Chapter Thirty-Six

He didn’t want to stay in New York. Grant couldn’t understand it. “I’ve booked you into the fucking presidential suite, for Christ’s sake,” he said.

“Thanks,” Dax replied, in a monotone voice. “But I want to refuel and keep going.”

He put his head into the cockpit. “Is that okay with you, sir?”

The pilot looked flustered, as Dax understood the expression on his face. It was the kind of expression that many people had when they knew they were upsetting Grant Beaumont. But Dax put his hand on the pilot’s shoulder. “I’d like to go home to California and be in my house,” he said. “If we can’t do that, it’s fine. But I’d like to try, and I’ll make sure you’re paid well for it.”

“Well, it’s not a problem,” he said. “We’ll need to refuel, of course, but—”

“Yes, that’s right,” Grant interjected. “The boy needs to rest. Needs to get himself together and get some proper rest. I have business to take care of here in New York, but take Dax to LA if you can, Captain.”

“Of course.”

“We don’t have to if you’re not up to it.”

“No, sir, it’s fine.”

Dax nodded. “Thank you.” Just a couple of months ago, if he wanted to go somewhere then whoever was flying the plane would make damn sure he got him there at whatever time he wanted. Dax thought back to his old self and was ashamed. He was a real asshole.

With relief, he watched as Grant disembarked. He sighed and got back into his seat. The pilot came out. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said, sheepishly, “but we need to be off the aircraft while it refuels.”

“Oh. Right.”

“We can sit in the lounge and wait to get the all-clear.”

“Okay.”

He stood up again and carefully stretched his back, the way Cameron had shown him. Cameron. At the thought of him, there was a sinking feeling in Dax’s stomach. He hadn’t wanted things to end the way they had. He left his case on board and walked slowly down the steps. His back ached. He wondered whether it had been a good idea to ask to keep going, but all he wanted was to be in his own house, where he could lock the doors and sleep for as long as he wanted.

In the lounge, he was asked if there was anything he’d like to eat or drink. He shook his head, then reconsidered. “Do you have any ale?” he asked.

“Ale? I don’t know what that is, sir.” The stewardess was apologetic, blushing and looking a little worried that he might flip.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s a British thing, I think. Just a beer’s fine.”

She nodded and went away to fetch it. Dax reached into his pocket and brought out his cell phone. He scrolled through his numbers, until he found what he was looking for. He grinned despite himself when he saw it. Physical Terrorist. He thought back to the day he’d taken Cameron’s number and put it in his phone. It seemed like years ago.

Against his better judgment, he hit call.

He found he was shaking as he heard the phone ring halfway across the world. It seemed to drone on forever, until finally, he heard a click, and a soft, Scottish voice. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

There was a pause, and Dax could see his shirt moving as his heart beat frantically. There was no response, but Cameron hadn’t hung up either. Dax took a chance, and continued to speak. “So, uh, I’m in New York. I didn’t want to stay here though. I want to get home to California, so we’re just refueling and then we’ll be on our way.”

Still nothing. Dax pulled his phone away from his ear, thinking they’d been cut off. But they hadn’t. Cameron was still there. Silent, but there. Dax carried on talking. “I just wanted to thank you for everything. For putting up with me, and looking after me. Uh, so… yeah.”

“Is that everything?”

He sounded hurt. Dax lowered his head and sighed. “I don’t know what else to say,” he said. “It’s just that— oh, shit, have I woken you up? What time is it?”

Quickly looking at his watch, he groaned. “Damn, it’s nearly midnight there, right? Did I wake you up?”

“No.”

“Oh.” So he wasn’t tired. He just didn’t want to talk.

“Um, I don’t know whether Kelly sorted out what you’re owed, payment-wise, but please send me a bill.”

“Okay.”

“Did she sort it?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to check my account.”

Please talk to me, Dax wanted to say. But Cameron was clearly not in the mood. Dax sighed. “Well, I guess that’s all I wanted to say, so I’m sorry for bothering you. All right. Bye, then.”

“Wait,” Cameron said, and Dax’s heart leaped.

“Yes?”

“God dammit, Dax, you didn’t have to leave like that.” Dax wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard Cameron’s voice cracking on the other end of the line, and he felt sick.

“I didn’t have a choice,” he said. “It’s so complicated. Grant—”

“Grant doesn’t have a clue who you are, and he doesn’t care,” Cameron said. “He never sees what I saw. Remember what we talked about? About you being in a cult? He’s the leader.”

Dax sighed. He was exhausted. He wasn’t sure why he’d called Cameron, but this wasn’t the conversation he wanted to be having. And Cameron knew it, too, because his tone changed. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m guessing you’re knackered and you don’t need a lecture. I’m just… fuck, I don’t know.”

“Tell me,” Dax blurted out.

“I’m sad,” Cameron said, and he even gave an ironic laugh. “Sounds so stupid, but I’m sad. You were here one second, and then you weren’t. And I thought you might at least give me a little bit of warning.”

“I didn’t know he was coming, either,” Dax said. “He has a habit of surprising people.”

“I hate him.”

Dax took a deep breath. “I know. I hate him, too.”

It was the first time he’d ever realized the extent of his dislike for Grant. He thought that over the last few months, he’d become stronger. But all Grant had to do was turn up, and he was back to following meekly, like a sheep. Here he was, waiting for his private jet to be refueled so he could get his personal pilot to take him wherever he demanded. And yet all his manager had to do was appear, and Dax followed.

“Jesus, I’m so pathetic,” he said.

“You’re not,” Cameron said. “You’ll get there in your own time. Just don’t stop believing in yourself. Listen to your gut. When Grant tells you something, trust your instinct to know whether what he’s saying is good for you.”

“I think you were my instinct for the last couple of months,” Dax said.

“No, it’s in there, all right,” Cameron said. “You just need to find it. You need to see what I see. Saw.”

The correction to the past tense stung.

“Dax?”

“Yeah?”

“Do me a favor?”

“Sure.” Anything.

“Please don’t call me anymore, okay?”

What was a sting now felt like a slap to the face. Not call Cameron? Why? Didn’t he know how much he meant to him?

But before he could ask, Cameron was gone.