The Prospect (Crawfield Football Club #3)

6. G R E E N

SIX

G R E E N

“Good work, fellas!” Our assistant Coach, Alf, is the first to greet us as we make our way down the tunnel, fist-pounding us one by one with a cheerful nod of his head. “You all continue to smash it, as always. I’m real proud of you boys.” Alf never ceases to sing our praises. He’s the first one to tell us when we’ve done a good job—he’s always been that way.

“Thanks, Alfie boy,” Hart is the first to respond on behalf of the group, towering over Alf like a bloody giant. “It’s all because we have the best Coach ever.” His comment is sarcastic but true in nature as he wraps an arm around Alf’s shoulder, leaving the rest of us to scoff in laughter.

“Alright, alright.” Alf peels away from him with a roll of his eyes. “Save your sweet talk for someone else, Hart.” He laughs before cupping his hands around his mouth and announcing, “Can everyone head into the changing room, please? There’s something we need to discuss…”

His ambiguous request immediately piques my interest. Usually it’s Coach who’s the first to instigate our post-game debrief, never Alf. Yet, as Coach joins Alf by his side, flashing him an encouraging nod, I can’t help but feel like I know exactly what’s about to come…

“Can someone explain what exactly is going on here?” Wilks is the first to question this weird, melancholy mood as we all take our seats. “No one died, right? Please tell me no one died!”

“No one died, Wilks. Relax ,” Coach immediately calms him down. Leave it to Wilks to always jump to the worst-case scenario with everything, though I’d be lying if I wasn’t wondering the same thing…

The last time we all got huddled in for a meeting like this, it was because Coach and Alf wanted to share the news that Ira Matthews, the former owner of Crawfield Football Club, had passed away.

It struck all of us hard, Coach the most, given that Ira was not only his mentor but the absolute light of our team. I’ll always remember Ira for just how selfless, caring, and thoughtful he was. In fact, after my tryout for Crawfield, he went out of his way to extend his own personal offer for me to join aboard.

He was personable like that, and thankfully, those traits all seemed to transfer to Delaney, his granddaughter, who's now the love of Coach’s life.

Hazel says their trope is fated romance. Not only do I not know what a trope is, but ‘fated romance’ completely goes over my head.

What’s been my trope so far?

Sad and alone romance?

“Listen up!” Alf settles the group after Wilks’ outburst. “Parker and I have been talking,” he refers to Coach by his nickname, “and there’s some news we want to share with you guys.”

The room falls eerily silent, leaving Coach with a gap to jump back in. “Alf and I wanted to wait until the end of the game today to share this news with you, that way, none of you were fixating on it, so Alf…” Coach insinuates he has the floor. “Will you do the honors?”

Alf sucks in a breath, straightens his spine, and finally, after drawing it out long enough, announces, “ I’m retiring .”

A second hardly passes before the room is filled with wide eyes, troubled expressions, and a series of “No, no, no. This can’t be happening!”

Wilks is the first to refute the thought. “Nope, Alf, I refuse to believe it. You’re too young to retire.”

“I’m sixty-seven, lad,” Alf announces. “Trust me, I’m old enough to retire.”

“But why?” Hart asks, visibly taking it the hardest. He and Alf have always been close. “Why now?”

“Because it’s the right time.” Alf pulls up a chair and takes a seat beside him, groaning slightly as he plops himself down. “I’ve got grandkids now, lad, and as much as I love you boys, I want to be there for my family. I need to be there for them. You all understand, right?”

We all nod our heads to agree, but of course, there’s a looming sense of sadness throughout the room. Most of us have never known a team without Alf. What is our team without him?

Coach jumps back in before any of us can say another word. I can’t imagine how he’s taking the news, but from the way he’s clutching onto his clipboard, I can see he's trying to hold back on some emotion.

“Let’s try not to be sad about this, okay boys?” Coach attempts to reassure us all. “Alf has been a part of this club longer than some of you have even been alive. So, we need to understand that now it’s time for him to go on to the next chapter of his life. He’s been there for us, so now, we’ve got to be there for him.”

“So, that’s it?” I can’t help but wonder. “As of today, you’re just… done ?”

“Christ, no.” Alf shakes his head. “You lot can’t get rid of me that easily. I’ll be here till the end of the season, which means you’re stuck with me for a little while longer. Get used to it.”

I instantly feel reassured, and based on the look of relief that washes over everyone's faces, I can tell everyone else does too.

“I’m trying to be happy for you, Alf,” Hart admits as he rises to his feet. “ But …” There’s always a ‘but’ with him. “With you gone, now Coach is going to be even more of a dickhead to us than usual. How selfish of you!”

His playful remark is enough not only to make me laugh but the rest of the team laugh too. Leave it to Hart to lighten the mood.

“Thanks for the shit on me fest, Hart.” Coach rolls his eyes, though I know he knows it’s true. He and Alf have been a dynamic duo for years. Coach is the hot-headed one, and Alf is the ice that cools him down.

Things are going to be different around here.

“No more moping around,” Coach instructs. “Get dressed, keep your chins up and let’s do our best to give Alf a season that he’ll never, ever forget. Alright?”

