“Knowing you,” Brennan said, “probably nothing. But think about it from his perspective.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Jonah nodded at Brennan in agreement, as he rocked Grace, very asleep, in his arms. “He wants to be your partner, right?”
“I hope so,” I said, flushing a little.
“He’s told you a lot about himself,” Jonah said. “He’s been incredibly vulnerable. And… I don’t know about him, but if Maverick had casually dropped that I was the first guy he’d been with, I’d freak out a little, too.”
I must’ve looked as confused as I felt, because Jonah gave me a soft smile before he kept speaking.
“It’s kind of like you’re not on the same playing field with relationship experience,” Jonah said. “You have really different history, and that’s going to play out in your relationship. It’s almost like someone figuring out the whole romance thing for the first time—there are so many things that are fun and exciting and beautiful, but so many things that can go wrong, too.”
“What history?” I said with a scoff. “I haven’t even been with anyone seriously since Sienna.”
“Does he know why?” Priest asked.
I sucked my teeth. “Well… I tried to tell him just now, but I didn’t know how to explain it. And before that, it seemed like a lot to drop on someone.”
“What does?” Priest asked.
“Explaining my sexuality,” I said with a small shrug. “That I don’t really want people unless I connect with them on a deep level. And I didn’t know how to explain that without seeming… I don’t know, clingy? Overbearing?”
“Well, how’d that work out?” Brennan chided gently.
I sighed. “I see that now.”
“You know how vulnerable early sobriety is,” Priest said, not unkindly. “Maybe he’s lashing out a little, but do you see how this might make him feel a little insecure?”
Priest was right, of course. Dawson had been depressed for a long time and was just now beginning to put together a solid foundation of his own: sobriety, his friendship with Brennan, the club, and a relationship with me. And to him, this felt like a lie, when what he needed most was honesty and trust.
“It’s not the label that matters,” Priest said. “I’m sure once you explain it more, he won’t care that he’s your first. But right now…”
“Right now, he thinks he put his faith in the wrong guy,” I said with a nod. I scrubbed my hand over my forehead. “He thinks he’s an experiment to me, instead of something important. Something steady and reliable and real.”
“It’s possible,” Priest said.
“He spent so much time feeling like no one was prioritizing him,” I said, almost to myself. “And I made him feel that way, too.”
It didn’t matter that it wasn’t a big deal to me—it was a big deal to Dawson, and I should’ve considered that before I put off telling him out of some misguided embarrassment or fear. I’d made him feel pushed aside—lied to.
“I gotta go,” I said.
I had to find him. I remembered the early days of recovery well, and if I could just get to him before the urges got too strong, I knew we could work through this.
“Good,” Priest said, and the rest of the club members nodded as well. “Go fix this.”
I jumped in my truck, turned on the engine, and paused with both hands on the steering wheel.
Where was he?
Had he gone to Tempest?
If there was anything that was going to make him break his sobriety, it was this. Even if I still didn’t fully understand, I knew he was triggered, probably in a few different ways.
But I also knew he was strong. Tempest was the easy choice. Dawson had worked so hard for his sobriety, and I believed deep in my heart that he wouldn’t give it up so easily. So I threw the truck into drive and made my way to Dawson’s house, hardly breathing the entire way there. It was a choice made by blind faith. I hoped against hope I’d find him there, and not under the flickering neon lights of a bar.
I pulled into his driveway.
And Dawson was sitting on the steps of his front porch, lit by my headlights for just a moment before I shut them off. He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, his fingers fidgeting around the neck of a bottle.
Slowly, I climbed out of the truck. Dawson said nothing as I approached. Nothing was better than a no, so I sat down next to him, close enough to touch, but I kept space between us. I nearly heaved a sigh of relief when I saw the bottle was still sealed, but I kept silent.
“Hey,” I said carefully.
“I went to Tempest,” Dawson said.
My blood ran cold. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Dawson said. “I drove there without even realizing where I was going. Like muscle memory is still hardwired.”
I reached over, slowly enough that he could easily move away. But he didn’t, so I folded my hand gently over his thigh.
“And I just sat there.” He laughed almost incredulously at the sealed beer in his hands. “I just sat there, under the neon sign, literally white-knuckling my steering wheel.”
“And then?” I asked.
“And then I came home,” he said.
Another flood of relief through me. “What now?”
“I don’t know,” he said, sounding suddenly so small and lost it took all my self-control not to wrap my arms around him and simply pull him close against me. Because I knew that wouldn’t fix the problem.
“Can I… can I explain some things?” I asked gently. I wanted to talk things out with him, but not if all he needed was space and a shoulder to lean on.
“Please,” Dawson said. He finally looked up, meeting my eyes, and there was so much hurt and anxiety in his eyes that seeing it felt like a physical blow. My grip tightened on his thigh, and I scooted a little closer, desperate for contact. Desperate to prove I was still at his side. On his side.
“I was afraid to say you were the first guy I’ve been with,” I admitted, “because I was afraid of admitting what that meant to me.”
Dawson’s brow furrowed, confused. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t generally feel attracted to people,” I said with a small shrug. “Strangers or the like. People don’t catch my eye just for how they look. Sure, I hooked up with a couple women after Sienna, but it was just because I felt like I should. It was what everyone did, especially in the club. Not really because I wanted to. Hookups never made me feel any better, so I just stopped a couple years ago.”
“But you’re attracted to me?” Dawson asked, a still looking confused.
“Yeah.” I trailed my hand up his thigh in punctuation. “Yeah. Really attracted. Like I hadn’t felt in years. Like… like I didn’t think I was capable of feeling anymore.”
“Why?” Dawson asked breathlessly.
“That’s why I was afraid to talk about it,” I admitted. “It’s because, I think, I’m only attracted to people I… connect with. People I really care about. People I can see a future with.” My cheeks heated up. “I didn’t know how to explain it. I mean—I still don’t, not really.”