Chapter Thirteen Fault Lines
The beach cleanup was supposed to be simple.
That was the lie they told themselves every time something got wrapped in the language of community engagement. In, out, photos taken, hands shaken, nobody saying anything that could be taken the wrong way.
Lucas had signed off on it because it ticked every box that usually mattered: charity, environment, low glamour, no late nights. He’d imagined cold air, work-gloves, anonymity in motion.
What he had not imagined was Declan practically vibrating with glee at the front of the bus.
“This,” Declan said, gripping the headrest like he was delivering prophecy, “is inspired.”
Lucas stared out the window at the strip of grey coastline sliding past. “We’re picking up rubbish.”
“Yes,” Declan said. “Together. As a team. As Ireland. And”—his smile sharpened—“with guests.”
Lucas closed his eyes. “You didn’t.”
“I did,” Declan said cheerfully. “Evelyn Cross’s agent agreed this morning. Casual appearance. Jeans, T-shirt, volunteer vest. Earthy. Authentic. You won’t even have to speak to her much.”
Lucas laughed once, hollow. “That’s not reassuring.”
Declan leaned closer. “Relax. This is good optics without intimacy. No dinner. No wine. Daylight does half the work for us.”
For us.
Lucas’s jaw tightened.
Behind him, the team was loud in the way men got when they were pretending not to care about where they were going. Music leaked from someone’s phone. Someone else was already complaining about sand.
Eli sat three rows back, knee bouncing, hood pulled up despite the heat inside the bus. He’d been quiet since they boarded.
Lucas didn’t look directly at him.
He didn’t need to.
He could feel him the way he felt pressure changes before weather—subtle, insistent, impossible to ignore once noticed.
The bus pulled into a gravel lot overlooking the beach.
Wind came off the water sharp and salty, carrying the sound of waves hitting rock.
A cluster of charity volunteers waited with clipboards and high-vis vests.
A few photographers lingered farther back, lenses long, pretending to admire the horizon.
Declan clapped his hands. “Okay. Gloves on. Smiles natural. Captain—stick close to me.”
Lucas stepped down from the bus, boots crunching. The air cut clean through his lungs. For a moment, it was just sea and sky and grit.
Then he saw Eli’s hands.
His right knuckles were wrapped—clean, professional bandaging—but swollen enough that Lucas’s stomach dipped. It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t nothing.
Eli caught him looking and lifted one shoulder in a shrug that said don’t.
Lucas didn’t ask.
He filed it away like he did everything else that scared him.
They spread out along the beach in loose clusters. Gloves snapped on. Bags were handed out. Someone made a joke about finding treasure; someone else immediately found a dead crab and recoiled.
Lucas bent into the work. It grounded him. The simple logic of find → lift → discard. No commentary. No interpretation.
He was hauling a length of fishing line free from a tangle of kelp when Declan hissed his name.
“Byrne.”
Lucas straightened. “What.”
“She’s here.”
Evelyn Cross approached from the car park with two charity reps, already in a volunteer vest, hair pulled back, sunglasses pushed up into the crown of her head.
Jeans. Old trainers. No makeup worth mentioning.
She looked… normal. Intentionally so. Like someone who knew exactly how much effort not to show.
Lucas felt the attention shift before she even reached them.
Eli did too.
Lucas saw it happen almost in slow motion—Eli’s head lifting, his gaze tracking, his laughter tapering off midsentence.
One moment he was leaning against a prop, bin bag hooked over one shoulder, easy and loose; the next, his feet were carrying him closer to Lucas’s stretch of shoreline without him seeming to notice he’d made a decision at all.
Not a rush.
Not a confrontation.
Just… proximity.
Territorial.
Not aggressive. Not conscious. Instinctual, the way bodies sometimes answered questions before minds caught up.
Declan swooped in like this was his cue. “Evelyn! Thank you so much for coming out.”
“Happy to,” she said easily, shaking his hand. Her gaze slid past him to Lucas with an ease that suggested she’d already decided Declan was background noise. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Lucas said.
Eli stopped a pace closer than necessary, bin bag resting against his leg. Close enough that Lucas could feel heat through damp fabric. Close enough that it read mine to anyone who looked close enough.
“Evelyn,” Declan said, gesturing like a game-show host.
“This is—”
“Eli,” Evelyn said before he could finish, turning to him fully. She offered her hand. “I’ve heard your name a lot before.”
Eli took it. Polite. Correct. His grip was firm. His smile… restrained. The kind he used when he was being careful on purpose.
“Good things, I hope,” he said.
“All of them,” Evelyn replied, studying him openly now. Not flirting. Assessing.
