Page 140 of Try Line Hearts
And Eli knew it.
Chapter Twenty One: And It Goes On
Lucas stood at the gate with his hands in his coat pockets, staring through glass thick enough to mute the world.
Beyond it, a wide-bodied plane waited under white floodlights, its tail marked with the silver fern. Ground crew moved in slow, deliberate patterns, orange vests bright against the dark tarmac. A baggage cart trundled past. Somewhere, an engine whined into life and then settled, as if the aircraft itself was taking a breath before committing to the sky.
The airport hummed around him—wheels whispering over tile, the distant rise and fall of announcements, the low murmur of people suspended between places. It was late, the kind of late where everything felt slightly unreal, like the world had thinned and you could see the seams.
Lucas watched the plane like he’d been assigned to it. Like if he stayed still enough, if he didn’t blink, he could keep it there. Hold it in its white-lit pocket of night.
“Final boarding call for Air New Zealand flight one-zero-seven to Auckland. All remaining passengers, please proceed to gate twenty-four.”
His chest tightened on a soundless exhale.
He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath.
A month ago, a year ago—any version of Lucas before the pitch, before the rain, before the mic hitting mud—he would’ve had a plan for this moment. He would’ve made it tidy. He would’ve managed it. He would’ve been captain, composed, helpful. He would’ve carried the sadness like it was something he could control if he held it properly.
Tonight he just let it sit.
He let his forehead rest briefly against the cool glass. The cold steadied him. His eyes tracked the plane as if committing the shape to memory: the curve of wing, the darkened windows, the small, blinking lights that made it feel alive even standing still.
Some goodbyes didn’t start with words. They started with the body recognizing what the mind had tried not to.
The sadness was sharp but quiet, the kind that didn’t demand anything, just waited heavy in the chest.
He straightened, shoulders rolling back out of habit—though there was no one here who needed him to look like a captain. He was just a man at an airport, watching a plane that mattered to him prepare to leave.
He wondered, briefly, what it would feel like if Eli were on it.
The thought came uninvited and cruel, his mind offering up the old fear like a habit. Eli disappearing down a jet bridge, turning once for a final wave, then gone. Lucas left behind with his throat closed and his hands empty.
Lucas swallowed hard and forced his gaze to the floor for a second.
Don’t borrow grief,Maeve would say.It’s expensive and you never get a refund.
He almost smiled at that. Almost.
A familiar warmth brushed his side.
Lucas stilled.
Then a soft press—barely a touch—kissed his temple.
“You look like you’re about to propose to the aircraft,” Eli murmured.
Lucas closed his eyes.
Relief hit him so hard it almost hurt.
He turned, hands coming up automatically, fingers curling into the front of Eli’s jacket as if making sure he was real. Eli’s hair was still damp from the fine drizzle outside, curls soft at the edges. His cheeks were pink from cold. He smelled faintly of coffee and clean soap and something uniquely him—warmth even when the air was freezing.
“You’re cruel,” Lucas said quietly.
Eli’s mouth curved. “You love it.”
“I absolutely do not.”
