“We could do more,” Aidan said. “We gotta fix his issues with Nate first. I’m gonna talk to him.”
“To Ramsey?”
Aidan shook his head. “Nate. There’s clearly something going on, and I think we can deal with it.Withoutthe hate-fucking. ’Cause there’s no way that’s gonna solve anything.”
“Seems pretty ballsy, thinking you can fix this,” Dawson said, but historically, Cam thought Aidan made a pretty good argument that he could.
“And what, you just wanna leave that guy out to dry?” Aidan gave Dawson a sharp look, and Dawson’s expression melted from teasing to understanding in a second.
“I get it,” Dawson said.
“I’d think you would,” Aidan said, nodding. “Didn’t leaveyouout to dry either, Hall. Thought about it. But I didn’t.”
“What?” Dawson looked shocked. “But Marty—”
Aidan picked up his water and stood. “Who do you think gave him the idea?” he asked.
The game was restarting, but Dawson was staring at Aidan’s retreating back like he couldn’t quite believe what he’d said.
“What is it?” Cam murmured. Not sure he’d followed what had just happened.
“I thought . . .” Dawson shook his head, like he was trying to clear it. “Marty approached me, after Baltimore released me. Everyone else wanted a tryout, for me to come in and kick with some other guys, but not him. The Thunder were the only team to offer me an outright contract.”
“You didn’t know it was Aidan.” Cam was getting it now.
“We hadn’t talked inyears. I mean, the kind of easy small talk you exchange on the field before games, sure, but nothing more than that. I wouldn’t have even said we were still friends.”
Cam reached over and squeezed Dawson’s knee. “Guess you were.”
“Guess we were.” Dawson sounded mystified still.
Cam didn’t know whether he felt grateful that someone had given a shit about Dawson still—and someone who was in a position to do something about it—or a little envious that it had been Aidan. At least he didn’t need to worry about Aidan harboring feelings for Dawson. It was obvious how head over heels he was for Levi.
“I think . . .I think Aidan’s one of those dudes where if you’re one of his guys once, you’re one of his guys forever,” Cam suggested.
“Yeah.” Dawson looked like he was just now realizing this.
“You think he can fix this thing between Ramsey and Nate?”
Dawson shrugged. “If anyone can do it . . .”
A second later Elliott Jones sniped in a beauty of a shot and they were all on their feet, yelling about it. “Shit!” Cam exclaimed as the suite celebrated the goal. “That wassick.”
“Sure was,” Dawson agreed, and they exchanged a smile.
“It’s no football game,” Dawson said as he let them into his apartment a few hours later, “but that was a great way to spend an evening.”
“Yeah, for sure,” Cam agreed. “I’ve not really watched hockey much before.”
“Everyone told me this was a hockey town, and I can see that now,” Dawson said, toeing off his shoes and hanging up his jacket. Cam followed suit and then trailed after him into the kitchen.
“We’re six and oh and I think everyone’s getting behind us now,” Cam argued. He’d heard that too, though—that Toronto only cared about hockey, about how their Leafs hadn’t won a Stanley Cup in sixty-some-odd years.
But there’d definitely been a big cheer from the crowd between the second and third period when they’d shown the team in their suite on the jumbotron.
“Careful, rook,” Dawson joked, “you’re gonna jinx us.”
“Never,” Cam said stoutly.
