Page 55 of A Game Plan for Love

“Caution: snores loudly.” She laughs. “I’ve been compared to a broken lawnmower.”

She grimaces. “Might be a dealbreaker.”

“A sexy lawnmower,” I amend. She rolls her eyes, and I grab a card. “What memory instantly makes you smile?”

Her face lights up. “When Nora said her first word. It was ‘shit’.”

“No…”

“There’s a reason we have the swear jar.”

My muscles relax as we volley questions back and forth. I work through the shock of learning she played collegiate volleyball, and she falls over laughing, learning that Sawyer and I had a short stint where we dated.

“You and Sawyer?” she asks incredulously. I nod. “Ha! That’s insane.”

“She broke up with me at LongBoards, a local bar. It was the kick in the ass I needed.”

My choices rookie year are not ones I’m proud of, but I’m going into this with full transparency, which includes sharing how I was a complete and total dumbass.

Her brows furrow, and I power forward.

“I made some mistakes in my rookie year. Poor choices that hurt Sawyer, Henry, and me. It was self-destructive, but I couldn’t see it because the attention from other people felt good. For the first time in my life, it felt like I was wanted, but it was all circumstantial and the people who cared for me were the ones I hurt. It wasn’t until Sawyer told me I was a good person making shitty choices that I realized I didn’t recognize myself. I booked my first appointment with Sharon the following week, and it took a long time to make amends and rebuild relationships.”

Addie’s brows skyrocket on her forehead. Dread settles in my gut.

Maybe I wastootransparent.

“It’s brave of you to admit your mistakes and work to fix them,” she says, and I blink. “We all make poor choices. It’s what we do after that that defines us.”

She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. It feels like her silent way of telling me she’s not bothered by my confession—it doesn’t frighten her away.

A weight lifts off my chest.

I take a card from the deck. “What’s the most pain you’ve ever been in that wasn’t physical?”

The question lands like a blow, and Addie’s face crumples.

Oh my god.

Her lip quivers.

“You don’t need to answer,” I say, desperate for that look on her face to disappear. It’s fucking gut-wrenching. I rise from my chair to sit beside her on the couch, and she immediately crawls into my lap and drops her head on my shoulder.

Minutes stretch on between us, but I just hold her and bask in howrightit feels to have her in my arms.

“You deserve to know,” she whispers. “It’s the day my parents told me they wanted nothing to do with me or Nora. That I was wasting my potential by having my daughter. Howdisappointedthey were in me.” She hiccups, and her tears stain my shirt. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” I rub soothing circles on her back.

How long has she been holding onto this pain?

I can’t imagine ever telling my child I wanted nothing to do with them. I know the feeling far too well to ever wish it on another person.

They don’t deserve Addie or Nora in their lives if they can’t see how wonderful they are.

“I had already lost volleyball and my friends. They were all I had, but they dropped me, too.” Pain laces her voice. “I had no idea what to do, but I hurried to finish my master’s degree, and as my friends celebrated in Tokyo at the Olympics, I gave birth to Nora alone at a hospital. The labor pains were nothing compared to the loneliness.”

“The Olympics?” I ask, not following.

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