We’re all somber as we exit the changing room following the news of Alf’s impending retirement, but as we make our way out of the stadium, one by one, our moods are lifted.

Seeing the fans waiting for us is one thing, but seeing our families and friends—our people…it’s another.

Within an instant, Coach races toward Delaney, pulling her in for a prolonged kiss before Matty separates them and Coach scoops him into his arms. I can’t believe how much of an absolute clone of Coach he is. Same eyes, same face…same temperament as he starts to fuss and reach back over to Delaney.

Mini Warren, alright.

Next, it’s Wilks, who immediately pulls Chelsie in close and plants a desperate kiss on her lips—the way the two of them show no mercy when it comes to PDA is as if he’s been away at war for months. It’s gross but at the same time, kinda cute.

The rest of the boys are greeted by their respective family, friends, spouses or partners, but when it comes to me, I’m always weaving my way through the crowd in search of one person.

My Hazel.

It never takes much to find her. She’s always in the same spot every time, waiting for me by the exit gate with a welcoming smile and bright eyes.

It means the world to me that she always comes to my games. My family tries to as much as they can, but when you run your own business, it makes it difficult to find the time off. It doesn’t matter, though. Hazel is a part of my family, she has been since the very first time I invited her over after school.

My mum and dad both fell in love with her instantly. I couldn’t blame them, she’s hard not to. Besides, I’m the youngest of two boys, so having an angelic little girl in the house was refreshing, to put it nicely.

Hazel has remained close with my family, especially my parents. The odd time, she’ll even go into their local flower shop to help them out when wedding season kicks into place. She’s good like that. She always has been.

“There you are!” She flashes me a familiar smile as she sinks her hands into her pockets for warmth. “I was beginning to think you were never coming out.”

“Miss me?” I greet her with a kiss on the cheek—always taken back by the way that out of every player on this team, she only ever shows up wearing my jersey.

“Good game.” She cowers back at my remark, brushing her palm along the place my lips once made contact as she peers up at me. “You played really well today.”

“You think?” I debate, despite feeling a sense of confidence from her praise. Hazel has always laid it on thick. She shows no mercy when it comes to telling me when I’m off or reminding me of my areas of improvement. Maybe with Alf leaving, she’ll qualify as Coach’s assistant? Hell, I wouldn’t complain.

“I’d say so.” She nods confidently. “You were focused, found your aggression, and Christ, you defended against that one attack in the second half,” she rhymes off a list of things that sometimes I even forget about. It’s like I zone out in the moment but thankfully, Hazel’s always there to remind me. “So, all-in-all, I’d say you got your mojo back. Don’t you agree, Greenie ?” she asks, gathering her hair up and into a messy ponytail.

Rarely does she wear her hair up—usually, she’ll hide behind it in an attempt to shield her face. Now, don’t get me wrong, her hair is gorgeous, but her face? It’s way more beautiful. I’ll need to remind her of that when it comes down to some first-date tips. Speaking of which…

“I figured out a solution to what was getting me down yesterday, so what can I say?” I lean back against the gate. “I was feeling… hopeful .”

Hazel flashes me a look. I know she knows deep down I’m trying to segway this conversation into discussing whether or not she’s come to a decision about last night's plan.

Frankly, I think it might very well be one of the best plans I’ve come up with. More often than not, Hazel is the brain between the two of us. She’s got the creative side to her, it’s built into her DNA, and me? I just go with the flow. But last night, I had a clear vision of how we can work things out. It even shocked me.

“So?” I refuse to be subtle any longer. “Did you think any more about what we talked about last night?”

“I did.” Hazel keeps me in suspense as she peers down at the ground before staring up into my eyes.

“And?” I pry. “What did you decide?”

“That I’ll do it.” There’s a sense of nervousness in the way Hazel hastily agrees, but I know it’s only because she’s unsure— scared .

Things will be fine. I’ll make sure of it.

With her agreeability, I immediately lift her into my arms and plant another kiss on her cheek, refusing to hold back from this excitement.

“Thank you, Haze!” I tell her when I eventually place her back down. “This is going to be great. We’ve got to get started on this right away. But before we do, you need to tell me everything you know about Amira?—”

“Woah, woah, woah. Hold your horses.” Hazel places a hand against my chest.“Don’t you want to know who I want you to set me up with first?”

Shoot.

I forgot about that part.

“Right.” I run a hand along my forehead. “Yes, tell me, who do you want me to set you up with?”

Hazel goes all shy again, rubbing her hands together. “You did say ‘anyone’ I wanted, right ?”

I hate how cryptic this feels. “Mhm.”

“Well…” She peers up at me through her lashes before her eyes change paths, honing in on one person in particular who seemingly catches sight of Hazel’s stare and flashes her a confident nod of his head.

No .

No. No. No and no.

I block her from his line of vision, standing directly in front of her so the only person she can look at is me.

“Please tell me you’re not about to say what I think you’re about to say.” My voice turns desperate. “Please, Hazel.”

“I’m sorry, Greenie.” She places her hand on my shoulder in an attempt to calm me. I hadn’t realized all of a sudden I’d felt so winded—flustered. “But if you really want me to go through with your plan and set you up with Amira. Well then…” She sends chills down my spine as she whispers, “You’ll set me up with Christoper Hart .”