Page 76 of The Prospect

I immediately bring the phone up to my ear, punching in my passcode as the message begins, only the voice I hear is not the female I expect, forcing me to groan.

Sorry, Mum.

“Hiya, love. It’s your mum here, remember me? Anyway, I just wanted to give you a ring to let you know that we’ve booked the catering for Hazel’s birthday on Saturday.”

Hazel’s birthday.

Saturday.

For fuck’s sake.

Of course I’ve managed to throw a wrench in mine and Hazel’s friendship the week of her birthday.

Great.

“Anyway, let us know what you’ll be bringing. As always, we want to make this special for her. Love you!”

I miss most of the meaning of the message and bring the phone away from my ear—making a mental note to replay it later.

Since Hazel’s mum and dad moved to Lisbon a few years back, my parents have always gone out of their way to throw her a family gathering—Green style—we always have and let it be known that I refuse to let this be the first birthday she spends alone because of my idiotic behavior.

As I slam the door shut to my flat and race my way down the stairs, I know I have two missions that I need to accomplish today:

Number one: try to get Hazel to forgive me.

And, two: if that fails, at least convince her to come to the party.

You can do this, Daniel.

Go get your girl.

HAZEL

“It’s too soon, Hart,” I lecture him, given that despite every synonym for “no” I’ve thrown his way, he hasn’t stopped begging for me to meet him after practice.“I don’t want to talk to Green right now. I need some space. Can’t you just pick me up when you’re done?”

“Hazel, I promise you I’ll be out of the stadium so quickly that you won’t even see Green! Besides, remember that reservation I made? If I come to the campus to get you, then we’ll miss it and you know how hard it was to get us both in.”

I release a long-drawn-out breath—removing the phone from my ear as my head falls back in frustration.

Not only is this conversation triggering my emotions from last week, but being on my phone means that I’m about to see another impending message from Green at any second.

Hazel, I don’t know what else to say other than I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.

Can we talk about this, please?

I know you’re reading these messages, Hazel. I know you.

Have you ever searched up the definition of torture, Hazel? Well, you don’t have to. This is it. Please respond.

Doyou know how many times these past few days I’ve started to type out a response to Green only to delete it?

I want to tell him to sod off and stick his apology where the sun doesn't shine, but I can’t. I physically can’t say that (or type that) to him.

Am I mad? Trust me, I’m fuming.

Hurt? Yep, let’s add that one to the list.

But confused? Oh yeah, that one byfartakes the cake when it comes to my emotions.

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