Page 20 of Open Secrets (Infidelity #5)

Lyle — Present

“Hey.” I knock gently on the door.

It cracks open to reveal Remi sprawled on the floor, controller in his hands, eyes locked on the screen. A horse gallops across a windswept field.

“You got a minute?” I ask.

“Not really,” he mutters, without looking away.

I step inside anyway, leaning on the frame for a beat. I knew buying him this console was a mistake—cheaper than the Xbox, sure, but I didn’t count on him figuring out how to load it with pirated games.

I take a seat on his bed. “So, what are you playing?”

He exhales hard, like my presence alone is exhausting. “Ghost of Tsushima.”

I nod, watching the screen. “And you’re a ghost?”

Another sigh—longer this time. He stabs a button, pausing the game, then sets the controller down with a loud clack. His tone’s sharp when he says, “What?”

I tilt my head. My chest tightens, but my voice stays even. “I might be an absent asshole, but that doesn’t give you the right to be a disrespectful shit.”

His gaze drops instantly. “Sorry.”

I let the word settle before I speak again. “I heard what you said downstairs. And… I’m sorry too. For letting you down.” My throat works, tight. “I thought I was doing well. Had a beautiful family, a decorated career. But I guess I was only being responsible for one of them.”

He shifts, looking away, awkward now. “You weren’t all bad. I mean—before. You know, before Rain… you weren’t gone that often.”

I open my mouth, close it, then nod slowly. “That’s true.” My eyes lift to the ceiling, like maybe the words are easier if I’m not looking at him. “I told myself I was doing it for the extra income, but…”

The rest dies in my throat. I shouldn’t be unloading on him like this—he’s a kid. My kid. But he deserves the truth.

I force myself to meet his eyes. “I was a coward. I couldn’t watch your sister suffer, so I didn’t. I left your mom to deal with it alone, and I called it noble.”

Confusion flickers across his face—hurt, too, though he tries to mask it.

“The reason I’m saying all this,” I continue, my voice rough, “is because you need to know what not to be. Don’t make the same mistakes I did. Don’t run because it’s easier.”

A humourless smile twists my mouth. “I moulded myself after my father. And I hated him. I don’t want us to be like that.”

Remi fiddles with a strand of hair that’s fallen into his eyes, twisting it around his finger. His voice is low, almost embarrassed. “I don’t hate you, Dad.”

My chest tightens. I let out a shaky laugh and shake my head. “Thank God for miracles.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, and for the first time in a long time, I see my boy instead of the wall he keeps between us.

“I am retiring,” I say, steady this time. “I’ve given twenty-five years to the army. It’s time I give the rest of my years to my family. To your mom. To all of you.”

His brow furrows, cautious. “So… you’ll just be home? Like, all the time?”

“Yeah.” I smile, leaning forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “I mean, I might still take a few classes at the school—teach, maybe—but I’ll be home.”

He studies me like he’s waiting for the catch, waiting for me to take it back. His hands fidget in his lap, and I can tell he wants to believe me but doesn’t know how to yet.

So I don’t push. I just sit there, letting the words hang between us, solid and true.

I will fulfil this promise.

The words settle in my chest as I leave Remi to his ghosts, the blue glow of the console washing over him. He doesn’t look back at me when I shut the door, but I don’t need him to—not yet.

I believe it when I crawl into bed that night and fall asleep with Maria warm against me. I believe it when I wake up in the morning and kiss her goodbye, her hair still tangled from sleep, her hand tightening on my shirt like she wants me to stay.

I believe it all the way down the road, each step carrying me closer to a new life, a new start.

I believe it right up until I knock on Command Shmuel’s door.

The lock clicks, the door swings open, and I step into a house I’ve been in a hundred times before—straight into the sight of my parents sitting on his sofa like they belong there.

Well. Fuck.

I look at the aging commander, his back a little more bent than I remember, hair gone completely white. At least he has the decency to look ashamed.

He clears his throat, eyes darting anywhere but mine. “Wasn’t my idea, Connelly. They—uh—they asked to be here. I figured…” His voice trails off.

I wait, jaw tight, letting him squirm.

Finally he mumbles something about a mess in the garage and slips past me toward the back door, moving fast for a man his age. Doesn’t even meet my eyes on the way out.

Like the coward he is.

And just like that, I’m left in the living room, face to face with the last two people I wanted to see.

I’m aware I could just turn around and leave. God knows it would be easier. But honestly? This has been a long time coming.

I look at my parents, then lower myself into a chair across from them. Calm. Deliberate.

They exchange a quick glance, surprised I’m not bolting. Well, I’m done with that.

When neither of them starts, I do. “So, You two planned this little ambush?”

My mother huffs, crossing her arms. “I hardly call it an ambush. Your father was with Walter at the club when you called, and we figured it was time to have a chat.”

My father leans forward, his voice clipped, still carrying the old command tone that once made me snap to attention. “We believe your little tantrum has gone on long enough. First, you marry that—”

“Careful,” I cut in, my voice sharp.

His jaw flexes, but he doesn’t stop. “—that woman. Then you allow her to cut us out of our grandchildren’s lives. And instead of being a man, you follow her lead.”

Heat rises in my chest, but I stay seated, gripping the armrest until my knuckles burn.

“And now,” he continues, his voice thick with disdain, “this nonsense about retirement. Connelly men do not choose retirement. Connelly men serve. I gave forty-five years. I am a Major General. And you want to what—give up as a captain?”

