Page 54 of Try Line Hearts
Perfect. Brilliant. Exactly what he needed on match day.
He sat up, pressing his palms into his eyes until colours bloomed behind them.
He hadn’t done anything; he knew that. He hadn’t pushed, hadn’t moved on purpose, hadn’t turned this into something it wasn’t. His body had just… told the truth without asking permission.
He stepped under the shower and let the water pound into his skin until his thoughts blurred.
By the time he came out again, wrapped in a towel and dragging a T-shirt over his head, Eli had his kit laid out on the chair. Boots polished. Strapping tape ready. Normal.
Eli was sitting on the windowsill now, one knee up, scrolling his phone. He looked up as Lucas emerged.
“Team breakfast in fifteen,” he said. “Carmody’s threatening to confiscate phones if anyone’s late.”
“Terrifying,” Lucas said.
“Man’s drunk on power.”
They just… looked at each other for a moment.
Say something, Lucas’s brain hissed.Sorry I wrapped around you like a koala. Sorry my dick has no manners. Sorry I liked it.
Nothing made it past his teeth.
Instead, he retreated into routine.
He dressed. Compression shorts, socks, track top. Checked his boots again even though he’d already checked them twice.
Eli watched him, expression mostly smooth.
“What?” Lucas muttered.
“Nothing,” Eli said. His tone was mild. “Just wondering how long you’re going to pretend that was a normal morning.”
Lucas’s skin prickled.
“We slept,” he said. “That’s all.”
“That’s one word for it,” Eli said. “You broke the no-cuddling rule, captain.”
“There was no rule.”
“Yeah,” Eli said, standing. “That’s sort of the problem.”
A knock on the door rescued him.
“Breakfast!” someone knocked on their door. “Honeymoon is over!”
Eli rolled his eyes. “Showtime.”
He slung his jacket over his shoulder. Lucas swallowed hard, pulled himself together, and followed.
Matchday routine did what it always did.
The hotel dining room was a fog of coffee and toast and too-early laughter. Lucas ate because he had to. Eli traded jokes with the backs, but his gaze skimmed across Lucas often enough that Lucas felt it every time.
The bus to the stadium hummed with quiet focus. Headphones. Taped ankles. Hoods up.
Lucas pulled on his jersey in the changing room—10, IRELAND—and it settled on his shoulders like a question he still knew how to answer.
