Chapter 16 #2
“You know how you told me I needed to find out for myself what was really going on with the Ackerman case?”
Cam nodded.
“Well, I’m doing it. I contacted the prosecutor’s office directly and well—” Dawson cleared his throat. “I’m hoping that they’ll get back to me. Let me know what the real situation is.”
“That’s great, Daws,” Cam said, eyes full of sincerity.
“I hope it is. I’m sure when Simon finds out he’s gonna be pissed.
Hurt, too, that I didn’t trust him.” Dawson was sure that he was just being paranoid, and that when push came to shove, Simon was probably going to be justifiably annoyed that he hadn’t just trusted him.
Why shouldn’t Dawson trust him? He hadn’t ever done a thing to earn anything else.
“Simon should understand exactly why you need this,” Cam said. “If he was a friend, he’d get it.”
Dawson had tried to trust blindly, but he wasn’t any good at that anymore, unable to shake the feeling at the back of his head. He knew if he didn’t do something to make sure he knew the whole situation, even if he made his peace with the plea deal, he’d not be able to entirely move on.
Start fresh.
And if he ever did want to examine anything that he was deliberately not thinking about—if he ever hoped of making Cameron something more to him than just a friend and a hookup—then he needed to put all of this to rest so he could finally heal.
“I hope so,” Dawson said. “And I really hope it’s just me. That it’s nothing.”
“We’ll see,” Cam said, then leaned forward across the table. Eyes intent on Dawson’s. “I’m there for you, no matter what. Whichever way it turns out.”
Dawson smiled, nodding, and realized as he picked up his fork that he’d never questioned whether that was true.
Maybe other people bred mistrust in him, but not Cameron. Never Cam. It was so easy to take his open and easy nature and believe in it, wholeheartedly.
“This is . . .uh . . .” Dawson pushed rice around his plate, picking up little bits of extra garlic sauce. “This is good for you, yeah?”
“Lebanese? I thought that was obvious.” Cam laughed. “We had to order more food, Daws.”
“Not the Lebanese, though don’t tell Aidan that, because he’s already bordering on insufferable. I mean . . .uh . . .what we’re doing. You and I.”
Cam looked up at him, surprise written all over his face. “Did you think it wasn’t good?”
“No, no, I did. I do. I love it. I—” Dawson bit off the rest of whatever embarrassingly rhapsodic thing he was about to say. “I’m good. I just want to make sure you’re good, too. I know we said hookups, and we are, but we’re . . .uh . . .spending a lot of time together.”
“If I didn’t like it, I’d tell you,” Cam said.
“Right. Right. I knew that. I did. I just wanted to make sure.” Dawson wished now that he’d never brought it up. Of course Cam would’ve told him if he’d crossed a line, even inadvertently.
“Being here in Toronto, on the Thunder, was good before, but now that we’re hanging out all the time? It’s so much better. I feel . . .” Cam trailed off before he could finish his sentence, but whatever look he was wearing on his face? Dawson felt the echo of it in his own chest.
At the very least, they were on the same page.
“Yeah, same,” Dawson said, and it wasn’t hard at all to smile at Cameron then. It came so easy and natural.
“Good, ’cause I love learning about this stuff. Like new food and new cultures. Even if it freaked me out at first.”
“You didn’t want to look stupid,” Dawson said. He got it. He’d been there, too. Maybe it had been a long time ago and he’d had a little more experience with a big city, but it wasn’t all that much different.
“Not in front of anybody, sure, but definitely not in front of you.” Cam nudged Dawson’s foot. “Might’ve had a little bit of a crush on you.”
“Had?” Dawson teased.
Cam flushed. “You know exactly how it is,” he claimed.
“Yeah, I do,” Dawson said, and it was hard not to sound smug about that. Not when he had Cam in his bed now, the day after that, and the day after that, and hopefully well . . .for a really freaking long time.
Dawson packed that thought away before it did any damage.
Well. Any more damage.
“I was thinking we could watch another movie tonight, if you wanted,” Cam said.
“You mean put the movie on and make out the whole time?” Dawson asked archly. That’s what they’d done with numbers three through five, which they’d then had to rewatch later, making an attempt to keep to their ends of the couch.
“Don’t tempt me with a good time, Daws,” Cam said earnestly.
Nobody could blame him for making sure they were on the same page, because it was so good. Cam fit into him—and Dawson was beginning to realize, he fit into Cam—better than he’d ever imagined.
