Page 102 of Game Plan

Poppy scoots farther away until we’re no longer touching. It’s like a dagger piercing my heart.

“Jordan Callahan is my ex-husband,” she says with little to no emotion at all. “I met him when I was seventeen. He was thirty. No one knows what happened between us aside from my parents, my grandmother, and my aunt Carmen. But only my parents know the whole thing.”

My eyes widen. This is the woman who tells me almost everything about her day, yet she’s carried an entire marriage all alone. For years? That hurts in so many ways, but this isn’t about me and my feelings. I stay quiet and let her continue.

She brushes a strand of hair out of her face. “I was working at the mall in a clothing store. He came in one day with a little boy, one of his two kids, and whisked me off my feet. He was handsome and charming. His son was adorable. And out of all the other girls in the store, he was interested in me … and that made me feel so special, as stupid as that sounds.”

“That doesn’t sound stupid at all. When you walked over to me the first night we met, I felt that way. Out of all the guys in the world, you wanted to talk to me. I was on top of the world.”

I reach for her hand, and she relents, laying her palm against mine.

“Now, I can see that Jordan love-bombed me,” she says. “I didn’t know what that was then. But he said everything I wanted to hear, bought me gifts, and promised me the world. And at seventeen, I didn’t have the experience to see the red flags. My parents did, though, and forbade me from seeing him. That only drove me closer to him.”

I squeeze her hand softly, letting her know I’m here. I’m here for her and her truth, and no matter where this goes, I’ll be right fucking here.

“A few months later, I turned eighteen,” she says. “And he was in my ear that we should get married. My parents were never going to give their approval anyway, and I was an adult. We were in love.” She rolls her eyes. “We got married a couple of counties over, and when I told my parents, it broke my mother’s heart. It devastated my father. It was … awful.”

I shift in my seat, finding it hard not to interrupt her. She was seventeen. A baby. She was still figuring out who she was and that motherfucker knew exactly what he was doing.

So help me God …

“The first couple of months were exactly what he’d promised me,” she says carefully. “But then he came into my work one day when I was helping a guy choose a pair of jeans. When I got home that night, his expression was the coldest I’d ever seen on someone. It was the first time I was scared of anyone.” Her gaze drops to the couch, and she takes a breath. “A few days later, he insisted that I quit and stay home—framing it as a gift. He made great money, so I could just hang out at home and have an easy life. I didn’t want to quit because I liked my job, and I liked working with people. But wasn’t not having to work supposed to be the dream? I had this man wanting to give me that, and when I tried to push back, it was the first time he called me a brat.”

I force a swallow, stroking her palm. He was stripping her of her choices. Shrinking her world. Controlling her.

“Mom found out that I quit,” she says. “And that I didn’t enroll in college like Jordan promised her that I would. But I swore that it was just because I needed a gap year and insisted she calm down. I think at the time I believed that, too, which is sad.”

I try to imagine a young Poppy in this situation, getting her spirit crushed by a man who knew better. A man with whom I would love to have a conversation in a dark alley.

Her eyes grow foggy, and I brace myself, focusing on my breathing to stay calm.

“Shortly after that,” she says, her words muffled like she’s speaking through a layer of cotton, “he decided that we should have a baby. We’d talked about it before, and I said I’d always wanted kids, which, at that time, was true. But it suddenly felt like a trap—another excuse that meant I wouldn’t be able to go to school or work. There wasn’t really a choice in that conversation, so I agreed. But I kept taking my birth control pills.” Her hand begins to shake. “One night a few weeks later, he found them in my purse.” Her gaze lifts to mine as tears fall onto her cheeks again. “That was the first night he hit me.”

My hand tightens around hers, and my body goes rigid. The fuck?

I want to fucking find this prick, but the look on Poppy’s face hauls me back to reality.

I can’t leave her. Not now. Not even to destroy the man who hurt her.

“This is the only place I’ve felt safe since my dad died.”

I choke back my own emotions and stay as quiet as I can. Anything that comes out of my mouth right now will not be conducive to this conversation.

“Jordan called me an ungrateful liar,” she says, laughing through her tears as if even she can’t believe the audacity. “Said I broke his heart not wanting a family with him. That I was going back on the promises I made to him. And … I felt sorry for him. It sounds absolutely ridiculous now, and it’s embarrassing, but it’s true.”

“You were trying to protect yourself, Pop. Nothing about that is embarrassing.”

“Well, he blamed it on my parents brainwashing me and refused to let me see them,” she says. “My life became childcare for his son who lived with us, cleaning, and meeting his standards—which I usually failed at doing. Slowly, he took away my access to his money. He earned a good salary, but I only received enough cash to buy groceries. Anything more and I had to ask.” She smiles sadly. “One day, I looked into the mirror, and I didn’t recognize myself. When I met him, I was confident and strong and pretty. That day, though, I looked ten years older and worn down. I was pretty sure my life was over.”

I sit back as pieces of the past click together like magnets.

Her refusal to accept financial help. The way she ferociously guards her independence. The way she keeps her feelings locked away.

God, I hate him.

She sighs. “I decided that day that I was going to demand a bit of autonomy—to take some of my life back. I made sure his son was fed, bathed, and in bed, and when he got home, I sat with him while he had his dinner. I calmly let him know that I wanted to go back to school, to get a job, and to see my parents for Sunday dinners.”

I hold my breath.