Page 10 of Open Secrets (Infidelity #5)

Lyle — Present

Dinner feels… good. Better than most nights. We sit around the table, the six of us, bowls of pasta steaming, garlic bread vanishing in record time. Forks scrape against plates, overlapping chatter bouncing off the walls.

Remi actually talks tonight—about a game, some shot he made, his voice animated in that way it only gets when he forgets I’m listening.

Taylor rolls her eyes but adds her own story, something about a group project where she had to do all the work.

August interrupts every five seconds with jokes that barely make sense, and Rain—God, Rain laughs so hard she almost spits water across the table, clutching her fox like even it finds August funny.

I should be soaking this in. My kids, loud, alive, filling the house with a kind of noise that most men would kill to come home to.

But Maria.

Maria smiles when someone looks at her, laughs at August’s nonsense, passes the bread when asked. She plays the part. But none of those smiles land on me. Her eyes slide right past mine, and when she does glance at me, it’s like she’s studying a stranger she doesn’t quite trust.

I don’t blame her. Not after the scene she walked into earlier.

Bethany has always been a wedge. Always.

In high school, Maria hated her—hated that Bethany was always around, trailing me like a shadow.

And I didn’t help when I screwed up—hooking up with her that one time, when Maria and I were broken up.

It doesn’t matter that it was just once. It never should’ve happened.

The thing is, Bethany isn’t that girl anymore. She grew up. Our mistake forced her to face the truth—Maria and I weren’t ending. Not like that. Afterward, Bethany became a friend. A good one, for a while. Until five years ago, when she broke my trust. Since then, things have never been the same.

None of that matters now. Not when I catch the flicker in Maria’s jaw tonight, the way it tightened when she saw Bethany in our kitchen. That’s what matters.

After dinner, Maria insists on cleaning up while I take the kids upstairs. I don’t argue.

I walk them through their routines, referee the toothbrush wars, listen to Rain beg for “one more story,” tuck August’s dinosaur under his blanket before he notices it missing. Their breathing evens out, one by one, until the house is quiet again.

Before heading downstairs, I check on Remi and Taylor.

They’re older now, past the days of climbing into my lap or begging me to read aloud.

These days, I’ve stopped being the hero and turned into the boring dad.

Neither talks to me much or listens, but I chalk it up to typical teenage behaviour.

I know it’s normal, the distance, the eye-rolls, the silence.

I don’t want to be like my own father, barking orders, forcing closeness, so I’ve let them keep their space.

But lately, I feel like maybe I should push harder, whether they want me to or not.

By the time I get back downstairs, the kitchen is spotless. Not just tidy—spotless. Counters gleam. Every glass put away. No crumbs, no rag left out. The kind of clean that means Maria needed to keep her hands busy before her mind exploded.

Light spills from down the hall, the office door cracked just enough.

She’s in there, legs crossed in the chair, a glass of amber liquid glowing in the lamplight. Her back is straight, too straight, like the liquor is the only thing holding her up.

“Close the door,” she says, not looking at me.

I shut the door like she asked, then drop into the chair across from her. The wood barely creaks under my weight before her voice cuts through the quiet.

“Are you fucking her?”

The words hit like a punch.

“What? No.” I shoot back up out of the chair, then force myself down again, palms flat on my knees. My voice drops, desperate, sharp. “No. God, no. Maria, I told you—there haven’t been any women since the… since then.”

She nods slowly, but it isn’t agreement—it’s a blade. “Before then, though. You had free rein.”

I shake my head hard. “No. We agreed—no one we knew. That was the rule.” My chest tightens as I glance at her glass, then back at her steady eyes. “Look, I’m sorry she was here, alright? They just showed up—with cookies and a damn engagement ring. What was I supposed to do?”

Her gaze doesn’t waver. Doesn’t soften. “Maybe not tell her I had an abortion.”

The bottom drops out from under me. My head jerks up. “I didn’t mean to, okay? It was an accident, Maria. I never thought she’d tell Mom.”

Her lips purse, thin and cold. “Anna. Or Bethany?”

I freeze.

She tilts her head, slow, deliberate. “Yeah. I know it was her. Kudos to you, Lyle. You made me believe it was Anna for five years.”

“How did you—”

She cuts me off, sharp. “Does it matter?”

I rub a hand over my face. “I guess it doesn’t.”

Her eyes pin me in place. “Why’d you tell her, Lyle?”

“I didn’t… not on purpose. She wouldn’t shut up about women who abort never being able to have kids, and she kept going and going and I—” My throat burns. “I exploded, Maria. I didn’t think.”

Her teeth sink into her lip, the way she does when she’s holding back tears. “You didn’t think the Bible-thumper who goes to your mom’s church would run straight to her with that? Tell her that her daughter-in-law killed her grandbaby?”

“Hey,” I snap, leaning forward. “You didn’t do it alone. It was our choice. Just as much me as you.”

Her laugh is sharp, hollow. “Yeah, but no one blames you. I’m the whore. The murderer. You’re just the poor guy.”

My mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

She wipes at her face, quick, angry. “When did you tell her? Was it after you fucked her? A little pillow talk?”

“No!” My voice is too loud. I rein it in, lower, steady. “After that one time—when we were broken up—I never touched her again. She doesn’t even see me like that anymore.”

Maria scoffs, bitter, jagged

“She doesn’t,” I press, desperation creeping into my voice.

She shakes her head, her laugh sharp. “You’re an idiot.”

