But as nervous as I am, this feels different from everything else I’ve done. Because for once, I know I have an entire support system standing behind me. And if I fall, I know they’ll pick me up again.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Then let’s go get your man back.”

—

“WE HAVE THE stuff!” Brynn’s voice echoes around us as she runs into the tunnel, waving a plastic bag above her head.

“Oh thank goodness.” I take the bag from her, the weight of it surprisingly heavy . . . but that might just be the pressure of this grand plan I made.

I glance at my phone and check the time. I’ve never wanted a game delay more in my entire life. But of course, the one time I need Colorado’s weather to go crazy, it’s sunny and beautiful outside. Cold . . . but still beautiful.

“Here.” I reach into the bag, pulling out the rolls of tape and handing them to Vonnie, Brynn, and Greer. “You know what to do.”

Greer grabs me by the shoulders and stares so deep into my eyes that I’m convinced she can actually see my soul. “Remember, ‘You can’t go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending.’ This is you changing the ending and you can do this.”

Whoa.

I never thought there was really any merit to motivational quotes and life coaches and whatever else everyone is always talking about on Instagram, but Greer just hyped me all the way up. And it’s exactly what I needed to hear before the click-clack of cleats echo against the cement floor as the team makes their way to the front of the tunnel.

“Rewrite the ending. Rewrite the ending,” I chant and a very satisfied, bordering on smug smile pulls across Greer’s beautiful face.

“You got this.” Brynn wraps her fingers around my sweaty hand. “Maxwell texted me while we were in the car, everyone he talked to loves your plan. It’s going to be amazing.”

I’m sure we’re a sight to be seen, the four of us huddled together at the entrance of the tunnel when Patrick Dawson, one of the linemen, rounds the corner and sees us all.

“Elliot? I think you might have something for me.” His soft smile is a stark contrast to the helmet he’s holding and the pads encasing his body.

“I do.” My voice wavers, but I’m not sure if it’s from nerves or the overwhelming flood of emotions coursing through my system right now. “Thank you so much.” I rip off a piece of tape and tears well in my eyes as he slaps it across the League’s emblem at the top of his jersey.