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 actuallywork.
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 notalwaysabout 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 butwas.
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 hisfoot, 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.
“Amazed you actually know what that means,” Cam said, laughing under his breath.
Joey exchanged a knowing glance with Dawson. He knew he should keep his fucking mouth shut, but when had Dawson ever been good at that? Never, that was when.
