Page 37 of Full Tilt (Love The Game #4)

Brent

It’s surreal—sitting on the back porch of my parents’ house, sipping lukewarm coffee while Camden fucking Crawford loads his overnight bag onto the bed of Dad’s truck.

I blink at the morning sunlight streaming through the Spanish moss and feel like I’ve slipped into a fever dream.

He’s wearing that faded grey tee that clings to his back and does violent things to my sanity, cargo shorts that should look tragic but somehow make his thighs even more sinful, and he’s got that laser-sharp focus on his face like packing is a competitive sport.

The man’s going to meet his team in Jacksonville, and I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that he’s been here.

With my family. For the Fourth of July. Eating my mom’s cobbler and laughing at Tony’s terrible Banana Ball jokes.

Letting Rachel teach him how to make devilled eggs while Cal’s sat perched on the counter narrating like it was a cooking show.

He fit. Like he belonged here. Like he wasn’t a six-foot-something international rugby player with a reputation for breaking defensive lines and jawbones.

And hell, maybe I’m being soft, but watching him these past couple of days—seeing him talk to my mom about his own, leaning into my side during fireworks, ducking his head when my dad called him “son”—it’s been… a lot.

In the best fucking way.

I head inside, ducking through the screen door, and nearly run into my mom in the hallway. She’s holding a dish towel and looking way too composed for someone who just cleaned up after hosting a holiday for a shit-ton of people and two dogs.

“Morning, sweetheart,” she says, then leans in for a kiss on the cheek. “Coffee?”

I lift my mug. “Already caffeinated, thanks.”

She doesn’t move. “Cam all set?”

“Just about.” I scratch the back of my neck, glancing towards the door. “I’ll be driving him down to Jacksonville. He’s got to meet his team at the hotel.”

Mom nods, but I can see it coming—the question. The hesitation. That quiet sort of maternal worry that simmers behind her eyes, like she’s trying to measure my happiness with a thermometer she doesn’t quite trust.

“Brent,” she says gently, “can I talk to you for a moment before you go?”

My stomach drops a little. I nod.

She leads me into the front sitting room—cosy, neutral, the smell of lemon polish lingering in the air. I sit on the edge of the armchair like I’m back in high school waiting for a report card.

Mom perches opposite, wringing the towel. “You know I love that you brought Cam here,” she says softly. “We’re so happy to meet him. He’s… lovely.”

I nod. “He is.”

“But.”

She always had a knack for pivoting with a word like that.

“But,” she continues, “seeing you two together—it’s wonderful, Brent. It really is. But it also makes me wonder.”

“About what?” I ask, even though I already know.

Her gaze holds mine. “Are you ever coming back?”

The question lands like a punch to the ribs. Not because I didn’t expect it, but because I don’t have a clean answer. Not anymore.

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I used to think I might. But… things feel different now.”

“Because of Cam?”

“Partly,” I admit. “But it’s not just him. It’s the studio, the life I’ve built. The quiet I’ve found there.”

She nods slowly, absorbing that. “You’ve always needed that. A place that made you feel steady.”

I huff out a laugh. “You saying we’re chaotic?”

She grins. “Oh, definitely. But you thrive in calm.”

I swallow, suddenly aware of how dry my throat is. Mom’s looking at me like she’s seeing me at five years old again, like she can still peel back every layer of my armour with a single glance. I shift on the seat, my hands half in my pockets, half itching to fidget with something.

“Mom…,” I start and then pause, steadying myself. I meet her eyes. “I’m happy. Really happy.”

Her expression doesn’t change, but something in her softens, just a little.

“I’m not saying I’ll never move back,” I continue, my voice quieter now. “This house, this family—it’s always gonna be a part of me. And yeah, I miss you guys like hell. But right now… Cam’s important to me. Really important.”

The truth of it settles heavy and warm in my chest as I say it. Like something I’ve been carrying finally has shape.

I watch her process the words. Her mouth presses into a thin line, not angry, just thoughtful.

“And Exeter…” I glance towards the living room, where I can hear Cam’s low voice chatting with one of my brothers. I smile despite the tension in my shoulders. “It feels like home.”

Mom doesn’t say anything for a moment. She steps forwards, lays her hand gently on my cheek, then sighs, her thumb brushing along my jaw. “I just don’t want to lose you to another continent, Brent.”

I nod slowly, pressing my hand over hers. “You’re not losing me. You’re gaining someone who makes me feel more like myself than I ever have.”

