Page 2 of Open Secrets (Infidelity #5)

Maria — Present

That was my world. Small-town Texas, where most girls figured their lives wouldn’t stretch much farther than the county line. And then Lyle showed up.

His dad got stationed at Fort Hood, so his family moved into town. It was like a celebrity had rolled up — someone new, someone different, someone not already mapped out by everyone else. My first time seeing a boy my age who wasn’t carved out of the same local dirt as the rest of us.

And thanks to a favour I called in, I got the job of showing him around school.

He was polished in a way I wasn’t used to.

Clean boots, neat hair, a smile too wide, like he didn’t know yet that you had to earn your place here.

I walked him through the hallways, pointed out the shortcuts, the teachers you buttered up and the ones you ignored.

He listened close, tried to keep pace, but I’d already made up my mind — I wasn’t about to let this one slip.

So when he asked me out, barely two weeks later, I didn’t play coy. I just smiled like I’d been waiting my whole life for it.

Twenty-Seven Years Ago – Gatesville, Texas. 1998.

“Maria!” Daddy’s voice roared from downstairs, sharp enough to rattle the frames on my wall. “Get down here, now.”

I rolled my eyes and stomped down, dragging my feet out of spite. “What, Daddy?” I sweetened the drawl on purpose.

He didn’t answer right away. Just jerked his chin toward the door.

And there he was. Lyle. Standing tall, awkward, trying to look confident while it was obvious he didn’t belong in our house yet.

Daddy jabbed a finger at him. “You wanna explain this?”

I glanced at Lyle, then back at Daddy. “What? You never seen a boy before?”

Daddy’s jaw set tight.

“Lyle, what’re you doin’ here?” I asked, pretending casual.

“The date,” Lyle said evenly, no stumble, no twang. “Or did you forget?”

I smirked. “Our date’s tomorrow.”

His brow furrowed. “We said Friday.”

“Tomorrow’s Friday.”

Behind me, Daddy cut in, voice low and sharp: “Today is Friday.”

Heat rushed up my neck. “Well, fuck.”

“Language.” Daddy’s tone cracked like a whip.

“Sorry,” I muttered, though I wasn’t.

The air went thick. I was standing there in a faded T-shirt and shorts, weighing whether I could risk leaving Lyle with Daddy long enough to change.

Turns out I didn’t get the choice.

“Why don’t you put on some real clothes while we talk,” Daddy said, smooth as a knife.

My mouth opened, but Lyle beat me to it. “Yes, sir. I’ll wait for you, Maria.” His words were crisp, practiced.

And to my horror, he followed Daddy into the living room.

I bolted upstairs, heart hammering like I’d just robbed a bank.

Up in my room, I tore through my closet, tossing clothes onto the floor. Everything looked wrong. Too girly. Too plain. Too much skin. Not enough.

I could practically hear Daddy downstairs: So, Lyle, what are your intentions with my daughter?

Poor boy was probably getting ready to bolt.

I yanked on a sundress that smelled faintly of dryer sheets, hands fumbling with the zipper. My reflection looked flushed, hair a mess. I swiped on lip gloss, hated it, wiped half of it off with the back of my hand.

Silence pressed in. Too much silence. No voices, no footsteps. My stomach twisted. Either Daddy was grilling him so bad he couldn’t answer, or worse, they’d found common ground.

Then the crack split the air. Sharp, unmistakable — gunfire.

“Shit.” My hands slipped on the zipper. I stumbled forward, half running, half falling down the stairs.

I slammed through the back door, ready to drag Lyle’s corpse inside.

Instead, I found something worse.

Daddy and Lyle stood shoulder to shoulder, laughing like old friends. Lyle held one of Daddy’s rifles like he’d been born with it. His stance was steady, aim clean.

“Darlin’,” Daddy called, grinning wide, “this here’s a good one.”

And Lyle? He beamed like he’d just passed the final test.

I cleared my throat, plastered on a smile sharp enough to cut. “Alright, let’s go,” I snapped before Daddy could change his mind and shoot him after all.

Lyle handed the rifle back easy, polite as can be. “Thank you, sir.”

Then he jogged to catch me, practically glowing.

