Page 24 of Try Line Hearts
A few nearby lads snorted. Rory muttered, “He’s not wrong,” earning a light smack from Darren.
Kaine went on, undeterred. “The least you could do is point at a landmark and say, ‘That’s something vaguely historic, don’t lick it.’”
“You can use Google Maps,” Byrne said.
“That’s not the same.”
Byrne reached for his water bottle and took a slow drink, buying time. Buying distance. Buying anything.
Kaine watched him for a moment, then sighed and stepped closer, dropping his voice low enough that only Byrne could hear.
“Look, captain. I’m not asking you to marry me. Just walk around Dublin for a few hours so I don’t look like a complete idiot alone.” He hesitated, then added, quieter, like it slipped out before he could dress it in humor, “You’re the only one I trust not to abandon me in Temple Bar and laugh about it later.”
The word trust hit Byrne like an elbow to the ribs.
Trust was not a thing people gave him lightly. Trust was a thing he earned through discipline and distance and a kind of controlled kindness that never asked for anything back.
He tried to swallow around it.
The rational answer was stillno.
But across from him, the winger stood with his hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders angled smaller than usual, bravado dimmed just enough for Byrne to see the young man underneath—the one who’d left home, family, the sea, the sun, the language, to wear green in a city that was not his.
Byrne exhaled.
“Couple hours,” he said.
Kaine’s face lit like someone had plugged him into a socket. “Yeah?”
“Don’t make me regret it.”
“Oh, captain.” Kaine grinned, warmth returning full force. “I’m absolutely going to make you regret it.”
They layered up against the cold: Byrne in a dark coat and a beanie pulled low, the kind he could tug down if he needed to disappear. Kaine in a team hoodie under a puffer jacket, curls free and shameless, like weather could do its worst and he’d simply refuse to be affected.
“You’re not wearing a hat?” Byrne asked as they walked toward the city center.
Kaine shrugged. “Why?”
“Because it’s gonna rain.”
Kaine looked up at the sky—grey and heavy, the default Irish setting. “How can you tell? It always looks like this.”
“It will rain,” Byrne said. “Always assume it will rain.”
“That’s the most Irish sentence I’ve ever heard.”
They caught the Luas into town. Byrne stood, hand wrapped around the rail, watching the city slide by: brick terraces, worn stone, the grimy beauty of old streets trying to pretend they weren’t tired. Graffiti layered over graffiti so long it might as well have been history. The river dark and patient.
Kaine watched everything else.
“What’s that?” he asked, nodding toward the water as they crossed.
“The Liffey,” Byrne said.
Kaine made a face like he’d expected something more dramatic. “Wow. You’re a natural guide.”
“You asked.”
