Page 35 of Full Tilt (Love The Game #4)

Cam presses his forehead to mine, his smile lingering for a breath longer before his expression softens and the movement between us slows.

The music fades into the background, replaced by the hum of conversation and clinking glasses.

His hand slides up my back, fingers splayed over my shoulder blade like he’s grounding himself there.

He exhales, quiet but weighted, and says, “He would’ve loved this.”

I tilt my head just slightly, brushing my nose against his. “Who?”

“Lachie.”

My chest tightens instantly, the joy in my blood settling into something quieter. “Yeah,” I say, voice low. “He would’ve.”

Cam’s gaze dips for a second, his arms staying firmly around me.

I nod, letting the shift in mood settle between us as I keep close. “How’s he doing?”

Cam’s lips press together. “Healing, slowly. He’s still not talking. I sent him some photos earlier—got a few texts back. Short ones.”

A pause. Then, almost guiltily, he adds, “I think he’s… struggling.”

My fingers tighten slightly at the back of Cam’s neck. “It’s only been three weeks. He’s allowed to be.”

Cam nods, but there’s a heaviness in the gesture. I can see how much it’s still sitting with him. “His brother’s looking after him. Said they’ll reassess things with his specialists soon. But he’s obviously not coming to the States now. He was meant to be there with us.”

My heart aches for both of them—for Lachie, for Cam who’s spent half the season leaning on a teammate now stuck watching from the sidelines. I press a kiss to his cheek. “He’ll get there. And you’re doing right by him.”

Cam tries to smile, but there’s a shadow in his eyes. “I just… hate not being there. But his brother’s doing good by him. Still—feels wrong, y’know?”

I squeeze his hand, tucking my chin against his shoulder. “I get it. But you’re allowed to live your life, too, Cam. You didn’t abandon him. He knows that.”

He’s quiet for a beat. Then he whispers, “I just want him okay.”

“We both do.”

The song shifts again, but we don’t stop moving. I don’t think either of us wants to.

He finally speaks again. “You’re flying out tomorrow, right?”

“Yep. Heathrow, midday check-in.” I frown a little. “You know that. You’re the one driving me.”

Cam shrugs, and there’s this flicker of something in his eyes—like nerves, or maybe anticipation.

His grip on my hand shifts slightly, firmer, warmer.

“Just making sure,” he says, but his voice is quieter now.

He looks away, his gaze skimming the string lights above us and the blur of motion on the dance floor.

Then, after a long beat, he says, “I’ve always wondered what an authentic Fourth of July celebration is like. ”

My heart stutters, confused for half a second. “Okay…?”

He knows what getting back to the States for the holiday means to me—being with my family, the food, the noise, the ridiculous number of flag-themed desserts my cousin Julia insists on baking every year.

Cam clears his throat, nervous now, like he’s working himself up to something. Then he looks right at me, eyes steady. “I was thinking…” His thumb brushes the inside of my wrist. “Maybe I could fly out tomorrow. With you. Ahead of the team. See what Independence Day is really all about for myself.”

For a second, I just blink. Like my brain’s still booting up. “You’d do that?” I manage eventually, barely a whisper. “You want to?”

He nods, jaw tight, but there’s something hopeful in his eyes. “Yeah. I mean… as long as I’m at the hotel in Jacksonville by the time the team flies in, I’m good. Cleared it with Coach already.”

It hits me all at once—what he’s saying, what it means. He’s not just tagging along. He’s choosing to spend those days with me. With my family. He’s taking time—precious time, right before his Southeastern US tour—to come be a part of my life in a way I didn’t expect he ever would.

My chest goes tight, and something warm and wide blooms in my gut. “Cam,” I say, a little breathless, “that’s… that’s a big deal.”

His mouth lifts at one corner, soft and lopsided. “You’re a big deal.”

Jesus Christ.

I stare at him, stunned, for a beat too long before a laugh bursts out of me, unexpected and full of feeling. “You’re seriously going to eat three kinds of barbecue, meet every single one of my siblings—including having to deal with Cosmo—and survive an inquisition from my mom?”

He grins now. “I’ve played international rugby. I think I can handle a few of your relatives.”

“You have no idea what you’re getting into.”

“Nope.” He leans in, our foreheads brushing, voice warm against my skin. “But I want to find out. With you.”

And that’s it. That’s the moment I know I’m completely, ridiculously, head-over-everything for this man.

I slide my arms tighter around him, bury my face in the side of his neck, and breathe him in like he’s the thing that’s been keeping me grounded all night. “Fuck yes,” I mumble. “Come home with me, Camden Crawford. Let’s blow some shit up in the name of freedom.”

He laughs—rich and real—and pulls me in even closer.

“Deal.”

We survive our long-ass flight from Heathrow to Atlanta, though “survive” is generous.

