Page 108 of Full Tilt
Another buzz.
Another headline.
I close the app before I can read it fully. Just seeing the name-drop of the guy who sold his story a few years back is enough to churn my gut.
Instead, I turn back to the match, forcing myself to focus. He’s out there playing. Still leading. Still driving his team forwards with every ounce of himself. His form’s tight, and he’sfocused. But something in his shoulders looks tense now. His jaw’s locked up.
Has he seen it?
Maybe… maybe I’m spiralling.
I mean, it’s a couple of pictures. Gossip sites thrive on drama, yeah, but the attention span of the internet is measured in hours. And honestly, maybe the whole “Cam gets around” headline won’t gain as much traction as I think. Most people will forget it by morning. Maybe the media cycle will move on.
Still.
Cam won’t.
Even if it’s just a whisper, he’ll hear it like a scream. He’s private, guarded, and careful as hell about his reputation—and this? This isn’t just a footnote. It’s personal.
I sigh and swipe my palm down my face, pacing my small flat like it’ll help. The light from the laptop screen flickers as the commentators talk stats and substitutions, and I can’t help but bite my lip hard enough to taste blood.
“Hold it together,” I mutter to myself. “He needs you steady. Not losing your shit.” But it’s easier said than done. Because Cam, he means too fucking much. And the second this game ends, he’s going to walk into a media storm. And I won’t be there to block the wind.
It’s less than forty-five minutes after the game that Cam calls me. I scramble for my phone so fast it nearly launches off the edge of the counter. “Cam?” I answer breathlessly, like I hadn’t been pacing the entire sitting room since the final whistle.
He doesn’t start with hello, just “Hey. You seen the bullshit?”
I freeze. My spine goes rigid. “Uh. Yeah. Cosmo sent it.”
A beat of silence follows, and my stomach twists.
Then Cam huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, well, Pen’s got grabby hands and zero brain-to-body filter. He smacked my ass for luck. It wasn’t a thing.”
“You sure?” My voice is low, wary, careful. Not because I doubt him, but because I’ve seen how this stuff gets out of control.
He makes a noise halfway between a scoff and a sigh. “My boyfriend”—the word sends a ripple through my chest—“is in England. Not Jacksonville. Not named Pen. And most importantly, my boyfriend’s not a clueless flirt who calls his own mum ‘bro.’ So yeah. I’m sure.”
My chest tightens. Not in panic this time—but relief. I pinch the bridge of my nose and let out a breath I didn’t realise I’d been holding.
“I don’t give a shit about any of it,” he says firmly. “The photo. The headline. The innuendo. Your parents were standing ten feet away when it happened. They saw it. They laughed.” He pauses, voice softening. “They know I’m not stepping out on you, Brent. And that’s all I care about.”
My throat thickens. “Yeah,” I murmur. “I guess I was just worried. Not about trust. Just… you dealing with it all. Alone.”
“I wasn’t alone. Not really,” he says quietly. “I had your voice in my ear as soon as I read the BS.” A pause. Then he says, “And I got you now.”
I lean back against the counter, eyes stinging, heart pounding.Jesus. This man.
“Listen,” he says. “I’ve got a final media spot in twenty minutes. Just local stuff—wrap-up for the tour. If you’re okay with it, I’m going to mention you.”
I blink. “Mention me?”
“Yeah. I was going to say something vague about someone waiting back home, but… screw that. If they’re going to talk about you, they can at least get your name right.”
My stomach swoops. “You sure?”
“I’m sure. You’re not a rumour. You’re real. And I’m not hiding that.”
The air leaves me in a rush. “Camden,” I breathe. “You’re gonna kill me.”
