The Prospect (Crawfield Football Club #3)

15. H A Z E L

FIFTEEN

H A Z E L

“It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve seen your mum and dad.” I toy meticulously with the cuffs of my oversized jumper. “I hope they’ve missed me as much as I’ve missed them,” I admit. “Otherwise this is about to be downright embarrassing.”

Rather than granting me a sense of reassurance like he’ll usually do when I’m stuck in my own head, all Green can do is hum in a solemn response.

He’s been like this since the second we got into his car. Giving me minimal to work with and leaving these weird, awkward almost tense gaps in conversation. I get that he’s tired after practice. Hart had said Warren ran them into the ground today, but would it kill him to make some conversation with me?

You know, ask me how I am?

How are things going with Hart?

I mean, if I really think about it, the two of us have barely talked this entire week. I’ve got so much to fill him in on, I’m practically bursting at the seams right about now.

But his tight lips and intentful frown is the sole reason why I refuse to spill everything I want to say. The reality is, I know Green better than I know myself, and without needing to turn it over in my mind, I know something is bothering him.

He’s thinking. He’s thinking so intently that it’s clearly distressing him. But why won’t he just open up and say it? Talk to me about it?

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve scolded him over the years for being the greatest overthinker known to man. Green’s the type to beat himself up over a tiny mistake even years later. He did that once when he let in an accidental own goal a few years back. Now, every time he plays against that same team, it triggers a fight-or-flight response.

Green's the person who will sit and reread a text message a million times after he’s sent it because he’s afraid that maybe he’s said the wrong thing when, in reality, the person just wasn’t able to respond right away.

And now, like I suspect, Green’s the man who is replaying something hundreds of times over through his mind in an attempt to figure out what it means.

I hate seeing him this way, it’s honestly the worst feeling, and as we step out of his car and approach his family home, I refuse to step inside until we get to the bottom of whatever is troubling him.

“So are you going to finally tell me what’s going on with you, or am I doomed to mopey, Daniel Green, for the rest of eternity?” I halt in place, feet firmly planted into the concrete as I await his response.

Receptive to my words, he releases his hand from the doorknob and peers back at me over his shoulder. His face is sunken and as he goes to speak, all that comes out is a single word, “I…” before he gives up and diverts his attention to the ground.

I frown. “I think I’m going to need a little bit more than ‘I’ to work with.” I fold my arms across my chest and flash him an impatient look. “What’s going on with you?”

Green seems to toy with my question before he releases a breath and meets my troubled stare. “It’s just…how come you didn’t tell me about the party?” he asks. “You know, Friday night. That you and Hart would be coming too?”

“‘The party’?” I repeat, given that it takes me a second to recall what exactly he’s talking about. “Oh.” It finally clicks. “Green, I was going to tell you about it today, that and all the other wonderful things that have been going on between Hart and I.”

I watch as he subtly winces at my words. It’s a look I oh so desperately try not to read into as he carries on. “I just thought that parties weren’t your thing?” he remarks. “I guess I was just, uh—surprised to hear you were actually going.”

“Well then, that makes two of us,” I counter. “But going through planned out steps to date someone also really isn’t my thing either, but look at me now.” I gesture up and down my frame. “Clearly, I’m acting out of character, besides, why does it even matter? Aren’t you the person who always tells me that I should have more fun?”

Green refuses to look at me this time, and from the avoidance alone, I know that my going to this party isn’t what’s bothering him. Surely it can’t be. He’s trying to find an easy way out. I know he is. He wouldn’t be this upset about a night out. It makes no sense.

“Are you sure everything is okay, Greenie ?” My use of his nickname fills me with a sense of hope that he’ll open up, confess to me what’s wrong, only as he opens his mouth to speak, his mum and dad excitedly swing open the door…

“There she is!” They brush right past Green and embrace me with open arms, holding me in tight. “ Our girl ,” they call me. “How are you, love? Are you alright?”

I swallow down the defeat of mine and Green’s conversation being cut short and settle in their arms. I could use a bit of comfort right about now.

“I’m good.” My voice is muffled as I speak into their shoulders. “A little cold…” I admit, unsure if the root cause is this sudden drop in temperature outside or the fact that as I look ahead, all I can see is Green peering away solemnly at the ground. It makes me feel empty. “But good.”

“We can’t have that, now can we?” Green’s dad, Jude, tells me, placing a firm hand along my shoulder. “Let’s get you inside and get you something warm to drink, shall we?”

I nod. “I’d love that.”

Both my mum and dad left England a few years back. Dad got a new opportunity in Lisbon, and said it was an offer too good to refuse. At that point, not only was I an adult, but I had already started uni.