I kept walking, fast, eyes forward. If I looked back, I might see Daddy winking. And I wasn’t ready for that.

At the car, Lyle hurried to open the passenger door for me, grinning like it was a movie scene. I rolled my eyes but slid in anyway.

The car was nothing special — a sun-faded Ford Taurus with a cracked dash and the smell of gas and old fries baked into the seats. Half the parents in town drove one just like it, every single one on its last leg.

He shut my door gently, jogged around, and dropped behind the wheel. “I just bought this,” he said, patting the dash. “Good deal, too.”

I arched a brow. “Good deal, huh? We’ll see.”

The engine coughed awake like a dying smoker. Still, we pulled onto Pike, windows down, warm air blasting in. For an hour, it almost felt good.

Then the phone rang. One call. And everything turned sour with Mr Pompous dick.

I was still stewing when the car sputtered.

Lyle frowned, tapped the gas. “Come on, baby. Don’t do this now.”

The engine groaned, then died right there on the shoulder.

I crossed my arms. “Uh-huh. Real good deal.”

He popped the hood. Smoke hissed out.

I sighed, wishing my father had bought me that cell phone. I checked his in the holder, no service. Perfect.

“Easy fix?” I asked, voice dripping sarcasm.

He shot me a look. “Mechanic said it was good.”

“Old Teddy?” I barked a laugh. “You got played.”

His jaw tightened. He slammed the hood shut. “Guess we walk.”

“Walk where? Pike runs empty for miles.”

“Then we head back toward town.”

“Great plan,” I snapped. “We’ll get flattened by a trucker before we make it halfway.”

His patience snapped. “What do you suggest?”

I tilted my head, smirking. “There’s a spot the seniors use, couple miles in. Old shed. We wait it out there till someone comes looking.”

He squinted. “Through the woods? At night?”

“You can stay here,” I shot back, arms folded. “I’ll bring help. Princess.”

He stepped closer, bristling. “I meant we should go now. While there’s light.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Leave the car?”

“What’s anyone gonna do? Steal it?” He yanked his jacket out of the backseat, grabbed his useless phone, and slung the jacket over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

I smirked, spun on my heel. “This way, darlin’.”

His footsteps caught up quick.

The woods swallowed us fast — heat, shadows, bugs whining. For a few blessed minutes, silence. Then, of course, he opened his mouth.

“So, what happened to the sweet girl from school?”

I snapped my head toward him. “What?”

“You were all southern charm there. Now?” He ducked under a branch. “Wicked witch.”

My jaw clenched. “Guess I don’t like bein’ called a thing.”

He slowed, frowning. “What? That call — it was my sister. If I told her I was on a date, she’d tell my mom. Then mom would’ve made me come home.”

“Oh.” My voice came out flat. “Your mama doesn’t let you date?”

He shook his head. “We move too much. She doesn’t want me getting attached.”

I bit my lip, staring at the dirt path. “Then why ask me out?”

He shrugged, crooked smile flashing. “I liked you. Still do.”

“Oh,” I muttered, walking faster, letting silence eat the space between us.

We broke out into a clearing just as the sun dropped lower. I squinted, scanning the tree line. “Huh.”

“Huh what?” Lyle asked, stepping beside me.

“I guess it’s that way.”

“You guess?” His voice carried too loud in the open space.

I shrugged, unfazed. “What, you think I spent my childhood hiking these woods?”

“So we’re lost,” he said flat, stalking after me anyway.

“Of course not.” But my voice didn’t sound nearly as confident as I wanted it to.

We keep moving, the dirt path narrowing until it’s more roots than trail. Branches whip at my arms, mosquitos buzz in my ears, sweat sticks my dress to my back.

After a while, Lyle stops. He plants his hands on his hips, breathing heavy, sweat darkening the collar of his shirt. “We should rest.”

I spin back on him, swatting a mosquito off my arm. “If we stop, the bugs’ll eat us alive.”

He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “Better that than wandering blind in circles.”

I shake my head hard. “No. We keep moving. There’s gotta be a road out here. Or a signal. Something.”

Lyle looks around like the trees might part if he glares hard enough. “You don’t even know where we’re going.”

