Page 136 of Try Line Hearts
The reply came almost immediately.
Aoife: Got it. I’ll tell security. Sit tight.
Eli showed Lucas the screen without comment. He murmured to the driver that security was working on opening the gate.
The driver glanced back then nodded. “I’ll pull forward when it opens.”
As they waited, Lucas felt the dam finally crack.
His breath hitched, sharp and sudden. He turned his face toward the window, coughing once as his eyes burned.
“Luke,” Eli murmured, already reaching for him.
“I’m fine,” Lucas started automatically—then stopped himself.
He took a breath. Let it shake.
“I’m… not,” he admitted.
Eli didn’t tease him. Didn’t try to fix it.
He just squeezed Lucas’s knee, solid and grounding, anchoring him to the seat, to the moment, tonow.
The gates slid open smoothly, almost casually, as if this weren’t one of the most terrifying and hopeful moments of Lucas’s life.
The taxi rolled forward.
As the gates closed behind them, cutting off the noise and color and sudden swell of support, Lucas sagged back against the seat.
“Jesus,” he whispered. “I really thought—”
“I know,” Eli said quietly. “So did I.”
They didn’t say anything else until the taxi stopped.
Lucas met the driver’s eyes as they got out. “Thanks.”
The man nodded once, respectful, and said nothing at all.
Inside the facility grounds, the noise faded. The world narrowed again to familiar paths, familiar buildings. Lucas felt lighter with every step, like something essential had shifted permanently.
They didn’t go to the locker room.
Instead, they were intercepted by Aoife, who took one look at their faces and made a decision on the spot.
“Conference room,” she said briskly. “No cameras. Coffee first.”
Aoife didn’t stay long.
She poked her head back into the conference room, phone already pressed to her ear, eyes sharp and assessing like she was holding half a dozen moving pieces in her head at once.
“Stay put for a bit,” she said briskly. “PR’s working through some angles. I’ll come get you when it’s time. Coffee’s coming. Don’t turn yourselves into a problem while I’m gone.”
With that, she was gone again, the door clicking shut behind her.
The room settled.
Sunlight streamed in through the high windows, catching dust motes in the air. The table was scattered with half-drunk cups, a plate of biscuits no one had touched yet. It felt suspended — like they were between acts, waiting for the world to decide how loudly it wanted to respond.
