The Prospect (Crawfield Football Club #3)

24. G R E E N

TWENTY-FOUR

G R E E N

I’m pacing the hallways back and forth—meticulously adjusting balloons, hanging extra streamers, and making sure not even a bloody picture frame is a fraction out of place.

Everything today needs to be downright perfect.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

When Hazel texted me to let me know that not only would she be coming tonight, but she’d be willing to talk over everything again, I quite literally felt like I’d just won a jackpot in the lottery.

Not everyone in life gets an opportunity they’re hoping for, let alone a second one, to make things right with the one person they need the most, and tonight, I’m unwilling to let anything stand in my way of making this Hazel’s most unforgettable birthday yet.

“You picked up the cake, right, love?” Mum asks, joining me in the kitchen with a cheerful smile on her face.

“Sure did,” I respond. “Bright and early this morning from Ruby’s Bakery. Chelsie and Wilks said they’d also bring some cupcakes too.”

“Chocolate, I hope.” Mum raises a brow, likely testing to see if I’ve recalled Hazel’s favorite flavor after all these years.

“With vanilla frosting and sprinkles,” I lecture monotonically. “Mum, don’t you think I’ve been paying attention all these years? I know what my best friend likes…”

Mum folds her arms across her chest, impressed, before she pats me on the shoulder. “Just checking,” she tells me before turning around to manage something on the stovetop. “So, are you excited for tonight?” she calls out from over her shoulder.

I lean my frame back against one of the countertops, arching my neck from side to side. “It’s Hazel’s birthday, of course I’m excited . ” The word itself is just an easy mask for the word “terrified”.

I have no idea how tonight is going to go and with all of our close friends and family around, my only hope is that tonight is one for the memories and not a dramatic ending of a friendship kind of way. In a “this is the best apology of all time kind of way.”

I have my gift for Hazel and Christ, if this doesn’t grant some forgiveness from her, I don’t know what will…

“Do you know what time everyone will be arriving?” I ask Mum, peering down at my watch. It’s half past three and so far, not a single person has rung the bell. I feel like a kid waiting to open my presents on Christmas morning. This anticipation is killing me.

“I would assume soon, love.” Mum turns off the stovetop and faces me. “But I’m surprised you’re even asking me that. Didn’t Hazel tell you when she’d be here?”

I lie, given that I haven't got a single clue. Hazel said she was coming, but she didn’t specify when. I thought I’d be pushing my luck to pry for any further details.

“I’m uh—not sure,” I swallow. “I imagine Hart is picking her up and between us, he’s usually late, so I guess we’ll see when they arrive.”

Mum’s back to flashing me a look. I try not to read into it, diverting my eyes away from her so that I can focus on the kitchen tiles. The kitchen tiles don’t judge me.

“Hart, huh?” She smirks. “How are things going with Hazel and him?” She wonders. “Or, dare I say, your little ‘plan?’”

I run my tongue along the inside of my cheek. Leave it to Mum not to forget a single thing. That’s probably the worst and best thing about her.

“Good.” I’m short with my response. I swear I’m one prying question away from un-loading everything onto her because holding it all in is torture. I refuse to cave though, because nothing would be more tortuous than that “I told you so,” look from not only my mum but my dad as he now makes an appearance in the room.

“And Amira?” I’m surprised he’s recalled her name. “Will she be here today as well?”

I twiddle with my thumbs, stopping the second I see both my mum and dad hone in on my movements and squint.

“Yeah.” I tuck my hands behind my back. “She’s coming. Later though…” I shrug off the fact. “She mentioned she had a practice for an upcoming performance, so you’ll get to meet her later tonight…”

The two share a mutual exchange before Mum flashes me a smile. “Can’t wait.”

We stand in this awkward silence for a moment, the two of them looking at me almost expectantly as if they were waiting for more.