I rake a hand through my hair. “We were friends, Maria. That’s it. She’d send care packages, stupid little things, and I introduced her to a buddy of mine—they were dating for a while. We became friends.”

“Friends,” Maria repeats, raising her brows like she can’t believe what she’s hearing. “If I became friends with someone I’d fucked, you’d have a coronary.”

I nod once, grim. “I realize that now. We’re not—we don’t talk anymore.”

Her words cut, low. “But you did. When you told her. When she told your mom. When my dad found out.”

I drop my head into my hands. “God. If I could go back, I’d never have told her. Not ever.”

She whispers, broken. “But you can’t.”

Lyle – Five Years Ago Fort Liberty, North Carolina. 2020

“Congrats, First Lieutenant!”

The voice came from behind me, sharp and familiar. I turned just in time for Bethany to fling herself into my arms. My body caught her on instinct, muscle memory from years ago. Her perfume hit me first—sweet, overdone, the kind that stuck.

“Bethany,” I laughed, surprised. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Had a church thing,” she said, smiling too wide. “Figured I’d congratulate you too.”

I set her down and took half a step back. “Thanks.”

First Lieutenant. It wasn’t general, not colonel—nothing shiny like Dad ever dreamed about for me.

But it was something. A new bar on my uniform, a signal that I’d earned my place.

In plain English? I wasn’t just following orders anymore.

I was giving them. Running men. Keeping them alive.

Responsibility, respect—the kind that used to make Dad clap me on the shoulder, hard enough to sting.

Bethany’s eyes swept me up and down like she was cataloguing the change. “Hey,” she said, playful, “you got time? Want to grab a drink next door?”

I hesitated, glanced around. Soldiers streamed past, some saluting, some just nodding. No one here knew the history written all over her face. No one saw the landmine I was stepping on.

“Yeah,” I said finally, shrugging like it was no big deal. “I could go for an hour.”

We ended up at the diner just off base. Bethany ordered some iced monstrosity topped with caramel drizzle. I ordered my usual—coffee, black, no room for cream.

“So,” she said, stirring her drink. “How do you feel? Your dad must be proud.”

I let out a breath, leaning back in the booth. “Feels pretty damn good. And Dad… well, you know my dad.”

Her hand slid across the counter, squeezing mine once. Too familiar. “I do know.”

I squeezed back quickly, then pulled away, wrapping both hands around my mug. The ceramic was hot enough to bite my skin, and I let it.

“Now I just wish that transfer would come through before I deploy,” I muttered, more to the coffee than to her.

Her brows lifted. “You’re transferring?”

“Trying to. People think being the general’s son gets you favours. Truth is, it screws you. Everything takes longer. Been away from home too long.”

Her smile softened. “And how are the kids?”

“They’re good.” I paused, throat tightening. “Rain’s sick, actually. That’s why Maria isn’t here.”

Bethany tilted her head, pity flickering in her eyes. “I still don’t get why she and the kids don’t move here. At least while you’re stateside.”

I pressed my lips together, forced a shrug. “It was our decision. We’ve got family in Austin; Maria’s practice is there. Besides, it’s not like I’m gonna be here long.”

I tipped my chin at her glass, trying to pivot, lighten. “So… what brings you here? Church thing, you said?”

Her eyes lit up like I’d fed her a line she was waiting for. She tapped her straw against the rim of the glass, steady as a drumbeat, then leaned closer, voice dropping.

“It’s not exactly church business. But it is God’s business.”

I smirked, lifted my mug, played along. “Yeah? What business does God have in North Carolina?”

Her lips curved, slow. “They’re opening a Planned Parenthood in Charlotte. Like this world needs another place that kills innocent babies.”

The words slammed into me. Just like that, I was back there.

The noise. The crowd pressing in. Signs shoved into our faces. Maria’s hand trembling in mine, her breath catching when some asshole spat the word murderer. The feel of my fist splitting skin when I finally couldn’t take it anymore.

My jaw locked. “Don’t think their only job is killing babies,” I said evenly, the same tone I used with soldiers about to crack under pressure.

“But it is primarily,” she cut in, eyes shining with conviction. “We’re gonna stage a protest. Show these people they can’t just do this.”

I shook my head, staring into the black swirl of my coffee like it could drown her voice. “Can’t help but think maybe you should get a job instead of attacking places that offer help to women in need.”

Her head tilted, studying me, too sharp. For a second, her expression hardened—like she was seeing something she shouldn’t—and then it was gone, tucked under her sweet church-girl smile.

“Did you know these places hurt women?” she pressed. “These procedures ruin lives. Women can’t even have children after they—” she lowered her voice like she was sharing a secret—“you know.”

Heat crept up my neck. My knuckles tightened around the mug. Don’t bite. Don’t give her anything.

But my mouth betrayed me. “Doubt it. We have four.”

The words hung between us like a grenade pin had just been pulled.

Bethany froze, straw still pressed to her lip. “What?”

Silence. Sharp, and heavy. My heart slammed against my ribs, every nerve on fire. I opened my mouth, scrambling to backpedal. “Nothing. Forget it.”

Her eyes narrowed, razor sharp now, all softness gone. “Did Maria?”

My chair screeched against the tile as I stood too fast. “No.” The word came out raw, scraped. My pulse was pounding. “Listen—I gotta go. I’ll, uh… see you around.”

I threw bills onto the counter, not even counting, and shoved out the door. The cold air slammed me in the face, but it didn’t cut through the heat under my skin.

Fuck.

What had I just done?