Page 108 of Try Line Hearts
Byrne stared at her like he’d hallucinated her out of guilt.
Maeve pointed at the passenger seat with a jerk of her chin:unlock.
Byrne fumbled, hit the button, hands clumsy.
Maeve yanked the door open and climbed in like she owned the place, slamming it shut behind her.
For a second, she didn’t speak.
She just looked at him.
Looked at the red eyes, the wet cheeks, the way Byrne’s hands were trembling around a purple-wrapped bar of chocolate like a child.
Maeve’s expression shifted—anger still there, but something softer under it. Concern. Recognition. A kind of tenderness she’d rather swallow nails than name.
“Right,” she said finally, voice rough. “So that’s where we’re at.”
Byrne tried to speak.
His throat closed.
Maeve snatched a tissue from somewhere—Byrne didn’t even know he had tissues in the car—and shoved it at him.
“Wipe your face,” she ordered. “You look like you’ve been hit by a lorry.”
Byrne gave a strangled laugh that turned into another sob.
Maeve swore under her breath—Irish, sharp, familiar. “Ah for fuck’s sake.”
She waited until Byrne’s breathing eased enough for him not to choke on it.
Then she said, quieter, deadly: “Are you going to sit here bawling in your car like a tragic statue, or are you going to bring me to a pub so I can talk sense into you?”
Byrne blinked at her. “How did you—”
“I have a sense for these things,” Maeve said. “And a car. And a deep, spiritual hatred for Declan’s shite.” She glanced at the chocolate in his hand. “What’s that?”
Byrne’s voice came out cracked. “Evelyn.”
Maeve’s eyebrows shot up. “Evelyn Cross?”
Byrne nodded.
Maeve let out a slow breath and leaned her head back against the seat, looking up at the roof like she was speaking to God directly. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. This is getting cinematic.”
Byrne stared at his hands. “She… knows.”
Maeve turned her head toward him, eyes narrowing. “And?”
“And she wasn’t… she wasn’t cruel,” Byrne whispered. “She was kind.”
Maeve’s mouth twisted. “Of course she was. Women are almost always kind in situations where men behave like absolute gobshites.”
Byrne flinched.
Maeve held his gaze anyway. “I’m not calling you evil,” she said, voice sharper. “I’m calling you thick. There’s a difference.”
Byrne swallowed. “Maeve.”