I was no longer in a position where I could just pack up my life and hop from place to place, and even if I could, I wouldn’t have wanted to. Since the day we moved here, Crawley has been my home and this…this has been my second family.

I couldn’t be more grateful.

As I’m guided inside I watch as Green pecks at his mum’s cheek and shakes his dad’s hand formally before they join me in the entryway.

Stepping into Green’s childhood home is like being transported back in time. Every part of this place is associated with a memory.

Like the familiar scent of a candle burning in the air. It takes me back to being ten years old. Green and I were playing footy in the house where he decided the confinements of the curtains would be the perfect spot for a net, and I would be the perfect candidate for a goalie…

Naturally, I didn’t manage to save Green’s powerhouse of a shot and as luck would have it, as the ball went soaring by me, it managed to knock one of Emily’s candles over and light a small rug into flames. It took Emily eight years before she ever lit a candle in the house again. Let’s just say candleless birthdays became the new norm.

Next, are the pictures on the wall. They remind me of every special moment in the Green household. Whether I’m in the photo or not, nine times out of ten, I was the one who likely took it.

I smile every time I see the same familiar photo of Green plastered right by the front door on his official signing day at Crawfield. It’s my favorite picture of him to this day. In the photo, he’s stood by Warren and Ira’s side, holding up his brand-new jersey as he sports a wide smile on his face. I remember the butterflies that unleashed in my stomach as I snapped that shot, but even more so, I remember the way they didn’t stop fluttering when Ira insisted that Green and I stand together for a picture of our own.

Ira Matthews always called me Green’s girlfriend, regardless of the amount of times I corrected him, but that isn’t what makes my heart somersault as I stare at that picture now. It’s the way that from a single glance at that photo, I’m transported back to the way Green carefully secured a hand around my waist, kissed me on the cheek, and whispered, “None of this would have ever been possible without you.”

“So, are you hungry?” Jude pulls me out of my trance, helping to remove my jacket from around my shoulders before securing it in the closet. “Emily and I were thinking of ordering a takeaway tonight. How does that sound, Hazel? Are you hungry?”

“ I’m starving ,” Green responds for me, recklessly slinging off his coat as he wraps an arm around my shoulder. I’m glad to know his mood seems to be tapering off. It’s the mention of food, it has to be.

“Excuse me? Are you Hazel?” his dad asks rhetorically, narrowing his stare in on Green with a playful look in his eyes.

I lean into Green’s embrace, nudging him slightly as I respond. “He wishes.” I compel myself to pull back before I get too comfortable. “But yes, I’m starving too. I’m open to anything. You know I’m not picky!”

“Chinese it is then,” I hear Emily call out from the kitchen, reaching for the old-school telephone they’ve still got stuck on the wall. They’re so vintage it’s adorable. “Jude!” she calls out. “Come in here and help me pick a place, please.”

“Coming,” he calls back out to her, racing toward the kitchen whilst leaving Green and I stare back at one another.

I flash him a telling look. “Our conversation,” I gesture back, “isn’t over.”

Supper comes and goes in a flash and now, with Green’s mum and dad inside watching something on the telly, both Green and I are sitting out back, under a heater, watching as the sun escapes into the night.

“It’s been a while since I watched the sunset.” Green is the first to break the silence between us, looking up at the sky as he rests his hands behind his head. “It’s one of those things that as you get older you almost forget to look at, and when you eventually do, you start to see things for what they really are…”

It takes me a second to digest exactly what he’s trying to say, but even then, I have not a single clue as to what he’s alluding to.

Seeing things for what they really are?

What is he on about?

Or is he just talking to talk?

Lord knows he hardly spoke all supper long.

“Christ, Green.” I widen my eyes in disbelief. “I don’t see you for a few days, and what? You’ve gone all poetic on me? Did your romantic gesture for Amira really turn you into a complete and total sap?”

Green swallows, and even despite the deep complexion of his skin, I swear I can see the apples of his cheeks redden. It’s a tell-tale sign that he must really like her. I mean, I know she really likes him. It’s written all over her face and in all of her actions ever since they first met. Now I’m the one choking back on emotion.

“Amira really loved the bouquet you chose for her, you know.” I desperately try to keep this conversation afloat. “She’s still got it carefully displayed on her desk, and if I’m not mistaken, I'm pretty sure she made at least five different Instagram stories about it. You’re famous,” I try to throw in some humor, one he seemingly catches onto as he playfully yet softly scoffs.

“I can’t take too much credit,” he admits. “Mum made it especially for her. I wanted to get your opinion on the flowers, but …” He looks back up at the sky, choosing not to finish his sentence.

Now, there’s an undeniable sense of tension between the two of us, one that makes me want to bypass this topic of conversation altogether, but I know deep down, I can’t. The mention of Amira’s bouquet only takes me back to his note on my bed and the gesture I never got a chance to thank him for...