Cam smiled at him, wide and beautiful, his brown eyes brimming with affection, and Dawson felt a pulse of gratitude so intense, so satisfying, he nearly opened his mouth and said, Don’t ever leave me.
Don’t ever let this thing between us die.
Don’t ever go away and leave my life in shambles.
But more damning than anything, Don’t ever hook up with anyone else. Not like Brynn.
Dawson shoved all that crap away or down—it didn’t matter where it went as long as it wasn’t in front of his mind—and went back to eating his food, which was, as Cam declared, really fucking delicious.
Cam had cleaned his plate and Dawson was close when he felt a buzz in his pocket. Pulled out his phone and knew, from the Baltimore area code, who it was. The prosecutor was calling him.
“Who is it?” Cam asked. “Is it the prosecutor?”
Dawson nodded, and Cam reached over, squeezing his arm. “I’ll grab the check. You go take that call.”
“Alright,” Dawson said, rising to his feet and grabbing his jacket.
It was cold, but not raining at least, so he flipped his collar up and answered the phone.
“Hi, this is Dawson Hall.”
“Oh, good, Mr. Hall. I’m glad I caught you.” The woman’s voice was light and musical. Not the hard-nosed, very male lawyer that he’d expected. Maybe this was the assistant? He’d only seen N. Kaminski listed in the paperwork.
“Of course,” Dawson said.
“I’m Natalia Kaminski, the lead prosecutor in the Ackerman case.”
“Oh.” Oh. He felt very stupid now, unpleasantly reminded of all the times Brynn had told him, rolling her eyes, about how he didn’t even realize how privileged he was. He shouldn’t have assumed that N. Kaminski was a man.
“I’m very glad you contacted me,” she said, forging ahead like he hadn’t sounded surprised that she was who was handling the case.
“Your lawyer has been . . .well, we’ll say, very stringent about gatekeeping your time and attention.
I get it. You have a job that requires it, but it’s been somewhat frustrating from this side. ”
Dawson unstuck his voice. “What? You wanted to talk to me and Simon wouldn’t let you?”
She sighed. “Yes. Simon’s been very eager for us to give attention to this plea deal Ackerman’s lawyers suggested, but . . .” She trailed off and Dawson thought he might throw up all the Lebanese food he’d just eaten, right here on this sidewalk.
Simon had said, over and over again, how it was the prosecutor’s office who wanted the plea to go through. Not him.
“But?” he managed to ask.
“I want justice for you, of course, but there’s a whole host of families he stole from. I want justice for them, too,” she said. “And as terrible as it might sound, you being involved means press and attention and makes people give a shit.”
“That’s what I want too. I want him to pay. To not spent the next few years in his cushy-ass mansion.” Dawson could hear the desperate edge to his voice. The panic rising inside him.
Simon had lied. He’d lied. After he knew everything Dawson had been through. How paranoid he’d gotten. How terrified he was to trust anyone. But he’d done it anyway.
“Good. We’re on the same page, then.”
“In the future, contact me directly,” Dawson said. He was sure Simon would have an excuse. A reason why he’d twisted this whole situation. But it didn’t matter. There was no earthly explanation he could ever stomach that could justify Simon’s betrayal.
“Of course.” There was the barest whisper of sympathy in her voice, but she was a professional. She wasn’t going to ask. Didn’t need to ask, probably. “Give me your email. I’ll include you directly on all the correspondence in the future.”
“And whatever you need,” Dawson said, after he spelled it out for her. “I don’t know what Simon told you about my willingness to testify, but I’m ready to do it.”
“I’m still hoping it doesn’t come to that, but I appreciate it, and the other victims will too,” Natalia said wryly.
“That’s the idea,” Dawson said. It was easier to focus on that, on what he could do, than on the horrible feeling spreading through him, poison running through his veins.
Was it just Simon? Or was his agent in on it too? Had Simon and Alex conspired together to keep Dawson in the dark? The bottom of his stomach dropped out, again.
“If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to reach out.”
“I won’t,” Dawson said and meant it. He was going to have to involve himself personally.
There was the obvious shittiness of how the betrayal felt.
But then there was the additional wrinkle that he was going to have to journey back to that mental place where he’d lost himself last year. Alone. Without Simon and without Alex.
“Excellent. Have a good night.” Natalia hung up.
“Daws?”
Dawson looked up and Cam was standing there, obvious worry on his face. It only hit him that maybe he wouldn’t be alone this time.
He’d have Cam. Marty. Even Aidan, mostly because if he caught even a hint of what was going on, he’d butt in until Dawson confessed everything.