The Prospect (Crawfield Football Club #3)

25. G R E E N

TWENTY-FIVE

G R E E N

12 YEARS AGO - Age 12

“You do realize that it’s been three years since we met Greenie, and still,” she emphasizes the word with a raise of her brows, “you haven’t followed through on your promise. So, let me ask you again. When are you going to draw me a picture?”

My feet can’t help but kick a rock along the pavement as we walk side by side. It’s a subconscious habit, always needing to have something by my feet, almost as much as the word “soon,” has been my go-to response whenever Hazel repeatedly asks me the same question.

I haven’t forgotten the promise I made and it’s evident that she hasn’t either, but like always, my hope is that my single-worded response will appease her until she inevitably asks again.

She shoots me a daggering frown. “You’ve been saying ‘soon’ for far too long. You do realize I’m not getting any younger, right?”

You wouldn’t think the starry-eyed, pigtailed girl to my right is only ten years old. Visually, yes, but when she opens her mouth, it’s like a philanthropist comes out.

Whatever a philanthropist is, exactly.

The point is, nothing gets past this girl. She can debate like she’s a politician. Persuade me like she’s a lawyer and force me to fold with a single bat of her eyelashes.

I’m doomed, I can’t help but think to myself. There’s no real way out of this, yet I try anyway.

“Why would you even want me to try and draw you something anyway?” I decide that changing the subject is a much easier and more effective than a response itself. “I’m not an artist like you, Haze. Besides, I can’t draw.”

“Yes, you can, Green.” Hazel forces us both to stop in place as she stubbornly folds her arms across her chest. “You are your own type of artist.”

“So stick figures are considered art nowadays?” I laugh.

She nudges me as we continue to walk. “Stop.” She shakes her head unamused, though there's a lingering smile on her lips. “You’re selling yourself short.”

I roll my eyes in protest—Hazel always sees the best in me, no matter what. “Even if I wasn’t,” I admit, “and I was the best artist of all time, the truth is…I still wouldn’t know what to draw for you, Hazel. I lack creativity in that department.”

My comment compels Hazel to look up in thought, and now, with a pencil in her hand, she taps it along her cheek, leaving me to watch the gears of her mind turn until, all at once, her eyes light up.

“I’ve got it,” her face inflates, along with the apples of her rosy cheeks. “The best day of your life,” she tells me as if it’s as simple as ever. “That’s what I want you to draw.”

“The best day of my life?”

“Mhm.” She nods, awfully proud of herself. “I mean, you do remember yours, right, Greenie?”

“Yeah.” My eyes shyly divert right back down toward the rock at my feet, leaving the heat to rise to my cheeks as an image pops into my mind. “I remember it like it was yesterday...”

PRESENT DAY

“I—uh…” I stutter as all eyes fall on me.

I’m no stranger to attention and as a footballer, stage fright is a virtually non-existent fear you can possess. But in this moment, as I shakily reach for the present by my feet, I’ve never been more scared.

“Sure.” I’m reluctant with my words but follow through on Hazel’s request as I grasp the gift in my hands and hastily place it into hers.

I laid awake staring at the ceiling night after night, thinking to myself, what in the world do you get for the one person whose presence has always been a present?

It was an impossible task, and without a single indicator of what to do or what to get, I started to scour through my mind—my archive of memories with Hazel Collins over the years and that’s when it hit me.

The promise I’d made on the very day we met—the picture she'd requested and the visual that continued to haunt my mind until finally, I managed to put it onto paper.

“Thanks.” Hazel's voice is as soft as Amira clutches onto my arm as we watch her rustle over the paper.

I never told Amira what I ended up doing for Hazel. The only person I’d actually confessed to about that was Wilks, who, seemingly, told Chelsie. I’m not mad. Time and time again tonight, Chelsie has managed to contain his eager spirit.

I’ll have to thank her later.

I gulp as Hazel releases the tape along either side of the frame. Hold my breath as she peels the paperback and just about wallow in a fit of anxiety when she turns the frame around to unveil the promise that, after all these years, I’ve finally followed through on.

Laid out in her dainty hands is a picture, one that I’d spent hours upon hours meticulously working on to illustrate the best day of my life.

The day I met her.

I’m no artist. I’d surmised that long ago, but as I put my heart and soul into each and every detail of the classroom: the walls, the desks, the bright lights above the girl who changed my world from that first hello, I wanted to be one.

I wanted to capture her perfectly. Her smile, her

joy, every emotion that she’s ever made me feel. I wanted this picture to be worthy of the fifteen-year wait it took for her to get.

“You remembered?” There’s a twinkle in Hazel's eyes as she looks up at me, pulling the drawing toward her chest in the same way I wish I could pull her into my arms.

I softly smile back at her. “I never forgot.”