Lucas felt something twist low in his chest. Eli was usually sunshine with strangers—warm, teasing, effortlessly charming. This version of him had edges tucked neatly away, brightness dimmed just enough to signal ownership without ever saying the word.
Evelyn noticed that too.
“I have to say,” she went on, glancing back at Lucas, “I’m really enjoying spending time with him. He’s… grounding.”
Eli didn’t look at Lucas when he answered.
“Yeah,” he said icily. “He’s very good at that.”
The tone was forced-pleasant. The words were harmless.
The implication was not.
Lucas felt his ears heat.
Evelyn’s gaze moved between them—slowly. She took in the way Eli stood angled toward Lucas, the way Lucas hadn’t stepped back, the way neither of them seemed aware they were doing it at all.
Her mouth twitched.
Ah. That’s what this is. I see you – both of you.
“Well,” she said easily, stepping back and lifting her gloves, giving them space without calling attention to it. “Shall we actually do some good while we’re here?”
Eli nodded and gave a sickly smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “After you.”
As Evelyn turned away toward the volunteers, Lucas risked a glance at Eli.
Eli was already looking at him.
Not angry. Not accusing.
Just there. Steady. Claim staked without ever being declared.
Lucas swallowed—and followed them both down the beach.
They worked side by side for a while. Lucas answered questions when asked. Eli kept busy. Declan hovered like a proud ghost.
At one point, Evelyn crouched to free a bottle wedged between rocks. Lucas reached down to help at the same time Eli did. Their hands collided.
Eli stilled.
Lucas didn’t move away.
Evelyn straightened, watching the moment pass between them like someone reading a subtitle no one else could see.
“Right,” she said softly. “I’ll go say hello to the volunteers over there.”
She left them standing together, the space she vacated loud.
Eli exhaled through his nose. “She seems nice.”
Lucas glanced at him. “You don’t like her.”
“I don’t dislike her,” Eli said. “I just… don’t need to.”
That surprised a laugh out of Lucas. “You’re usually much nicer than this.”
Eli’s eyes met his. “I know.”
It was the closest thing to an apology Lucas got.
A little way down the beach, two of the lads had stalled with their bin bags, attention drifting despite themselves. Evelyn stood with Eli and Lucas near the dunes, sunlight in her hair, saying something that made her laugh as she brushed sand from her hands.
“Byrne’s a lucky bastard,” one of them murmured, nodding that way. “Getting the full celebrity treatment.” He tilted his head, squinting. “Although he looks like he’s being led to his own execution.”
The other snorted softly. “Yeah. I don’t think he sees it as luck.”
“What d’you mean?”
He glanced back again, slower this time. “Just saying—Kaine looks even less interested than Byrne does.”
The first frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Doesn’t have to,” the other said, already bending to grab another bottle. “Drop it.”
A minute later, as they worked again, the second lad glanced once more toward the dunes—at the way Lucas stood a half-step closer to Eli than necessary, at the way Eli angled himself without thinking, like gravity did the work for him.
He thought, briefly, of that housewarming photo that’d been floating around online, the one where neither was looking at the camera at all.
People looked a certain way when they felt a kind of way, he’d learned that much.
He shook his head, huffed a quiet laugh to himself, and kicked a can into the bag. “Anyway,” he said, louder now, changing the subject with practiced ease. “You see the state of this beach? Absolute disgrace.”
Evelyn didn’t stay long. Photos were taken—group shots, candid bends, smiling glances. She touched Lucas’s arm once for the cameras, light and public. Eli watched without comment, his expression blank.
When she left, she hugged Lucas and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips—smiled softly, almost sadly at Eli as though she were trying desperately to apologize and departed.
Cameras clicked.
Lucas watched her go with something like gratitude and something like dread.
The team loaded back onto the bus. The mood was louder now—sunburnt, tired, satisfied.
Eli sat beside Lucas this time.
The inn sat at the edge of a village that smelled like peat and bread and old wood. Rooms were assigned. Dinner was loud and filling. His phone buzzed.
Evelyn: Thx for agreeing to today – I know this isn’t ideal but apparently, we both “need” it for PR.
Lucas: Np. It was nice seeing u.
Evelyn: Please tell Eli it was nice to meet him… and I’m sorry for everything.
Lucas: ???
Evelyn: You know why. If u don’t, then OMG u r dense.
Lucas excused himself early.
He’d barely set his bag down when there was a knock.
He opened the door.
Eli stood there, eyes dark, bandaged hand clenched at his side.
“I know this is a terrible idea,” Eli said.
Lucas stepped back. “Come in.”
The door closed.