Page 70 of Full Tilt
I laugh, but there’s no humour in it. “Can I?”
“I think so.” His voice is steady now. “But I won’t pretend it’s going to be easy. If you want me to back off?—”
“No.” My answer is instant. Too fast. Too raw. I bite down on the next breath. “I don’t want that.”
There’s a pause.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” I open my eyes and stare up at the grey sky. “I don’t want to give them another piece of me. But you? You’re not the problem. You’re the thing that’s made the last few weeks… better.”
Brent’s inhale is sharp. “Cam….”
“I’m not saying I’m ready to do interviews or hold your hand on a red carpet,” I add quickly. “But I’m not walking away.”
There’s a sound I can’t quite name—a cross between a sigh and a quiet, relieved laugh.
“Good,” Brent murmurs. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”
After letting him know I’ll stop by later and saying goodbye, I tuck my phone back into my pocket but feel every word from Brent like it’s been etched into my ribs.
“What’s going on?” Lachie’s still watching me—not nosy, just genuinely concerned.
I exhale hard, scrubbing a hand through my hair. “Just spoke to Brent. Some dickhead showed up at his shop asking questions. About me. Us.”
Lachie’s eyebrows lift. “Press?”
“Probably.” I kick a pebble with the side of my boot, sending it skittering across the asphalt. “Said he told him to piss off. But still.”
There’s a silence as I open the back door and throw my folder on the seat. The tension hangs between us, and then Lachie bobs his head.
“Look, I know you’re spun out, but…” He hesitates, and I brace. “Do you think it’s true? What they said in the press?”
My gut twists. “About what?”
“You being distracted. Slipping. Not hungry enough.” He pauses. “Since meeting him.”
I stop walking. “We’re not dating,” I snap, too fast, too sharp.
Lachie blinks at me once, then snorts. “Sure you’re not.”
I glare at him, but he just throws me a look like I’m the idiot in this conversation. Because I probably am.
He shrugs. “Look, I’m not here to judge. But I’ve known you a long time, and yeah, yesterday wasn’t your best performance—but it wasn’t anyone’s. We’ve all been off. The loss wasn’t on you.”
I nod slowly. My mouth is dry, the pressure in my chest mounting. “I just… I can’t afford for them to be right.”
“About what?”
“That I’ve lost my edge. That I’m soft now. That I can’t lead this team.”
“Mate.” Lachie shakes his head. “You’ve led this team through worse. Through season slumps, injuries, new signings, losing half the backline to international duty. One average match doesn’t erase that.”
I stare at him.
“And Brent?” he goes on. “He make you happy?”
The answer’s there before I can even think. “Yeah. He does.”