Deep down in my heart, I know that the drawing in her hands isn’t museum-worthy, it’s not even fridge-worthy to me, but to Hazel, seeing the way the twinkle in her eyes is soon replaced with a glimmer of moisture tells me that it’s everything.

Everything and more.

By now, everyone is impatiently attempting to sneak a peek at the drawing. Hart being the first as he peers over her shoulder, though, before he can catch a glimpse, Hazel clutches the drawing back against her chest and forces it out of view.

“You’re not going to show us?” Hart asks.

“Please, Hazel!” Wilks joins in before she can respond. “We want to see Daniel Pisaccso’s masterpiece. After all, he used my little sister's colors to do it.”

“I…” Hazel hesitates, eyes shifting between the curious stares before she settles back into mine. “I want to keep it between us…if that’s okay?”

“That’s more than okay!” Chelsie rushes to reassure her. “It’s your birthday, Hazel,” she continues with a reassuring nod. “You get to call the shots.”

As she continues to clutch a hold of either side of the frame, I watch as a sense of ease washes over Hazel’s body. Hart’s laptop is now visibly out of sight and likely out of mind as Hazel continues to dance her hand along the glass.

It’s always fascinated me just how deeply she falls into the magic of an illustration. I’m confident she could spend hours upon hours lost in the details of a portrait, a concept I never quite understood until now.

Now that I watch her intricately assess the details of my work, it starts to make sense how people can get so easily lost in art because that’s Hazel.

Art.

“You, uh…drew something for her?” Amira’s voice is enough to remind me that I’ve been gazing over at Hazel for far too long, a formidable action that Hart has now become privy to as he flashes me a glare.

“Um, yeah.” I clear my throat to snap myself out of it.

Amira arrived late to the party, and as soon as she waltzed in, she found refuge on my lap.

It’s been this way ever since.

“It was uh—an inside thing, so to speak, just between the two of us,” I drop my voice as I explain. “You know, something only Hazel and I would understand…”

I can’t help but feel my eyes draw me away from Amira as I’m compelled to look back at Hazel, who has been waiting for me to look back over so she can mouth the words “ thank you .”

A sense of warmth floods through my chest from the two words alone. They’re simple, and she's said them to quite literally everyone else here tonight, but I know without a sliver of doubt that although Wilks might’ve said that Hart took the grand prize for the best present tonight, from the look in my girl's eyes, it’s me who’s really won.

“ Happy Birthday, my Haze ,” I mouth back.

The sun fades into the night sky before I know it and by now, most of Hazel’s party guests have shown themselves out.

I’d like to think that today’s party was a success. I mean, the smile on Hazel’s face has been evident all night long, but I know better than to trust a smile, for a smile means nothing in the grand scheme of things. It’s what you don’t show that really counts.

“They’re downright adorable together, don’t you think, Green?” Amira and I sit side by side, her body nestled into mine as she gestures across the room where Hart has taken the liberty to set up Hazel’s new laptop.

The two continue to laugh, exchange the occasional mutual adoring stare, and every now and then, the odd kiss, though I look away before it can turn into anything much more.

It’s been hard to find the time for the two of us to talk since I gave her her gift earlier. Hart has consumed most of her attention, understandably, and if I’ve learned anything from what transpired between the two of us, I know better than to interfere when they're together.

I’ve learned my lesson and regardless of the continued uncertainty surrounding this pestering torment resulting from them being a couple, I have no other choice but to fight it. This week, I got a taste of what it was like to be without Hazel and the thought of a lifetime of that? I just can’t even comprehend it.

“Yeah.” I do my best to sound as convincing as I possibly can as I look back at Amira. “I guess you could say that…”

Stop being so effing cryptic, Green.

“Well, I know you’re still adjusting to them being together, but you did good today. I mean, look how happy she is.”

Hazel laughs at quite literally the perfect time as Hart whispers something into her ear. It’s almost impossible not to smile at the sound.

“I’m just relieved she found someone, you know,” Amira continues. “I was convinced for a hot second that all hope was lost and that she’d never get over you…”

Gravity. It hits me like a brick.

“I’ll confess, at first, I was hesitant about her setting us up together given her feelings, but then when I saw her with Hart, I knew she’d moved on. It all works out in the end, don’t you agree, Green?”

I’m parched. Seriously, it’s like I’ve never had a sip of water in my life.

I’m dumbfounded. It’s like I’ve just been born and have no concept of the world around me.

But most of all, I’m confused. It’s like I'm listening to someone speak to me in a foreign language because what secret did I just get let in on?

Amira flashes me a confused look in response to my blank stare. “Oh, c’mon, Green,” she scoffs. “You seriously never noticed?”

I remain silent as the blood drains from my face. I’m about another sentence away from turning into a zombie.

