Page 50 of Try Line Hearts
The hotel was the usual pre-match special: modern enough to be forgettable, lobby full of glass and chrome, staff efficient and faintly overwhelmed by a tide of large humans in matching suits.
Keys were sorted at the desk.
Aoife read from a list. “Byrne and Kaine, room 602.”
Carmody frowned at the list. “Thought they were in a twin.”
The receptionist flushed. “There’s been a last-minute change with our bookings. We’re fully committed tonight. We can offer an upgrade to a double on the executive floor? Same price. But just like 602, still only has one bed.”
Catcalls and delighted noises rolled through the squad.
Aoife pinched the bridge of her nose. “Lads.”
Lucas didn’t hesitate. “We’ll manage.”
Eli glanced at him, something careful and steady in his eyes.
As the lift doors closed and the lobby noise dulled, Eli spoke quietly. “You sure, Luke?”
Lucas nodded. “One night.”
The doors slid open.
Room 602 waited.
One bed. Two pillows. Quiet rain on glass.
Nothing big had happened.
Which somehow made it feel enormous.
Lucas set his bag down too carefully. “We’re just sleeping,” he said, voice clipped, like stating it clearly enough might make it true.
“Yeah,” Eli replied lightly. “Standard, everyday, perfectly normal human activity. Totally not something your brain will catastrophize for the next twelve hours.”
“Stop helping,” Lucas muttered.
Eli’s smile was small and wry. “I’ll unpack. You can go practice youreverything’s fineface in the bathroom.”
“Already perfected it,” Lucas said, grabbing his washbag.
He closed the bathroom door, leaned his back against it, and exhaled.
His reflection looked like any other away week—hair slightly mussed, shirt open at the throat, dark circles starting at the edges of his eyes. He splashed water on his face.
He could do this.
He’d done harder things.
Possibly with less furniture.
When he came back out, Eli had changed into black shorts and a worn T-shirt, sleeves tugged up over his arms. Lucas sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, frowning at something, like the bed hadn’t become the most narratively loaded object in the room.
“Maeve texting you threats again?” Eli asked, glancing up.
“Worse,” Lucas said. “My mother asking if I’ve remembered my rosary.”
Eli winced. “Tell her you left it in your other sin.”
