
He definitely hadn’t felt a flare of what might be jealousy if he looked closely enough at it. So he didn’t.
Marty put them through their paces.
Warmups. Stretches. He had them jogging five times around the field. Joey, whining the whole way, complaining that he hadn’t taken the cushiest job on the special teams unit if he was going to have to actually work.
Cameron said nothing. Just bent his head and got to work, like he believed they’d earned every drop of sweat falling to the turf.
Dawson made a couple of comments under his breath to Joey, but only when they were out of Marty’s earshot.
He was already on Marty’s shit list. Deservedly. He didn’t need to bring more crap down on his head.
When they finished running, Marty leveled him a look. “You ready?”
Wiping his face with a towel, Dawson laughed without amusement. “Am I gonna kick til my leg falls off?”
“Ha,” Marty said. “Why would I do that? You know how to kick a goddamn field goal.”
“Sure,” Dawson said.
“I’m confused,” Cameron inserted.
“What he’s saying is it’s not about the kick,” Dawson said flatly.
“Yep, we’re only going to work on mechanics today.” Marty gestured to Joey. “Let’s get set up.”
“Told you it was my fault,” Cam told Dawson as Joey pulled a big bin of footballs over to the five-yard line.
“God,” Dawson whined, “it’s not always about you, rook. It was all of our fault, okay?”
Cameron only grinned at him with delight. “Told you it wasn’t just your fault.”
“Oh, get over there,” Dawson grumbled, gesturing towards where he’d be holding the snapped ball but the truth was he was having to actively tamp down his own answering smile, and that was something. More than he’d expected, for sure.
The rookie wasn’t just cute, he was unexpectedly sly in a way that shouldn’t be attractive but was.
Dawson still didn’t let himself think about it.
Cam wasn’t the smoothest, most reliable holder he’d ever had but he was better than the other punter that Cam had beaten out for the starting job. Though he’d not wanted to admit it to Cam’s face, he’d gone to Marty to advocate for him, way back in training camp.
The other guy had been experienced, sure, with several NFL seasons under his belt, but Cam had way more upside.
He was so easy to fold in. To be there and be present, but never make a big deal out of it.
Dawson had known how straightforward it would be to form an easygoing-but-hard-working triangle between him, Joey, and Cam.
But Dawson was beginning to wonder if he’d taken Cam’s ease for granted.
It made it so painless for his gaze to just slide right past him and lock back in on his own problems.
Marty worked them hard, the sheer repetition wearing Dawson down, forcing him to focus only on how his muscles moved, imprinting the exact motions into his brain and body.
They were only kicking extra-point distance—but Dawson could feel the rhythm echoing in the bones of his leg and his foot, his abs clenching with tension as he drilled ball after ball between the uprights.
By the time it was over, over an hour later, Dawson was dripping sweat. Even Cam had beads of sweat on his forehead. He shook his hands out, tense and sore from the number of times he’d caught the ball.
Joey had gone totally taciturn, lips clamped together into a grim line.
“Well, that sucked,” Cam said, but even that sounded fucking happy.
“Please don’t tell me you enjoyed that,” Dawson said as they dragged their tired asses up towards the locker room.
“Yeah, if you did, I’d be worried about your masochistic ass,” Joey muttered.