I think Cam might’ve threatened a gate agent with death-by-scrum when we almost missed our connection.

But hey, we made it. He even upgraded me to business class so I wouldn’t be flying solo in economy.

Talk about spoiled. And yeah, fine, I may have gotten a little misty-eyed at the gesture, though I blamed it on cabin pressure.

By the time we land in Savannah, it’s late on the third. The air hits us the second we step outside—thick and sticky with Southern heat even at night—and I swear Cam makes a sound somewhere between a grunt and a “what the fuck.”

Tony’s already at the pick-up zone, leaning against his bright yellow Jeep like he’s been plucked straight out of a Banana Ball infomercial.

He spots us and takes off at a jog, a blur of yellow and wild energy.

Before I can even drop my suitcase, he’s got me in a full-body hug that lifts me half off the ground.

“Three years, you asshole,” he says, voice thick. “Three freakin’ years.”

I laugh, clinging just as hard. “You’re the one who moved to the circus.”

He pulls back, eyes a little glassy, though he’s quick to wipe at one. “Yeah, yeah. Shut up. I missed you.”

“Missed you too.”

Only then does he turn to Cam, who’s hovering like he’s not sure if he should look polite or protective.

Tony grins wide, clapping eyes on him. “You’re even taller than Brent said. Love that for you. You a hugger or a handshake guy?”

Cam blinks. “Uh, whichever keeps you from tackling me.”

Tony grins wider. “Oh, buddy.” And before Cam can say another word, he’s yanked into a hug too. Cam stiffens for half a second, but to his credit, he doesn’t flinch. Much.

“You’re all right,” Tony declares, pulling back. “Strong silent type. Total upgrade from Brent’s ex in high school who collected swords.”

Cam side-eyes me. I shrug. “It was a phase.”

Tony just throws our bags in the trunk like nothing’s changed—and in the best way, maybe nothing has.

On the drive back to the house, Cam keeps glancing out the window like he’s trying to orient himself via humidity and pine trees. Tony, meanwhile, launches into a full-blown Banana Ball explanation before Cam can ask. Which he doesn’t. He looks confused enough just by the name.

“It’s like baseball,” Tony says, hands flying everywhere. “But if baseball had a baby with a circus and then raised it on a steady diet of TikTok and chaos.”

Cam blinks. “I… don’t know what that means.”

Tony looks offended. “Mate. There’s dancing. Uniforms are optional. We do backflips mid-play. Sometimes we play in kilts.”

Cam turns slowly in his seat to look at me. “Is this a real sport?”

I snort. “Sadly, yes. And he’s not bad at it.”

“‘Not bad’? I’m a fuckin’ legend,” Tony says.

Cam’s trying so hard not to laugh I can see the vein in his neck bulging.

Then Tony, curious now, glances back at him. “So, what about you? I’ve watched rugby. Still don’t get the rules. You a linebacker or something?”

Cam’s lips twitch. “I’m a tighthead prop.”

Tony blinks. “I don’t know what that is, but it sounds like something dangerous and vaguely illegal.”

Cam just shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I anchor the scrum. Keep the line steady. Push against a wall of men trying to crush me. Hit hard. Take hits harder.”

Tony’s mouth hangs open. “That’s badass. Wait, you do that on purpose and without a helmet or pads?”

Cam nods.

Tony turns to me, stunned. “Your boyfriend is terrifying.”

I blink. Cam’s gaze slides towards me, just as my own flicks to him. There’s a beat. A pause just long enough for both of us to register the word neither of us has dared say out loud.

Boyfriend.

Cam’s jaw ticks like he’s considering saying something, but then?—

He just shrugs. Easy. Casual. “Good,” he mutters.

My mouth twitches. “Yeah,” I say, playing it cool even as something warm and wobbly flares in my chest. “I know.”

Tony, oblivious, whistles low. “Terrifying and hot. Well done, bro.”

We both ignore that one. But neither of us corrects him. And maybe that says more than anything else.

Tony shakes his head and mutters something about needing to start lifting weights again. Cam just grins quietly and watches the road.

I settle back in my seat, warmth curling in my chest. I’m the only brother who didn’t get into sports—barely made it through school sports, if I’m honest. But my parents never gave me shit about it.

They supported every creative outlet I threw myself into.

Tattooing. Drawing. Even that brief period where I thought I’d become a magician.

Still, I know my mom—especially—would love if I moved back. I feel it in the way she lingers on every FaceTime. The way she always asks if I’m eating enough. If the flat’s warm enough. If I’m lonely.

Maybe I was. For a while. But with Cam beside me, arm brushing mine in the back seat, that ache doesn’t sting so sharply anymore. He glances at me as Tony launches into another wild story, and I see the corner of his mouth lift—just slightly.

And honestly, under the warm, late-night Georgia sky, I think… maybe we’re both exactly where we’re meant to be.