Page 106 of Try Line Hearts
“I know everything,” she clarified, not dramatic, just plain. “About Eli. About you.”
Byrne’s vision narrowed, a ringing starting in his ears.
His first instinct was pure panic.Deny. Deflect. Protect. The instinct that had gotten sharper lately—not because he’d become weaker, but because the spotlight had widened until it felt global. Irelandwere headed for the World Cup in Dublin, and the wordcaptainhad started to sound less like a role and more like a sentence.
His mouth opened.
Evelyn stepped forward and closed the distance before he could speak.
She hugged him.
Not long. Not tight. Just… a gentle, grounding contact. Human. Warm. Like someone putting a hand on your back when you’re about to fall over.
Byrne froze, then—against his will—his shoulders sagged a fraction as if his body recognized safety and betrayed him.
“Don’t,” Evelyn murmured, still close. “Don’t panic.”
Byrne swallowed hard. “How—”
“I have eyes,” she said softly. “And I’m not stupid. And I’m not your enemy.”
Byrne’s throat burned. His hands stayed at his sides, fists clenched like he didn’t trust them.
Evelyn stepped back, keeping her voice low. “You two don’t move like friends,” she said simply. “You move like… you’re trying not to touch and failing.”
Byrne’s face flamed with shame and something like relief. “I didn’t—”
“I’m not here to scold you,” Evelyn said. “Or threaten you. I’m here because I saw you today and you looked like a man holding his breath until he dies.”
Byrne’s eyes stung.
Evelyn reached into her coat pocket and pulled out something small and purple.
Cadbury Dairy Milk.
The wrapper crinkled in the cold.
She held it out to him, palm open.
Byrne stared at it, confused and suddenly sick with recognition.
“A very wise man shared this with me once,” Evelyn said, a faint smile tugging at her mouth. “He told me it helps people feel better.”
Byrne’s chest tightened so hard he couldn’t speak.
Evelyn’s gaze softened. “He cares about you,” she said. “A lot. He’s trying to survive this too.”
Byrne swallowed. “I’m trying—”
“I know,” Evelyn interrupted gently. “And I also know trying isn’t the same as choosing.”
The words hit like a blow because they were the exact truth he’d been running from.
Evelyn stepped closer again—not to hug this time, just close enough that Byrne could see the sincerity in her eyes. “I hope someday you can be happy,” she said quietly. “Not managed. Not packaged. Not… rationed.”
His breath caught.
Evelyn lifted her hand and pressed a light kiss to his cheek—brief, platonic, sincere. Like a blessing. Like a goodbye.