I couldn't not get my favorite girl one too.

- Greenie

“I hope you know that you didn’t have to do that for me, right?” I lecture him, sitting cross-legged on my chair as my head falls into my hands. He knows what I’m referring to. I don’t have to spell it out. “I hope Amira wasn’t offended or anything...”

“Offended?” Like I suspected, he's quick to find his voice again. “Why would she be offended?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I just hope it didn’t make her feel like her gesture was less special…”

Green rolls his eyes. “How ridiculous,” he remarks. “You’re my best friend, Hazel, and if I want to get you something, I’m allowed to do that. Like I said in the note…” He rolls his tongue along the inside of his cheek before peering over at me without even a glimmer of doubt. “I could never not get you anything.”

I’m a thermometer, reaching its maximum temperature as the red rises to my cheeks. It doesn’t matter that I’m surrounded by all of this brisk outdoor air right now, yet somehow, with Green’s remark, he’s managed to make it impossible for me to cool down.

Christ.

Don’t digress, Hazel.

Focus back on the other part of that night.

Focus.

I swallow. “Speaking of romantic gestures…” I opt to change the subject matter. “I ended up accomplishing my step two for Hart that night as well.”

Green says nothing, prompting me to continue.

“I ended up painting Hart a picture. It took me a while, but it was worth it. I think he really liked it?—”

“Oh, he liked it, alright,” Green cut me short, pursing his lips as he toys with his hands. “The guy couldn’t help but obnoxiously show it off to everyone in the changing room after practice.”

I don’t pick on Green’s distaste, instead I pick up on Hart’s enthusiasm. “He did?” My voice inflates with a sudden sense of confidence. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” Green’s so short he’s virtually non-existent with me. “I mean, Christ, it’s only been a couple of days since we last talked, Hazel, and in such a short amount of time, you two seem to have gotten close. Dates, gestures, him calling you Haze …”

An eerie silence falls between the two of us as I watch both his jaw and fist tighten...

“I mean, clearly, things are working out for you two. Aren’t they...”

His comment comes striking down on me like a revelation—answering the long-awaited question I’d been trying to get an answer on all night. I knew something was troubling him, but now he’s made it clear as day.

He feels as if he’s losing me.

My time.

My drawing.

My nickname.

These were once all the things that once only revolved around him, but now, are being shared with Hart.

Wait, but if he’s upset about all of that, does that mean he’s… jealous ?

He can’t be.

I refuse to feed into that delusion, knowing if I do, I’ll never let up on it. Green’s not acting this way because he has to share me. No . The only logical answer as to why he’s only acting this way is because he has to share me with Hart. That has to be it. Because if it were anyone else, he wouldn’t care, right?

I can’t believe this. If this is the truth, does he really think that our friendship is that superficial he'd be so easily replaceable?

The two of us have made so many memories, shared too many special moments together, and known each other for far too long to ever allow anything to come in between us.

Us .

A simple, all-encompassing word that describes what we’ve always been—what we’ll always be.

I lose myself for a moment, unsure of what exactly to say to all that. I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to question his intentions or words, all I want to do is just run.

Run.

The word forces my eyes to wander toward the back gate of the garden, and without needing to process another thought, instantly, a place comes to mind.

“Let’s go somewhere.” I whip my head over my shoulder, confidently sitting upright in my chair as I lock my eyes onto Green’s.

He looks at me with sheer disarray. “Go somewhere?” he repeats back to me, visibly confused at my sudden shift in topics. “Like?”

I softly tilt my chin to gesture into the distance, and from the simple motion alone, I know that Green knows where I’m referring to.

It’s been a long time since we’ve been there together. I think I’ve tried to avoid it over the years because of all the memories it holds—feelings it makes me have to suppress, but right now it’s the only place I can think of that'll prove to him that no one will ever come in between what we have…what we’ve created.

“Remember when we used to race there?” I stand up from my chair eagerly. “Hm? Do you?”

A half smile creeps its way onto Green's lips. “Do I remember?” he retorts, the golden rays of sunlight dancing along the high points of his cheeks by now. The sight alone makes me want to fall right back into my chair. I stay strong. “The better question is…”He rises to his feet, and as he does, he immediately towers over top of me. “Do you remember how many times I beat you?”

I mockfully roll my eyes at his raging confidence. “Yeah, yeah. That was then, Greenie. This is now. Care for a rematch?” I know for a fact that I don’t stand any chance of winning, but realistically, it doesn’t matter. I’ll do anything at this point to bring him back to me. Anything. “Unless, of course,” I tease, “you’re afraid I’ll beat you this time?”

Green smirks as he assumes a racing position. “Hazel Jane Collins,” he calls me by my full name. “You’re on.”