Page 43 of Try Line Hearts
“And I love you,” she replied at once. “Now go back before your very patient winger made of sunshine thinks you’ve vanished.”
“He’s not sunshine.”
“Lucas.”
“…He is,” he conceded.
“Oíche mhaith, a chroí.”Good night, my heart.
“Oíche mhaith,” he echoed, and ended the call.
When Byrne returned to the room, Kaine looked up from his phone.
“You okay?”
“I will be.”
“Good.”
They settled into the dark.
“Kaine?” Byrne murmured.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“I’d rather make it better,” Kaine said. “Butnot worsewill do.”
Byrne lay staring at the ceiling, heart loud but no longer panicked. The words replayed themselves, rearranging, shedding their sensible edges untilmake it betterstopped sounding like reassurance and started sounding like something else entirely.
Unhelpfully, his mind supplied an image: Kaine close, hands warm and sure, that careful steadiness turning deliberate. The thought slid in sideways, unwanted and vivid, and Byrne had to clamp down on it, breath hitching despite himself.
Jesus. Get a grip.
This—this—was exactly why he didn’t drink. Why he didn’t let himself blur the lines between what was meant and what was wanted. His judgment was already softening around the edges, desire rewriting intent into invitation.
He dragged in a slow breath and forced his thoughts back into something like order.
He still didn’t know how to live with what he’d done. Didn’t know what tomorrow would look like once the adrenaline wore off and reality came knocking.
But beneath the fear, something else had taken shape. Not certainty. Not peace. Just the quiet fact of it.
He’d crossed a line he’d wanted to cross for years.
And maybe—just maybe—he wouldn’t have to stand on the wrong side of it forever.
“Good night, Eli,” he whispered into the dark, the name settling warmly on his tongue before he could stop himself.
“Night, Lucas” a soft whisper echoed.
Chapter Seven: Under The Floodlights
Training camp ended not with a bang, but with a whistle and a speech.
“Right,” Carmody said, hands on hips, wind biting at his cheeks. “You’ve survived pre-season. Most of you. If your legs still function tomorrow, you’re doing it wrong.”
Weak laughter rippled through the squad.
