Page 30 of Try Line Hearts
Byrne’s stomach dropped for an entirely different reason.
He knows.
Kaine didn’t push. He shifted his weight, tone turning brisk with the kind of competence that saved lives.
“Right,” he said. “They’re having their fun. We can steer it.”
Byrne frowned. “What?”
“Watch.”
Kaine pulled out his phone, opened the group chat and typed, thumbs quick.
He tilted the phone so Byrne could see before he sent:
Kaine:relax lads lol captain just wouldn’t let me get lost on my first proper wander. man’s like an overprotective GPS
Kaine:also he refused to buy me a single pint so if this is a date it was the worst I’ve ever been on
He hit send.
Responses flooded in immediately.
Darren:LMAO
Finn:tragic date behaviour from the skipper ngl
Mick:“overprotective GPS” is killing me
Rory:so he IS the mum friend, I knew it
Jamie:fine fine we’ll stop calling it a date (for now)
The tone shifted—less romance, more banter. The hearts got buried under jokes about Byrne’s “dad energy,” Kaine’s “tragic standards,” and memes of GPS directions.
The pressure in Byrne’s chest eased by a fraction.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Byrne muttered.
“Yeah,” Kaine said simply. “I did.”
He locked his phone and slid it back into a pocket. “They don’t get to decide what you are. Or what we are.”
We.
The word lodged behind Byrne’s ribs like a small weight—dense, deliberate, impossible to cough up. Not heavy enough to crush him. Heavy enough to be felt with every breath.
We meant alignment. Proximity. Choice. It meant Kaine had already placed himself inside the sentence without asking permission.
Byrne stared at the gray sky, pulse ticking too fast in his throat. He hadn’t realized how carefully he’d been avoiding that word until it was suddenly there, undeniable.
“I should’ve laughed it off,” he said, voice tight. “Played along. Made it nothing.”
“Maybe,” Kaine said easily. “Or maybe you’re allowed to hate feeling like you’re being… branded.”
That did it.
The wordbrandedscraped something raw. Byrne’s throat closed, and for a second he thought—absurdly—he might actually choke on it. On the years of practice. On the reflexive jokes. On the constant calculation of how much of himself was visible at any given moment.
