Page 13 of Try Line Hearts
Byrne stroked himself like a man chasing silence, like the only thing that mattered was the brief mercy of not thinking. It didn’t take long—not with Kaine not six feet away, breathing in the same air. Not with the imagined weight of his gaze, whiskey-brown and steady, looking up at him. Those lips—
Byrne clenched his jaw and rode out orgasm without a sound, swallowing the noise, swallowing everything.
Afterward, he stayed there, frozen, forehead pressed to the tile while steam wrapped around him like judgment.
“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” he whispered.
The room gave him nothing back.
He washed quickly, mechanically, and shut off the tap. Wrapped himself tight in a towel like armor. Forced himself to meet his own eyes in the mirror.
He looked like someone who’d lost ground he couldn’t afford to lose.
Kaine was lacing his boots when Byrne emerged, but he looked up immediately—expression soft, attentive, as if he’d been listening for the sound of the door.
“No rush,” Kaine said gently. “We’ve got time.”
Byrne couldn’t meet his eyes. Couldn’t risk it.
“Let’s go.”
They walked side by side down the hallway toward the pitch, footsteps echoing in the early quiet. Kaine moved loose and unhurried, hands clasped behind his back like this was all exactly where he wanted to be.
“You always this quiet in the morning?” he asked.
“I’m always quiet.”
“Fair enough.” Kaine tilted his head, considering. “But morning quiet feels different. Like you’re trying not to wake the world.”
Byrne stiffened.
That familiar tightening closed around his chest—the instinctive recoil when someone edged too close to truth.
“I’m not hiding,” he said.
Kaine didn’t rise to it. “Didn’t say you were.”
The calm in his voice was worse than accusation.
Byrne adjusted the strap of his bag. “Focus on the session.”
“Right,” Kaine said softly. “Got it.”
And just like that, he gave Byrne exactly what he asked for.
Fog wrapped the pitch in lavender haze, floodlights carving gold through it like something holy. The cold bit at Byrne’s cheeks; he welcomed it.
Discipline lived in cold places.
Kaine jogged across the grass, warming up with effortless fluidity. Even at a distance, he seemed to glow with ease, like movement was a language he’d never had to learn.
“So,” Kaine said, spinning a ball between his hands, “what’s the plan, captain?”
“We build predictability,” Byrne replied. “Then variation.”
Kaine grinned immediately. “Predictable? Me? You sure?”
“Predictable to me,” Byrne said. “Not to defenders.”