Growing up, I’d say I spent the most time with my parents, between my brother and me. He was more independent, closed-off, and unwilling to share his emotions. It’s what makes him a good politician out in London, but as for me? I’ve always been the vulnerable one. The one willing to talk, express my feelings and most of all, open up to my parents because their company always felt like friendship, and like any strong friendship, you know when someone is struggling.

Hazel noticed it in me and now, I can tell my parents are approaching the same conclusion...

“Are you sure everything is alright, son?” Dad refuses to let up, furrowing his brows as he places a hand on my shoulder. “You know you can talk to us, right?”

I open my mouth to respond, but as soon as the words are about to reach my lips, the front bell chimes, signaling my attention toward the door.

It’s Hazel. Even despite only a shadow lingering behind the glass with no refined features, I know it’s her. I just know it.

“I, uh—better go answer that,” I respond in place of an explanation, forcing my dad’s hand to fall from my shoulder. “I wouldn’t want to keep the birthday girl waiting.”

HAZEL

Dictionaries may define the term ‘home’ as a place where you reside. A habitation where you keep your belongings, furniture, clothes and other prized possessions. But contrary to what Oxford might say, I believe that a home isn’t any of those things.

No.

A home isn’t four walls that make up a space or a place you go to rest your head after a long day of work. To me, a home isn’t tangible at all. I believe that a ‘home’ can be attached to a feeling.

A feeling that brings belonging, comfort, safety, and peace. All of which are emotions I felt from the very first moment I met Daniel Green.

How is that? That at seven years old, I came to that conclusion? That a piece of Daniel Green would forever and always feel like home.

I thought the feeling would fade, but it’s only grown stronger and despite where I’ve gone, what I’ve done, or the mixed emotions rollercoaster Green has put me on these past few weeks, as he swings open the front door, all I’m reminded of is the simplicity that has and always will be him .

There's this comforting look in his eye as he greets me and from the way he smiles faintly, I’m reassured that I could travel the whole world twice over and no matter what, I’d still come trailing back to him.

“You came.” I hear him mumble, and for the first time, with Hart by my side, Green’s eyes don’t linger on his steady hand on my waist. Instead, I watch him fight his wandering eyes as he flashes me another pained yet almost relieved smile.

“I said I would, didn’t I?” My voice is shallow as I meet his stare. “And you know me, Green,” I admit, swallowing to resolve this newfound dryness in my throat. “When you call, I’ll always answer.”

I can’t tell if Green is about to follow up to my remark or break into another aching smile. It’s the latter as I watch as the corners of his mouth rise softly before he averts his gaze onto Hart, who reaches his hand out to greet him.

“Me pouring out my heart to her might’ve also contributed to her presence today,” he scoffs in laughter, interlocking his palm with Green’s. “And pleading your case. But it was worth it.” He peers down at me with a smile. “Right, Hazel? See, that wasn’t so hard. Look, a small exchange and now you two have made up and are right back to being best friends. Simple.”

An awkward silence follows his remark and as my eyes wander toward the ground, I can’t help but notice Green loosening the collar around his neck.

It’s evident that our mutual exchange hasn’t quite yet lessened the blow of our argument.

Sure, I’d say we’ve made progress, but a mutual smile doesn’t quite constitute forgiveness in my world. The two of us still have a lot to talk about and right now, standing here, on my birthday… Well, it’s not the time.

“Eh! Is that the birthday girl I see?” Wilks' timing is as impeccable as always as he approaches us from behind, arms wide as Chelsie trails in toe. Her steps are careful as she balances a cake in her grasp, before momentarily flashing me a grin as Wilks pulls me into his grasp.

He’s always been a hugger.

“Happy birthday, Hazel!” I’m suffocated by muscle and an oversized hoodie, forcing a wheeze out of me as he pulls back. “Oh, C’mon, I’m not that strong!” he jokes. “Now, remind me, how old are you today, Hazel?” He tilts his head in interest. “Twenty-two?”

“We’re the same age, Wilks.” I shake my head in playful annoyance. “Though…” I fold my arms across my chest. “It’s clear to see that those two months you’ve got on me are finally starting to catch up when it comes to your memory. Is he always this forgetful, Chels?” I flash her a sneaky look.

