“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.
“No, thank you,” he returns. “I didn’t realize how bad it was for the guys who paved the path for us. I’m proud to stand by Q’s side.”
After my plan started coming together last night, I reached out to Patricia from Pro Players for Equal Treatment. She sent over player testimonies of retired men all facing challenges like Quinton’s dad. I included them in an email to every player whose address I could get my hands on. And then I proposed a call to action: take a stand alongside Quinton. By joining his fight, they will take him out of the equation and put the pressure on the people trying to twist his motives. There’s power in numbers. It’s up to them to make sure they’re all taken care of, and that includes Quinton.
Even though Brynn and Vonnie have been trying to tell me everyone was on board, I still wasn’t sure how this was going to go. But, with the first one down, my nerves fade and determination I’ve never felt before sets in. I bet this is how Wonder Woman feels.
The rest of the Mustangs players and coaches all make their way into the tunnel, stopping to get their piece of tape from one of us as they prepare to run out onto the field.
My cheeks hurt from smiling and I’m afraid I might run out of tape when strong fingers wrap around my wrist and navigate me through the crowded space until we’re in a semisecluded corner.
“What are you doing here?”
I haven’t seen Quinton since Thanksgiving. Whereas the time apart caused me to gain five pounds, break out like a thirteen-year-old, and get bags so dark beneath my eyes that I needed to order a special concealer, Quinton looks better than ever. His beard is longer than I’ve ever seen it and it’s really unfair that he looks this good in a football uniform. Seeing him in it on TV or from up in the box really does it no justice. He’s a work of art.
My stomach cramps as the nerves come rushing back. Even though I’ve missed him, maybe he’s been better off without me. And even though I’ve been telling myself this isn’t just about getting him back, but showing him how much he means to everyone around him, this is the first time it’s really set in that this might not work. There’s a good chance he won’t forgive me.
I don’t want to lose him.
I take a deep breath before the words fall out of my mouth. “Brynn told me you weren’t going to take a knee. You have to take one.”
His fingers tighten around the face mask of his helmet before he puts it on the ground. He moves his hands to his hips, and even though I know it’s imperative for me to focus, I can’t help the way I stare a little bit before moving my eyes back to his. And those dark eyes framed by his even darker lashes look anything but happy. “I told you I’d make sure you could keep your job and that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Okay, but—” I try to tell him that I quit, that this is pointless, but he talks over me.
“I hope you’re doing well and I appreciate you coming here, but I know what I’m doing.” He cracks his glove-covered knuckles and looks over my head as Jack starts announcing the players before him. “I was prepared for the fallout, but I’m not going to let that affect your job. You made it clear it’s the only thing that matters to you. I won’t be the reason you lose that too.”
He can’t keep the bitterness out of his words or his face when he talks about my job. And my heart aches that I made him feel like he wasn’t as important as a stupid job. But even though I feel terrible, I can’t help but be annoyed that he thinks I need to be rescued. So I latch on to that thread of irritation and hold on to it for dear
