Page 7 of Try Line Hearts
He shut off the water abruptly.
Grabbed his towel.
Wrapped it around his waist with movements that were too fast to be casual and stepped out of the stall like the floor might give way beneath him if he lingered another second.
Kaine’s chuckle followed him, warm and unbothered.
“Didn’t mean to chase you off.”
“You didn’t,” Byrne said too quickly, already reaching for his kit bag.
Too sharp. Too defensive.
Footsteps entered the room—heavy, familiar.
Rory’s laugh filled the space. “Christ, it’s like a sauna in here.”
“Shut up and move,” Cillian snapped. “You’re blocking the lockers.”
The moment snapped shut.
Noise rushed back in. Bodies reclaimed the space. The danger dissolved into plausible deniability.
Byrne dressed with hands that wouldn’t quite stop shaking.
Shirt.
Socks.
Boots.
Routine. Muscle memory. Control.
He didn’t look toward Kaine again.
He didn’t need to.
The awareness lingered anyway—like heat trapped under the skin, like a problem that had already decided it wasn’t going to be ignored.
Something was happening here.
Something quiet.
Something dangerous.
Something he absolutely could not afford.
And the worst part was this:
He wasn’t sure he wanted it to stop.
Film review offered blessed sterility—angles, footwork, spacing. Byrne buried himself in it. But every time Kaine asked a question, every time their eyes met across the room, Byrne felt the thread tighten inside him.
Afterward, Carmody pulled him aside.
“Thoughts on Kaine?”
“Strong acceleration. Reads lines well.”
