Page 78 of Full Tilt
Then explodes.
Cam’s across the field in seconds. He’s screaming—I can’t hear him, but the fury is in every part of his body. It takes three teammates to hold him back from going after the player who hit Lachie. The guy’s already getting a red card, walking off to jeers, but it’s not enough. Not for Cam.
Not when it’s his best mate lying on the pitch, quiet and still.
The stadium has dropped into a strange silence, that holding-your-breath kind of tension. Lachie still hasn’t moved. The medics are kneeling beside him now, and I catch the flash of a stretcher coming onto the field.
I don’t even realise I’m standing until someone next to me gasps.
Cam’s still fuming, his fists clenching at his sides, his chest rising and falling like he’s just run a sprint uphill. His teammates are talking to him—one of the flankers with a hand on his shoulder—but he doesn’t even look away from Lachie until they lift him carefully onto the stretcher.
My heart’s thudding so hard it aches, because I know that look on Cam’s face. It’s not just rage. It’s fear.
Fuck. I have no idea what to do. They just play on, right, even though a player’s been taken off? I have zero clue. All I know is that I like Lachie, and he’s clearly seriously injured. Then there’s Cam, who looks ready to tear off someone’s head.
As far as I’m aware, Lachie isn’t married or dating, but maybe he has family here who are looking out for him. Even if I leave my seat, it’s not like I’m going to get any information. I’m nobody to Lachie. It doesn’t matter that I want to be there for him since his best friend can’t be.
Indecision wars inside me. The game’s yet to restart, and while fans around me have started to take their seats, I remain standing, staring at Cam.
Around me, people are murmuring in confusion, some loudly voicing their opinions.
“Definitely deserves the red, that. Disgusting hit?—”
“Was clean. Just bad luck, mate. Happens.”
“Did you see his leg? That angle wasn’t natural.”
The woman next to me grips her partner’s arm, whispering, “He’s not moving much, is he?”
My heart kicks hard against my ribs. I swallow past the dry lump in my throat and stay standing even though most fans are sitting again. The match hasn’t resumed, but players are slowly drifting back into position. Officials are speaking quietly near the sidelines. Cam’s crouched beside Lachie’s stretcher now, ahand pressed to his friend’s shoulder. The medics are speaking low and fast.
And then Cam’s eyes find mine. The roar of the stadium dulls. He doesn’t say anything, mouth anything. He doesn’t have to. His expression is pinched with frustration, worry, barely leashed fury—and something else.
A silent ask.
He wants me to check on Lachie. Because he can’t.
I nod once, sharp and sure, and start clumsily making my way out of the aisle. “’Scuse me. Sorry. Sorry.” I shuffle past knees and beers and whispered questions, then hit the steps. I don’t run, but I walk fast, heart thundering in my chest. By the time I reach the edge of the seating area, I see Cam talking to someone just beyond the sideline rope—an assistant coach maybe, or med staff. He’s already setting things in motion, even while the ref confers with a guy in a blazer holding a clipboard.
I scan the stadium interior for signs. Somewhere, there has to be access to the team zones. I spot a steel security door marked with STAFF ONLY above it and jog that way. My boots thud against the concrete. My palms are sweaty.
Two security guards stand at the entrance, one on either side, earpieces in, built like fridges.
Shit.
I approach the guy on the left. He’s mid-forties and tough-looking. He doesn’t blink as I slow down.
“I need to get through,” I say, trying to keep my tone even but urgent. “I’m, uh… I’m Lachie’s brother.”
His brow lifts. “You are?”
Shit. Come on, Brent. Think.“Half-brother,” I say. “Different dads. He took Mum’s last name.”
He squints at me. “You American?”
“Yeah. Long story.” I push a hand through my hair, trying to look distressed. “Look, please. I’m only here for a bit. I just need to make sure he’s okay. He’s all I’ve got over here.”
The guard doesn’t soften.
