Page 35 of Try Line Hearts
Training that day was brutal.
Byrne welcomed it. Bruises were simpler than feelings.
When it finally ended, the lads sprawled in the locker room, groaning and swearing and comparing injuries in the way only men trying desperately not to reveal their fear could.
Carmody stepped in.
“Right,” he said. “You’ve suffered enough. Mandatory team night at O’Shea’s. Eight p.m. No idiocy, no fights, no viral videos. Captain—”
Byrne looked up.
“You’re coming.”
It wasn’t a question.
Before Byrne could formulate his usual excuse, Kaine’s voice cut in from across the room.
“He’s in.”
Byrne’s head snapped up.
Kaine just raised his brows. “Aren’t you?”
It wasn’t a challenge.
It was a request.
So Byrne nodded once. “Yeah. I’m in.”
The room erupted.
Some idiot shouted, “Captain’s coming out!”
Then immediately panicked. “NOT LIKE THAT—OH MY GOD—”
Kaine groaned and threw a towel. “Learn phrasing, Jamie.”
Byrne dressed in silence, pulse pounding.
O’Shea’s was loud enough to vibrate bone.
The team took over a long wooden table near the back, immediately ordering enough alcohol to drown the average village.
Byrne took his usual seat near the middle—close enough to be present, far enough to avoid being the punchline.
Kaine slid in beside him, thigh warm through the fabric of Byrne’s trousers. Byrne pretended not to notice.
“What’re you drinking?” Kaine asked.
“Water.”
Kaine snorted. “You’re allergic to joy.”
“It’s pub night, not a holiday.”
“Live a little, captain.”
He ordered Byrne a shandy anyway.
