Page 44 of Try Line Hearts
“We fly out Thursday,” he continued. “First away match, big statement game. Cardiff isn’t going to roll over and let you tick your little dream boxes. So tonight—” his mouth twisted, “—tonight you get to pretend you’re normal people. Within reason. Aoife?”
Aoife stepped forward, beanie pulled low, clipboard tucked under one arm. “Ground rules. No videos of you doing shots off strangers. No climbing statues. No singing rebel songs on TikTok. No fights. No arrests. If a camera comes out, assume it’s the front page. Clear?”
A chorus ofYes, Aoifefollowed.
She pointed her pen at Byrne. “Captain?”
Lucas straightened automatically. “We’re clear.”
“Good,” she said, softening just a fraction. “Go blow the cobwebs out. Try remembering you’re more than your hamstrings.”
Darren threw an arm around Finn’s shoulders. “You heard the boss. Cultural enrichment, lads. To the pub!”
The first pub was small, warm, and old enough to have seen some things. Low ceilings. Scarred wood. A fire sulking in the grate. Jerseys framed on the walls. The kind of place where locals watched newcomers carefully, then decided whether to adopt them or eat them alive.
The team spread out across two pushed-together tables. Pints appeared like magic. So did crisps, chips, and a plate of sausages someone swore were “traditional recovery food.”
Lucas ordered a Guinness with water on the side.
Eli slid in beside him, eyeing the extra glass. “Look at you,” he murmured. “Personal growth.”
“Maeve threatened to haunt me if I got blackout again,” Lucas said quietly.
Eli grinned. “She sounds terrifying. I like her already.”
“She is,” Lucas said, without thinking. “Infuriating.”
He took a slow sip. The pint warmed him without stealing his edges. One drink. He could manage one.
Across the table, Jamie attempted to teach Rory a song and failed spectacularly. Mick told a story that sounded medically inadvisable. Darren held court, folding beer mats into increasingly abstract shapes.
Lucas leaned back in his chair as Rory rattled on about Cardiff’s defensive shape, nodding along until he found himself answering without thinking. “If Eli cuts inside early, it’ll pull their fullback out of position and—” He stopped, the word already cooling on histongue. “—Kaine,” he corrected smoothly, lifting his glass for a sip that came a beat too late. Rory’s eyebrow flicked up, just briefly, a silentnoted, but he didn’t comment. He just nodded and kept talking, as if nothing at all had happened.
Aoife hovered long enough to ensure no one was livestreaming stupidity, then mouthedbehaveat Lucas and disappeared.
Eli bumped Lucas’s shoulder lightly. “You’re allowed to smile,” he said. “It doesn’t have to hurt.”
“It might,” Lucas replied.
“Worth the risk,” Eli said, lifting his pint to clink against Lucas’s.
The second pub was louder, music bleeding from speakers, a trad band wedged aggressively into a corner. Someone acquired a hat. Someone else acquired shots.
Lucas declined with a shake of his head and received only a respectful nod in return.
Eli noticed everything — Lucas clocked that now. Noticed when he switched to water. Noticed when he stood just slightly between Lucas and a too-curious stranger. Never obvious. Never dramatic.
“Clubs?” Jamie shouted eventually. “We’re not eighty!”
“I am spiritually eighty,” Mick declared. “I enjoy sitting.”
A loose plan formed. Some would go home. Some would eat. Some would explore bad lighting and worse decisions.
Lucas should’ve chosen food and bed.
Eli nudged his knee under the table. “You in?”
“For a bit,” Lucas heard himself say.
