Page 17 of The Prospect

Why would he want me? And even if he did, would it just be for a night? I don’t want a one night stand. I want more. I’ve always wanted more.

“Just give it a chance, Hazel.” Chelsie places her hand on my arm before I can even remotely think of a way to talk myself out of this. “You’re not even allowing yourself to open up to it. You might be surprised. You and Hart might have more in common than you think.”

It’s true. Maybe Hart and I could be a good match, but the problem is will Green think so too? Is he really going to be prepared to set me up with the one person who aggravates him more than anyone else?

I don’t know.

Maybe this is a disaster waiting to happen…

“You really think Green will go for it?” I ask, hopeful her reassurance will continue to overshadow the doubt that looms through my mind.

“I mean, if Green’s really so gung-ho on his plan,” Chelsie softens her voice, “then he’s got to hold up on his end of the bargain. It’s only fair.”

She’s right, and after a night of sleepless doubt, finally, as I effortlessly find Green on the field, I force my eyes away from him and toward Hart.

This plan…might very well work.

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?”

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