Page 23 of Try Line Hearts
Chapter Four: Fracture Point
The announcement came at the end of morning physio, tossed out as casually as a spare cone.
“Right,” Carmody said, clapping his hands once. “We’ve flogged you hard enough for a few days. This afternoon’s yours. No formal training block. Recovery’s on you. Don’t do anything stupid.”
“That’s a lot of trust, coach,” one of the forwards called.
“It’s not trust,” Carmody shot back. “It’s paperwork avoidance. I don’t want to sign forms if you die doing something idiotic.”
Laughter rolled through the room.
Byrne didn’t laugh. He felt the knot between his shoulders loosen, not much, just enough to remind him what relief felt like. A free afternoon meant ice, film, maybe sleep. Silence. Blessed silence without men shouting, cameras lurking, or his own name being said like a claim.
He was still deciding which match to rewatch—whether to punish himself with last year’s loss or soothe himself with a win—when a shadow fell across the table he was stretching on.
“So,” Kaine said, “you gonna show me your city? Or do I have to ask a tour guide who doesn’t yell at me about angles?”
Byrne looked up, instantly suspicious. “No.”
Kaine blinked. “That’s not an answer.”
“It is.”
“No, I’m serious.” Kaine leaned a hip against the physio table like he’d always belonged there. “I’ve been here, what, three days? I’ve seen the pitch, the dorms, and the inside of Carmody’s soul. I’d like to see something else before I forget what color sunlight is supposed to be.”
Byrne stretched his hamstring harder. The muscle complained. Good. Pain was simple. Pain didn’t ask for anything.
“I’m not showing you around,” he said.
Kaine stared at him for a beat, genuinely taken aback. “You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Because crowds meant visibility.
Visibility meant phones.
Phones meant pictures.
Pictures meant headlines.
Because he couldn’t afford to be seen enjoying anyone too much.
“Because,” Byrne said, “I have things to do.”
Kaine’s mouth twisted. “Like what?”
“Recovery. Film. Captaincy.”
Kaine folded his arms. The relaxed ease didn’t vanish entirely, but something colder edged into it—irritation, sure, but underneath that… disappointment. That was the dangerous one. Irritation was safe. Disappointment crawled under the skin.
“You do know I moved halfway around the world, yeah?” Kaine said.
Byrne said nothing.
“In good faith,” Kaine continued, voice gaining energy the way it did when he was trying not to sound hurt, “for this team. For this jersey. For the chance to freeze my ass off in your beautiful, miserable city.”
