He didn’t let himself relax, even though anything under thirty-five was a cinch, until the last twenty-five-yarder went through the uprights.
“Good job,” Marty said, coming up to him. Dawson fist-bumped him tiredly. “Little uneven in spots, but a good effort.”
Dawson made a face. He wasn’t about to tell Marty why a certain section had been both easierandharder.
“Eh,” Dawson said. He could’ve focused harder. He could’ve probably made one more than he had. But like Marty said, it was a pretty decent effort and he wasn’t going to beat himself up about it.
“You’re getting there, kid.” Marty patted him on the shoulder. “Good practice. Take a load off, okay?”
Dawson nodded absently. He didn’t disagree. Could he be better? Sure, he could always be better. But he was handling this shit better than he had during the summer.
The first time Marty had ever made him do this, the second day of training camp, he’d missed a hell of a lot more, the fatigue and soreness in his arms distracting him from what he was doing with his form.
After, when he’d slumped down on the bench, emptied out with exhaustion and frustration, Marty had put a hand on his knee and explained, matter-of-factly, without an ounce of sympathy, that the ladder trained you to empty the mind of distractions.
Dawson had experienced two simultaneous thoughts:one, he was really fucking glad Marty hadn’t seemed to feel sorry for him, because that might’ve been the straw that broke the camel’s back, andtwo, that he’d truly believed before that his focuswassolid. That he was better than any other kicker in the NFL at putting it all aside and doing his job.
But then, he’d realized later, when he’d lain on his couch, ice packs strapped to every limb, that either he’d gotten complacent, or that had never really been true. Because if it had been, then the prior season wouldn’t have gone the way it did. If he was right, he’d still be in Baltimore, not alone on a cheap IKEA couch in an empty apartment in Toronto.
Dawson couldn’t say that was the turning point, but he looked back and that was the first moment he’d really wanted to fight to get his career back. Hislifeback.
After he dragged himself into the locker room and changed, taking his sweet time under the hot water of the shower, there was nothing more he wanted than to go home and collapse back on that same couch. Order takeout. Veg out in front of the TV and hope that he might still be able to raise his arms tomorrow.
Abstractedly, he knew that he and Cam had carpooled this morning, but him coming up to Dawson after he finished dressing was a nudge that not only wasn’t it up to him, hehadplans.
“Come on,” he told Cam, “let’s go grab some dinner.”
“Yeah?” Cam looked eager, like a puppy. “Where at? Are we exploring again?”
He wouldn’t have said that his plan for the night was particularly elaborate. A noodle place that Nate had recommended, and then back to one of their places. Maybe some reciprocal blowjobs. Falling into bed. Cam’s head resting on his shoulder, his arm around Cam’s waist.
But he wastired.
Still, he tried to dredge up the enthusiasm he’d had this morning, when he’d formulated the plan over coffee and listening to Cam humming in the shower.
“Yeah, we can do that,” Dawson said.
But instead of asking where they were going, Cam just gave him a look. “Come on,” he said, “I’ve got this.”
“Got what?” Dawson was confused. He could marshal the last of his brain cells together. Find some unknown well of strength.
But Cam was already wrapping an arm around his forearm and tugging him in the direction of the parking lot as he pulled the keys out of Dawson’s hand.
“What are you doing?” Dawson asked again when Cam only shook his head.
“You’re dead on your feet,” Cam said. “We’ll go out some other time.”
He slipped into the driver’s side like he drove Dawson’s car all the time.
“I can drive,” Dawson grumbled. “I’m notthatbad off.”
“Sure,” Cam said lightly. But he wasn’t budging, and so Dawson finally opened the passenger side door and got in.
They were halfway back to their building when Cam turned to him and asked, “What do you want to order for dinner? We’ll get it delivered. I know when I get overworked like that, I always want a hot bath. You don’t have a bathtub at your place, but I’ve got one at mine.”
That seemed to be the biggest difference between their two places—both nearly the exact same layout, both equally nearlyempty—but Dawson had a bigger shower and no tub, and like Cam had said, he’d gotten the tub.
“You don’t need to—”