She blinks quickly, and I pretend not to notice the sudden gloss in her eyes. Then she pulls me into a hug, tight and lingering. I let myself melt into it, feeling twelve years old again—but also more grown-up than I’ve ever been.

“You always have to follow your heart, Brent. Just promise me—promise us—you won’t forget where home started.”

“I won’t,” I whisper.

And then, behind us, there’s the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat.

My heart stutters as I turn. Cam’s standing in the doorway, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his eyes a little too unreadable. I have no idea how long he’s been there. Long enough, probably.

But that—well, that’s a conversation for the drive.

Cam steps fully into the room, saying, “I’m all packed and ready.”

I nod and we head to the kitchen so he can say goodbye to the rest of the family.

Mom hugs him again, tells him to play smart and stay safe and that she can’t wait to see him play.

Rachel gives him a thumbs-up, then nudges me with a wink that I pointedly ignore.

The twins are already halfway out the door, yelling something about good luck and Banana Ball, and Cosmo’s nowhere to be seen—he had to head out early this morning for the summer league he’s involved in.

“I’ll be back tonight,” I tell Mom as Cam and I move towards the door. “But we’ll FaceTime before the match on the seventh so you can wish him luck.”

She nods and squeezes Cam’s arm. “I can’t wait for the game, Cam.”

Only my parents and Rachel will be at Cam’s first game in Jacksonville—Calvin and Tony can’t swing it with their game schedule, but they’ve already promised they’ll be there for the final game in Atlanta, when I’ll be back in the UK.

It’s weird, thinking I won’t be there to see it live.

But I know what this trip has meant, and I’m glad they’ll be there to cheer him on.

Cam shoots me a quiet look as we reach the borrowed truck—Dad’s, since it’s roomier than mine and Cam can stretch out his long-ass legs. He’s not saying much. Neither am I, really.

The drive starts out quiet. The hum of tyres on road is the only sound between us for the first few minutes, but it’s not uncomfortable—just… weighted. Like we’re both turning over everything that’s happened this week, everything we haven’t quite said yet.

Cam settles into the passenger seat with a low, gravelly sigh that says more than words could.

He doesn’t fidget—he never does—but his silence feels heavier than usual.

Me? I’m gripping the wheel like the damn thing might escape if I ease up.

The air between us feels taut. Like it’s waiting for one of us to breathe too deep and set everything off.

I glance over at him as we ease onto I-95.

The sunlight cuts across his face in sharp angles, making the faint bruise beneath his eye more pronounced.

He’s not looking at me, just watching the trees blur by outside the window.

There’s something almost… guarded about him. Like he’s gearing up for a tackle.

“You okay?” I ask, voice soft.

He nods. Just once.

We lapse back into silence. A few miles later, we pass a billboard for boiled peanuts and gator jerky, and normally I’d make a crack. Cam would huff, half amused, half horrified. But right now, I can’t summon the nerve.

I think about what Mom said. About permanence. About love and roots and home.

And then I think about Cam. Cam, who is fiercely private. Cam, who plays rugby like it’s a war and carries the weight of every single teammate on his back. Cam, who lets me hold him when he thinks no one’s watching.

I swallow hard. “Listen,” I say finally, just as the truck rumbles past a semi, “about earlier… with my mom.”

His head turns slightly. “I heard enough to get the gist.”

Of course he did.

I wince. “Didn’t mean for you to hear it like that. I was gonna talk to you. I just… I hadn’t figured out how to yet.”

His brow lifts, gaze pinning me. “Figured out what?”

I breathe in deep, my eyes locked on the road. “That being with you changes things for me. Like… long term.”

Silence again. And then, slowly, “Meaning?”

“Meaning I was never really sure if I’d stay in the UK for good. But I could. If you wanted me to.”

Cam exhales like I’ve punched him in the chest. “You’d… do that?”

“If it meant being with you?” I glance at him. “Yeah. I would.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he sits there, turning that over like a stone in his palm. Eventually, he mutters, “That’s a lot.”

“I know.”

“And we’ve only just started calling each other boyfriends.”

“Also true.”

“But you’d move countries for me.”

“I’d stay in a country for you,” I clarify gently. “It’s not like I hate it there. I’ve got the shop, I’ve got friends. I like the pace. But it didn’t feel like home until you.” He already knows I’m eligible for citizenship next year too.

That gets his attention. He shifts in his seat, finally facing me fully. “You serious?”