Page 45 of Try Line Hearts
Eli’s grin suggested that counted as a win.
The club was noise and light and bodies.
Lucas lasted ten minutes.
The lads dissolved into chaos — Darren dancing like he’d invented rhythm, Finn shouting about cardio, Rory clapping off-beat with absolute conviction.
Eli danced a little. Laughed a lot. Kept glancing toward Lucas.
“You look like a man awaiting execution,” Eli said into his ear.
“Not my scene,” Lucas admitted.
“Too loud?”
“Too exposed.”
Eli scanned the room once. “Walk with me?”
Lucas nodded instantly. “Please.”
They slipped out without ceremony.
The night air hit like a reset. Cool, damp, late-September cold. Lucas dragged it into his lungs and felt something inside him unclench.
“Where to?” Eli asked.
“The river.”
“Bold,” Eli said. “Let the Liffey judge us.”
They walked anyway.
Dublin at night softened itself. Streetlights fractured across wet pavement. The river slid dark and patient between its walls, catching reflections like secrets.
They fell into step without discussion. Same pace. Same rhythm. It felt intimate. Alarming.
A busker near Ha’penny Bridge picked out a tune. Couples drifted past, shoulders touching, hands linked.
Eli nudged Lucas’s shoulder. “So this is where you bring all the wingers you refuse to drink with.”
“Only the persistent ones.”
“Honored.”
They walked in companionable silence.
Lucas realized he wasn’t scanning for cameras.
That alone made his pulse jump.
“Nervous?” he asked.
“Always,” Eli said. “But excited. Mostly I don’t want to fuck it up.”
“You won’t,” Lucas said, immediate.
Eli glanced at him, something soft flickering.
