Page 26 of Try Line Hearts
The girls thanked them breathlessly and scurried off, huddling over the picture immediately, thumbs flying.
Kaine watched them go, amused. “Do you always do that?”
“Do what?” Byrne asked.
“Take the hit on the angle so everyone else looks good.”
“It’s habit.”
“Poster-boy instincts?”
“Media training.”
Kaine snorted. “Same thing.”
They kept walking. Every so often someone else stopped them—an older man with a battered scarf, a child in an oversized jersey, a woman on her lunch break. Some wanted photos. Some just wanted to say good luck. Some just wanted to touch something famous, like it would rub off.
Byrne moved fully into public mode: laugh, handshake, humble nod. He knew how to be that version of himself. He knew how to pose with Kaine, shoulder to shoulder, smile easy and non-threatening.
He did not think about how it must look on camera.
Beside him, Kaine handled it all with surprising grace. No forced performance. Just open warmth. A genuineness that made strangers relax.
It made Byrne tighten.
They stopped at a coffee shop off South William Street when Kaine declared he was “about three minutes from dying of frostbite.”
Inside, warmth wrapped around them—espresso, sugar, the murmur of conversations. Byrne ordered black coffee. Kaine ordered something with too many words, extra foam, and a sprinkle that looked like a dare.
They found a small table by the window. Outside, the sky finally decided it was time for rain, droplets streaking the glass in diagonal lines.
“Told you,” Byrne said.
Kaine cradled his drink, watching people run for cover. “It’s good rain.”
“There is no good rain.”
“There’s rain that means you’re somewhere new.” Kaine took a sip, eyes closing briefly in appreciation. “And rain that means you’re stuck. I’ll take this kind.”
Byrne stared at him longer than he meant to.
Sometimes he forgot the winger was more than speed and banter. That under the highlight reels and the cocky grin there was a man who’d torn himself out of one life and stitched himself into another.
“Why me?” Byrne asked quietly.
Kaine glanced over. “What?”
“You said you trust me not to abandon you. Why?”
Kaine tilted his head like the question was obvious. “Because you don’t do things halfway. If you hate me, you’ll do it properly. If you care…” He shrugged. “You’ll do that properly too.”
“I don’t—”
“I know.” Kaine’s mouth curved, teasing returning. “You don’t care. You only protect me on the pitch, cover for me with the media, and walk around the city with me on your day off out of pure hatred.”
Byrne’s mouth twitched despite himself. “You’re infuriating.”
“So I’ve been told.”