She bites down on her bottom lip to suppress a smirk. “He knows better than to be,” she jokes, prompting Wilks to playfully roll his eyes as he reaches for the cake out of her grasp. “Nuh-uh,” she scolds him, pulling back. “I’m on cake duty. You're on present duty, remember?”

“Presents?” I immediately object, almost cringing at the word. “No, no, you guys didn’t have to get me anything. Seriously,” I tell them. “Just being all together is all I wanted.”

“Yeah, well, that’s lame,” Wilks fires back. “Besides, you think Green would’ve allowed us to show up empty-handed?” He raises his hand in his direction. “The guy literally wanted step-by-step updates on your cake today. I mean, he’s been so gung- ho on making this your best birthday ever that he even made you a?—”

A not-to-subtle stomp on the top of Wilks’ foot is what brings him to a stop as Chelsie glares in his direction. Usually, when Wilks starts to ramble, I try not to pay too much attention toward it, but given that this wasn’t so much a ramble but rather a confessional, I sort of wish Chelsie had allowed him to continue.

What does he mean by making this my best birthday ever? Better question: what did he make me?

My head swivels back toward the door, where Green continues to stand, awkwardly trying not to make eye contact with me like a school-aged kid trying not to get picked on. It doesn’t matter though, I’m not interested in reading into his averting gaze, I’m more interested in the scene behind him.

Laid out along the hallway and into the family room are balloons, streamers and a plethora of other decorations spread about. But what stands out the most? Plastered along the back wall is a poster with the words ‘Happy Birthday, Haze.’

Greenie.

“How about we go inside, huh?” Hart proposes, snapping me free from the thought.

His simple request transports me back to the party exactly a week ago, where the same thing was said, only this time, as my eyes inevitably ricochet in Green’s direction, he agrees willingly and holds out the door even wider for me to step in.

“Come on,” he tells me, his voice soft as I take a step inside. “Let’s let your party begin. After all…” he pauses. “I’ve got some more making up to do, don’t I, bug ?”

I roll my tongue along the inside of my cheek as I brush past him. “It’s a good thing you’re off to a good start already…”

“Chelsie said that you lent her one a while ago and I thought…” Wilks continues to wrap a cozy winter scarf around my neck. “Rather than return what’s old.” He nestles back into Chelsie’s side. “Let’s get you one that’s brand new!”

“And custom,” Chelsie adds, flashing me a warm yet tender smile. “After all…” She purses her lips playfully. “Green has always been your color.”

Heat rises to my cheeks as I playfully roll my eyes, now a soft laughter falling amongst the group—the large group—it’s as if everyone and their mother has turned out for my birthday.

Though, amidst all of the eyes that fall onto me as I snuggle into my Crawfield scarf, I can’t help but catch a glimpse of Green, not the color as it surrounds my frame, but the man himself, re-adjusting in his seat as Amira pulls him in close.

Her presence today doesn’t come as a shock to me. I knew she’d be here, the two of us talked about her attending my party shortly before Hart picked me up today.

She insisted that she didn’t need to come and that in no way, shape or form, would she be offended if I told her not to. I’m not sure how she’s managed to come to the conclusion that she’s the problem, but the reality is, she’s far from it.

She’s done nothing wrong yet perfectly fall victim to mine and Green’s not-so-eloquent plan. It’s Green that’s been out of the routine, so when I shrugged off her offer and apologized for the distance between the two of us, placing the blame on stress, she almost immediately went right back to her old chipper self.

I’ve tried my best to avoid watching how she’s been kissing up on Green’s cheek all night long. Hart, who’s been doing the exact same thing to me, has helped me with that and I’m confident that Green’s been no stranger to the gesture.

I don’t know what this all means. It’s like the two of us are playing a game, one with no rules, motive or meaning, but somehow, someway, we’re both so involved—invested almost.

