Page 98 of Try Line Hearts
A World Cup at home.
Global eyes.
No room for mistakes.
The pressure was insane—on Lucas, on the team, on everything connected to him. Every gesture suddenly mattered. Every story wanted a face, a hook, something easy to package and sell.
Andeasywas not this.
Eli stepped out of the lift with the rest of the backs and froze.
Evelyn Cross was in the lobby.
Not like the dinner— not styled for flash or framed for headlines. This was quieter, subtler. Parisian, almost. Dark jeans that fit without trying. A wool coat cut clean and expensive in the way locals recognized without staring. Hair pulled back in a way that suggested her own hands, not a stylist’s. She looked like someone blending in on purpose — and succeeding just enough to make it clear she never fully could.
Two publicists lingered a few steps off, alert without hovering, their attention split between the lobby’s reflective surfaces and the entrance. The hotel manager hovered at a respectful distance, posture deferential, smile careful — the expression of a man awarethat proximity itself had value, even if nothing else was required of him.
Lucas was there too, of course.
Eli didn’t see him at first. He felt him — the way his own attention snapped, the way his body went hot and tight as if the room had changed temperature.
Then he saw Lucas stepping out from a side corridor with Niamh from PR, jacket on, hair neat, expression already set to calm competence. He looked like the version of himself he used when the world was watching.
And Evelyn’s face lit.
Not flirtation, not performance — just warm, practiced familiarity. She said something to him that made Lucas’s mouth twitch into a small smile. Not the sponsor smile. The real one. The one that usually belonged to… to—
Eli’s throat closed.
He told himself, immediately, toget a grip.
This was exactly what they’d arranged. Exactly what Declan and Evelyn’s people would want: wholesome optics, big match weekend, famous singer in the same building as Team Ireland’s captain. A harmless story everyone could chew on without digging into the messier one.
No one was doing anything wrong.
And yet the jealousy hit anyway — not sharp, not explosive.
Slow.
Like something poisonous dissolving into warm water.
He watched Lucas’s posture shift as Evelyn spoke, the way he angled his body toward her automatically. The way she nodded, as if reassured by something.
Eli couldn’t hear the words. He didn’t need to.
He could imagine the headlines already, the fan accounts, the smug certainty of people who wanted Lucas to be simple.
He felt himself standing there too long. Felt his face going blank, the way it always did when he was trying not to show anything.
He turned slightly, as if he were just… moving on.
Just being normal.
But his lungs were too tight. His skin itched. The lobby lights felt too bright, every reflective surface catching him at angles he didn’t want to see.
Fresh air, he thought.Just five minutes, a breather.
He mumbled something to the lad beside him—didn’t even know what—and slipped away before anyone could clock his exit as anything more than routine.
