With that thought lingering, Dawson picked himself off the bed. Changed into a pair of loose shorts and an old, comfy T-shirt, brushed his teeth, pocketed his phone and his room key and headed towards room 684.
Cam opened the door with a pleased smile. “Hey,” he said. As soon as Dawson stepped in the room, Cam was wrapping an arm around his waist, more touchy-feely than he’d been downstairs. Tugging Dawson against his body until they were pressed together.
“Hey, rook,” Dawson murmured back.
Cam’s hair was damp from a shower. Dawson reached up and pushed it back, tangling his fingers in the waves.
“How was your call?”
Dawson made a face. “Frustrating.” He almost added he didn’t want to talk about it. Because he’d thought he didn’t. But now that he was here, in front of Cameron, he realized that wasn’t true at all. Hedidwant to talk about it. He wanted to exorcise all of it, and let Cam take away the sting, one bit at a time, until it was gone.
Maybe he should feel guilty about using Cam that way, but then Cam said, “You wanna talk about it?” in such a hopeful voice, like hewantedto do that for Dawson. Like it wasn’t too much of a burden for him, at all. Like he was willing to take it on, for however long Dawson needed.
“Ugh, I shouldn’t—”
“Yeah, you should.” Cam tugged him over in the direction of the bed and they sat down on the edge of it.
It was evidence of how conflicted Dawson was that being on the same bed as Cam only gave him the vaguest pulses of arousal.
“I don’t want to just dump on you every time so you’ll just make me feel better.”
Cam frowned. “Trust me. You don’t. We’re friends, right? Friends listen, Daws.”
It wasn’t hard to fold, especially since Dawson had realized hedidwant to talk about it.
“Alright. Well. You know how I told you Ackerman’s defense is pushing for a plea?”
Cam nodded.
“Well, my lawyer is too. He wants me to just go along with it. I’m not against it, but . . .”
Cam frowned. “Yeah, you are.”
For a second, Dawson didn’t say anything. But Cam wasn’t wrong. Hewasagainst it.
“Yeah. You’re right. I’m against it. But I don’t know if it’s just me being . . .petty?”
“Petty?” Cam’s jaw dropped. “The guy was your father-in-law. Practically your fucking family. You trusted him because of that. Then he stole from you. Wanting him to pay for that isn’t being petty; it’s totally justifiable. Is that what your lawyer keeps telling you?”
Dawson shrugged. “Not exactly. Simon just keeps pushing for me to go along with the plea deal. And it’s a cushy-ass plea deal. Sure, it would mean it’s over, and Idowant it to be over. I do. But fuck, not like this.”
“Then tell him no.” Cam said it so simply, like it was that simple, even though it wasn’t.
“It’s not entirely up to me. The prosecutor is only really giving me an opinion because I’m . . .God, this sounds awful, because of who I am.” Unease at admitting that spiked through. He’d neverbought into the mysticism of celebrity. He was just a regular guy, who was really good at one thing and had worked hard to get better at it, and then because of a combination of luck and circumstance, had gotten rich and famous because of it.
“So?” Cam wondered. “You told me yourself that the case might not have gotten anywhere if you weren’t an NFL player, and that part of why you did that was not just for you, but the other victims too. You don’t need to be embarrassed to admit it.”
Dawson didn’t know when he’d gotten so fucking transparent. “I’m not . . .not really.”
Shooting him a knowing look, Cam reached over and squeezed his thigh. “So why don’t you talk to the prosecutor directly? Can you do that?”
“That’s a thought I’ve had. But whenever I bring it up with Simon, he keeps shutting it down.”
Cam didn’t say anything, just waited him out. Because yeah, there was more, and somehow Cam had guessed it. Dawson didn’t know how; he was only grateful he had.
“It makes me feel like there’s something else he’s not saying,” Dawson continued. “Like he’s hiding something. I’ve worked like hell to not go around being paranoid that everyone’s gonna let me down. That everyone’s gonna do something shitty. To let go of the belief that I’m an easy mark, ready and willing to be taken advantage of. And this makes me think of that, all over again. But it might just be me. I don’t know.”
Cam just squeezed his knee again. Tipped his head against Dawson’s shoulder. There was something in the way that felt; like Cam didn’t believe even though Dawson had admitted to all these doubts and flaws, that he’d struggle to hold on to Cam. Like Cam would trust that he’d hold him up, both literally and figuratively. It made him feel less like a weak, clueless idiot.
