But Cam’s breath came in shorter and shorter pants as he walked deeper into the alley.
The farther he went, the more he knew he shouldn’t be doing this. Maybe it was still safe—relatively, anyway—but his brain was screaming that it wasn’t. That he’d fucked it all up again by being overconfident.
By thinking he’d slayed the dragon, when it was only sleeping, dormant in the long nights of winter.
Shit.
Cameron tried not to look at the guys as he passed them.
He shouldn’t have worried, but it didn’t help his mounting anxiety that they barely gave him a second look as he walked out of the other side.
A minute later and he was in the alley with the Vault entry, and if he ran almost the whole way there, who could blame him?
By the time security let him in, he was out of breath and sweating along his hairline, despite the fact that it wasnotwarm outside.
Painfully aware of his panic, Cam tried to head to the bathroom, but there was a big group of Thunder players milling around the central bar, and of course they all saw him.
Even worse, Dawson was with them.
And total catastrophe, Dawson picked up his drink and sauntered over, ready to intercept him.
“Hey,” Dawson said as he approached, like nothing was wrong. Like Cam wasn’t red and blotchy and sweaty and feeling like he might pass the fuck out.
Cam opened his mouth and nothing came out.
Dawson’s expression morphed from friendly and open to concern in a second.
“Shit, you okay?” he asked, putting a hand on Cameron’s arm.
Humiliation surged through him. It was bad enough that he was having what must be an anxiety attack right here, in this cool-as-fuck bar, about something as ridiculous as walking through a dark alley, but even worse, he was doing it in front ofDawson.
“Come here,” Dawson said, taking him by the arm and leading him out of the main room, away from all the people, ducking into one of the rooms. Anemptyroom.
In another mood, on another night, under different circumstances, Cameron would be thrilled at the pleased look on Dawson’s face and how fast he got them alone, but this was nothing like he imagined.
“Breathe, okay?” Dawson said, his empty hand reaching up and gently pressing against Cam’s diaphragm. “You’re good. I promise. You’re totally good.”
“I’m good,” Cam croaked.
“That’s right. You’re good. More than good.” The corner of Dawson’s mouth curled up in a wry smile. “You’re fucking great, rook.”
Cameron took a deep shuddery breath. And then another. His chest was loosening, one moment at a time, with every second that passed. And the hysterical part of his brain that hadn’t been sure if hewouldbe okay was beginning to truly believe that Dawson was right. Hewasgood.
He wasn’t sure he wasgreat, but Dawson sounded earnest enough when he said it, hazel eyes full of concern and conviction, it was hard not to agree with him.
“Yeah.” Cam let out one last unsteady wheeze, and then before he’d thought it was possible, he was breathing normally again.
“There we go.” Dawson curled his fingertips into Cam’s shirt. “You wanna tell me what happened now?”
He sure fucking didn’t, but he was calm enough by this point to know that he really should.
“Just . . .still struggling with the big-city shit,” Cam said.
Maybe he shouldn’t like the sympathy and understanding blooming in Dawson’s gaze. But it was hard not to feel it like a balm. Cam hardly ascribed to any of that toxic masculinity bullshit about always staying strong and never letting anyone, especially another man, see you at your worst, but there was something comforting in realizing that he trusted Dawson enough to show him even his vulnerable underbelly.
“Big-city shit?” Dawson asked softly.
The whole story spilled out of Cameron before he could stop it. What had almost happened when he’d first moved to Toronto. How he’d struggled after that with the fear. How it had felt better. HowDawsonhad helped him feel better. The walk home from the stadium, and thinking, stupidly, that he was all fixed.