“Better than sitting like bait.” I shove past him, branches snapping against my legs. “We’ll find our way.”

He groans but falls into step behind me, his sneakers crunching against dead leaves. “You realize your dad’s going to lose his mind when we don’t come back by curfew.”

“He already lost it,” I mutter. “But yeah, he’ll be looking. Which means we move. If we stay put, he’ll find the car first and assume we’re dead in a ditch.”

“Comforting,” Lyle mutters.

“What about your parents?” I asked as we trudged on. “You said your mom’s overprotective. She’s bound to come looking.”

He shook his head, grabbing a branch off the ground. “Told her I was staying at Connor’s. Said we had a thing.”

“Right,” I muttered. “A thing.”

We stopped again about ten minutes later. My calves burned, and his shirt was plastered to his chest. He leaned against a tree, taking deep breaths. I fanned my face, slapping gnats away from my legs.

“You good?” he asked.

“Fine.” The word snapped sharper than I meant. I sighed. “Look, I know this sucks. But the only way out’s forward. You really want my daddy tromping through here with a shotgun, hollering my name like I’m twelve?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Depends. Would he shoot me first, or make me help him?”

“Both,” I said flatly. That got him to laugh, quick and rough.

It felt good, hearing it cut through the whine of bugs and the pounding in my ears. For a second, the woods didn’t press so heavy.

I pushed off the tree and jerked my chin forward. “Come on. He’ll come looking, but I’d rather meet him halfway than get dragged out.”

Lyle exhaled through his nose, tucked the bottle back into his pack, and trudged after me.

“So where else have you lived?” I asked after a while.

He didn’t look at me, just kept swiping branches out of his way. “My dad’s Army. All the men in my family are. We’ve moved a lot. Georgia, Colorado, Kansas… then Fort Hood.”

“Must be weird. New schools every year.”

He shook his head. “Not schools. My mom homeschooled us.”

That stopped me short. “Wait—you’ve never been to a real high school before this year?”

He glanced at me, mouth quirking. “Real high school? Yeah, this is the first. Feels like being dropped into a foreign country.”

I smirked. “You don’t say.”

I kept walking, the path curving through thicker trees, but something about the shape of the clearing up ahead tugged at my memory. The way the branches arched, the dip in the dirt. I’d been out here once before with some girls from the team, sneaking cigarettes we swore we didn’t inhale.

I glanced back at him, his face shiny with sweat, his jacket slung over one shoulder. “So this is your first school?”

“Yeah,” he said, confused.

“And your first date.” I smirked. “Must be a big year for you, Lyle. What’s next? First time holding hands?”

He rolled his eyes, but his ears went red. “Not my first time.”

“Oh no?” I slowed just enough to grin at him. “How many girlfriends did you have while your mom was teaching you algebra at the kitchen table?”

He gave me a sideways look. “Maybe I didn’t have girlfriends. Doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing.”

I barked a laugh. “Big words for a guy on his first date. Careful, or you’ll trip over a root and ruin your whole image.”

His jaw tightened, but I caught the twitch of a smile before he hid it.

Then he stopped walking.

Before I could ask what he was doing, he reached out, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me toward him. The movement was sharp, almost clumsy, and then his mouth was on mine.

It wasn’t smooth. His lips pressed too hard, his nose bumped mine, and for a split second I thought about shoving him back. But the heat of it — sudden and real — sent a jolt down my spine.

When he pulled away, breath fast, his eyes searched mine like he’d just broken some unspoken rule.

“See?” he said, voice low, a little rough. “Not my first time.”

I stood there, heart hammering, lips tingling, trying to decide whether to slap him or kiss him again.

I didn’t have to decide. He leaned back in, slower this time, and I met him halfway.

The woods pressed in around us, sticky and hot. My back hit the rough bark of a tree as he kissed me harder, one hand braced near my head, the other still clutching my wrist. His shirt was soaked through, sweat rolling down his temple, and I could taste salt when his mouth slid against mine.

It wasn’t practiced, it wasn’t perfect — it was messy, eager, both of us laughing against each other’s lips when our teeth knocked together. Still, I didn’t pull away. Neither did he.

That’s how my dad found us: sweaty, tired, and making out against a tree about a mile from the car.