Amira turns her body so that her back faces Hazel, this time dropping her voice an octave but continually reminding me what I still can’t seem to comprehend.

“Green…” Amira admits. “Hazel’s been in love with you forever. She always has.”

HAZEL

We’re alone in the living room. Hart and I linger on the couch like the last people to leave a party, when in reality, I think we are.

Chelsie and Wilks took off ages ago and I had thought Green and Amira had just stepped outside to talk, but it’s been over half an hour and neither of them are to be seen.

I can’t fall back into this habit. It’s part of the reason Green and I are in this mess, to begin with, but truth be told, regardless of my feelings, ones that are on a total bender right now, worrying about him is something I don’t think I’ll ever have control over.

I woke up this morning hopeful to get through the day. Little did I imagine that as I’d approach the end of it, I’d be desperate for it not to end.

Today was many things, but most of all, it’s the day that Green said everything imaginable without having to say anything at all.

I’d always thought that the simple promise he made to me would never come to fruition, that’s why, years ago, I stopped asking him about it, but I was wrong.

I was so wrong.

He told me at the start of today he’d make up for everything and boy, did he manage to do just that and more.

So much more.

“Have you had a good day, pretty girl?” Hart brushes some hair away from my face as he flashes me a smile. It’s sincere, genuine and as I agreeably smile back at him, I don’t know why mine feels sort of the opposite.

I’m happy when I’m with him, I am, it’s just… I never feel fully present. It’s like my mind is always drawn elsewhere, away from him and toward someone else.

I know it’s wrong of me to feel this way, especially when he’s gone so above and beyond in making me feel special, but the truth is, Hart and I are like a puzzle.

Like over these past few weeks, we’ve been piecing each other together and now, as we approach the finish line, somehow, someway, something just isn’t quite right.

It’s as if I’m trying to be his missing piece, but I don’t fit the shape—the mold, the pre-existing design or maybe, just maybe, it’s the other way around. Perhaps, Christopher Hart isn’t the piece for me?

I hate that I’m having this thought as he unknowingly smiles down at me. Hart’s perfect. Fuck, he’s everything I’ve ever wanted and more, but sometimes in life, you don’t always want perfection.

Perfection never gives you room to grow, evolve or change. Love does not equal perfection because love isn’t perfect. It’s complicated and messy, and boy, aren’t those two perfectly suited words to describe the situation I'm in right now…

“What do you say we get out of here?” Hart proposes, gesturing toward the front door. “You know…go back to my place?” he offers with a smirk.

I try to rationalize the look on his lips as nothing more than just a friendly gesture, but I’m not that naive. It’s apparent what he’s trying to say.

It’s my birthday. We’re boyfriend and girlfriend. I mean, you tell me and Christ, let’s not forget about step five: seal the deal.

Is this plan even still going on?

“You don’t want to hang around a little bit longer?” I don’t know why that’s the first thing I suggest. This party is dead. No one is around. What on Earth would compel me to stay?

“I mean…we could,” Hart says with a shrug. “But don’t you think some privacy would do us good?” His hand runs along the strap of my dress before those baby blue eyes do what they always do and lure me in. “Hm, Hazel?”

“I, uh…” I speak as his lips lure in daringly close to mine. “Just…let me say goodbye to Green first.” I pull back. “It’s just…I haven’t talked to him properly all night long, and I, um…” Peer across at the frame that rests along the side of the room. “Need to thank him for everything.”

Hart’s agreeable to my request as he rises to his feet. “Take all the time you need, love.” He helps me up, planting a kiss on my forehead thereafter. “I’ll be waiting for you in the car.”

I nod faintly, watching as Hart exits the room and steps outside of the house, stuck dazing at the empty space until I hear the footsteps make their way through the back door.

“Emily.” I’m guided toward Green’s mum, who balances an assortment of garbage in her hands. “I’m so sorry,” I apologize. “Please, let me help you clean up.”

“It’s your birthday, Hazel. I don’t mind in the slightest.”

“No, no, no.” I attempt to take some plates from her grasp. “Let me help. I insist.”

“And I insist right back.” She steps backward, so I’m out of reach. “Besides, it’s not your job to help me clean up, Hazel. It was supposed to be Daniels’, yet he’s nowhere to be found.”

“Nowhere to be found?” I’m troubled by the remark. “What do you mean?” I can’t help but ask. “Isn’t he outside with Amira?”

“Not that I know of,” Emily reveals. “Amira left. A while ago actually…by herself.”

“What?” My head snaps back at the revelation. “But Green…where…where did he go then?”

The look on Emily’s face is telling, so much so that I start to wonder why I even asked that question to begin with.

“I think you know where he is, Hazel.” She winces with a smile. “I know you do...”