Page 123 of Try Line Hearts
Lucas sat on the bench to the left.
Eli took the one opposite.
They faced each other across the narrow aisle, knees muddy, boots unlaced but not yet off, both of them breathing like they’d just finished running—which, in a way, they had.
Neither spoke.
Lucas’s hands rested on his thighs, fingers slack, still trembling faintly. The adrenaline hadn’t burned off yet. It buzzed under his skin, electric and unreal. Every few seconds his mind replayed it; the mic into the mud, the walk, Eli’s face when he said the words.
I love you.
He waited for the other shoe to drop.
For the moment where the room turned cold. For the awkward clearing of throats. For someone to make it a joke sharp enough to cut.
Eli watched him carefully from across the room, eyes soft but steady, like he was anchoring something invisible. Like he was ready to stand if Lucas needed him to.
The door opened.
Boots thudded in. Laughter spilled in with the rest of the team, damp and exhausted and still riding the high of the win. Jerseys were peeled off, tape ripped away, someone swore loudly about a cramp.
The noise swelled — and then faltered.
Someone clocked the distance between the benches, noticed the silence.
Someone connected the dots they’d all watched live, whether they’d wanted to or not.
For a heartbeat, the room hovered.
Lucas didn’t look up.
He felt it anyway — the shift in air, the collective awareness settling heavy and awkward and unavoidable. His jaw tightened without his permission. This was it. This was the moment.
A few more lads filtered in. Someone shut the door properly this time.
Then Rory Keane cleared his throat.
It wasn’t dramatic. Just the sound of a big man making space for words he didn’t usually bother with.
“Well,” Rory said.
Lucas lifted his eyes.
Rory stood in the middle of the room, hands on his hips, towel slung over one shoulder. He looked from Lucas to Eli and back again, like he was checking alignment.
“That was some carry, Eli,” he said first, easy. “Nearly gave me a heart attack.”
A few chuckles rippled out, grateful for the normality of it.
Eli huffed a small laugh. “That makes two of us.”
Rory nodded, then shifted his weight, expression sobering just enough to matter.
“Right,” he said. “So. I reckon I’m speakin’ for the room here.”
Lucas’s chest tightened.
Rory scratched the back of his neck, glancing around. No one objected. No one looked away.