How is it that no matter the affection of our significant others, nothing else seems to catch us both off guard quite like catching each other's gaze? I’m exhausted even just trying to process it.

“It looks good on you.” Hart runs his hand along the fabric before brushing along my cheek. “Chelsie’s right… Green is your color.”

Okay, everyone needs to stop saying that.

“Thanks, you two,” I bypass the comment and express my gratitude instead. “I love it.” I smile back down at the material before peering back up at them. “I really do.”

The two seem impressed with their ability to brighten the ever-growing smile on my face.

Each gift that has been passed my way has been even more thoughtful than the last. It’s as if everyone banded together to make, just like Green said, this my best birthday yet—and it has been.

Despite this unspoken tension between myself and the host of the evening, this party has redeemed the word party in and out of itself.

Not only did Green’s parents cater in my favorite restaurant for supper, using the dinner table talk as the perfect opportunity to recall their fondest childhood memories of me, they even video-called my parents in to join in on all the laughter.

Now, hours later, after some drinks, laughs, and a spontaneous decision to light a fire in the back garden, those who remained have found comfort in showering me with endless presents.

I feel undeniably grateful.

“My turn!” Hart sits up, reaching backward to grab a hold of an oversized bag that sports a teddy bear wearing a party hat.

“Aw, I didn’t know they put you on the bag, Hart.” It’s Green who makes the sarcastic comment, forcing not only a laugh amongst the group but from me as well.

He’s been softening me all night—Hart was right, second chances are important, even if this is Green’s third, but we don’t need to look at the intricacies here.

Things are going well. I need to keep them that way.

“Ha. Ha.” Hart mocks. “You’re so funny, Green,” he says monotonically, though, I can see a smile aching behind those blue eyes.

“I think it’s cute,” I tell him as I take the bag from his grasp. “Did you wrap it yourself?” I probe.

“I tried,” he admits. “Now go on.” He gestures for me to start tearing into it. “I wanna see your reaction.”

I comply as I rustle through the paper. I’m like a kid on Christmas morning as I dig into the bag, bursting at the seams until I reach a box that forces my eyes to widen.

“Hart.” All I can say is his name. “No…”

“Yes.” His response is just as simple.

“No,” I say once more, pulling his present out of the bag. All the while I catch everyone in my peripherals trying to sneak a peek. “You didn’t…”

“But I did.” Hart leans back in his chair, clearly chuffed by my reaction.

“What is it?!” Wilks is as impatient as ever, standing up at this point to get a better look.

“Yeah, what is it, Hazel?” Amira is the next one to chime in.

Her voice draws my eyes up and as I respond, I look directly at Green. “A computer,” I reveal, hands unsteady as I show off the box like a proud portrait.

“Not just any computer,” Hart tells them with confidence. “Sure, this computer will play movies, TV shows, and hell, even search up shirtless photos of me at record speed…”

I playfully scoff in laughter.

“But that’s not what it’s designed for. This…” Hart gestures toward the box. “Is designed so that Hazel can draw on it,” he reveals what I knew all along. “After all…” He looks back over at me. “That’s what you wanted, right? A laptop you could use for drawing?”

I nod faintly as I plant a tender kiss onto his lips, whispering thank you into his ear as Wilks chooses now to chime back in.

“Geez!” he loudly remarks, managing to take the words right out of my mouth, not as theatrically, mind you, but close enough. “Good luck topping that, everyone, because this man right here…” He points toward Hart. “Has just won the best birthday gift award?—”

“ Enough .” Chelsie gently swats his arm, though everyone seems to find the comment amusing. Well, everyone but Green, who, although is trying to join in the laughter, has chosen to fake a smile as he peers down toward a wrapped-up box on the ground.

“I mean, he’s been so gung-ho on making this your best birthday ever that he even made you a ? —”

“Green?” The sound of my voice almost immediately draws his eyes into mine as I catch myself saying his name.

“Yeah?” I notice the way he gulps in response.

I gesture toward the box that rests by his feet. “Care to give Hart a run for his money?”