The old shame tries to crawl up my spine, but I force it back down. I meet his eyes, steady.

“I have given twenty-five years of my life to a career you chose for me,” I say, my voice sharp but steady. “And while I don’t regret it, I will not allow myself to have the same relationship with my children that you have with yours.”

My mother gasps softly, then shakes her head, lips pressed thin.

“Well, that is a terrible thing to say. We provided you with a good life, Lyle. And now that it is your time to take care of us, you wash your hands of it. Your sister is getting married—how do you suppose that will happen with you refusing to see sense?”

I laugh. A sharp, humourless sound. “Take care of me? When Remi was born, Mom, you came to the hospital—despite Maria asking you not to—and you promised you’d be there for him. For us. You said while I was away, I could trust you with my family.”

I stand, pacing now, heat building in my chest. “And the second we did something you didn’t approve of, you cut us off. Jesus, Mom—my daughter was sick. She was in the hospital. And you walked away. Maria needed you. The kids needed you. And where were you?”

My voice cracks, and I push harder, louder. “Off on your fucking moral high ground.”

“Do not speak to your mother like that,” my father snaps, his voice like a whipcrack.

I whirl on him, years of swallowed obedience snapping clean in two. “And you. What kind of weak man does it take to call a woman begging for help to save her child pathetic? Rain could have died. Do you understand that?”

I step closer, chest heaving. “Your granddaughter could have died if Maria hadn’t been made of steel.”

My face burns hot, years of suppressed rage crawling up my throat. My mother’s head snaps toward my father. Her voice is sharp, incredulous. “You never told me Maria came to you.”

My father shakes his head, his tone dismissive. “Not now, dear.”

“Don’t say that.” She pushes up from the sofa, eyes wide. “Why did Maria come to you?”

My father rises too, straightening his back, puffing his chest like he’s still the man in uniform. “I refuse to be yelled at by the two of you.”

He makes for the door.

But I’m already there. Arms crossed. Blocking his way.

My whole life, he’s loomed larger than me—his shadow, his standards, his voice commanding everything. But not anymore. I’m done being a little boy in his presence.

He huffs, glancing from me to my mother, his pride caught in his throat. He doesn’t want to embarrass himself, but he also doesn’t want to be cornered.

Finally, he spits it out. “She came to me for money. What else? She actually thought a few tears and theatrics would make me fall for her whorish—”

And just like that, I deck my sixty-seven-year-old father.

The crack of fist on bone rings louder than the fire alarm at home, sharper than gunfire in the field. He stumbles back, clutching his face, before going down.

I don’t regret it for a second.

“Dad.” I nudge his shoulder. “Come on, get up. Stop acting.”

He doesn’t move.

My chest tightens until he groans, voice gravelly. “I’m fine.”

Relief rushes out of me before I can stop it. He starts to push himself up, and guilt has me grabbing his arm to steady him. He settles onto the sofa but immediately swats my hands away. “Get off me.”

I shake my head. “Can’t even take a punch anymore.”

The stare he gives me is ice cold. “Don’t tempt me.”

Everything stills after that—like the room itself is waiting.

Finally, my mom speaks, her voice brittle. “Why did Maria go to your father?” Her eyes flick to him, then back to me. “The truth,” she adds, sharp, when my dad opens his mouth.

I let out a long breath. “Rain had a leukaemia that wasn’t common in children.

The chemo wasn’t working. The only option left was gene therapy—experimental, not covered under Tricare.

Maria asked if Dad could pull strings, expedite the hearing.

Normally it takes years, but in the end it would’ve gone in our favour. ”

My dad shifts, quiet now. “She didn’t say the last part.”

“You sure?” I press.

He just looks down.

“She ended up paying for the whole thing out of pocket,” I say, my voice cracking with equal parts pride and shame. “Maxed credit, worked extra jobs, held everything together while we left her.”

My mom whispers, “I had no idea.”

“That’s because you weren’t there,” I answer flatly.

Her lips purse. “I asked Anna to find out if she needed help, and Maria turned her away. If I’d known things were that bad, of course I would have—”

“Forgiven her?” I cut in. “For something we both did?”

Her head tilts, sharp. Unlike all the previous times I brought this up, she doesn’t walk away instead she doubles down “Don’t defend her.”

“I’m not.” My voice drops low. “I knew, Mom. She told me the day she found out. And I… I didn’t want to be a dad. Not then.”

She shakes her head, disgusted. “There are options.”

“Ask yourself the truth,” I shoot back. “Would you have allowed adoption?”

She looks away, face tight.

“That’s still no excuse,” she mutters.

“For what?” My voice rises, frustration breaking loose. I rake a hand through my hair, heat pulsing in my chest. “Jesus, Mom. You think us deciding to terminate the pregnancy—for our future—was supposed to be a family discussion?”

Her silence dares me to keep going. So I do.

“The fact is, Maria and I talked about something that would’ve affected us , and we made the decision.

The right decision, apparently. Because if Maria hadn’t ended that pregnancy, she would’ve dropped out of school.

She wouldn’t have finished her degree, wouldn’t have gotten her license.

And years later—when Rain got sick—she wouldn’t have had the career or the income to keep our family afloat.

She wouldn’t have been able to take care of herself. Or our kids.”

My mother looks shocked then shakes her head, eyes hard. “We would’ve been there for her.”

“Really?” I snap. “Or would you have just found some other way to blame Maria for something that was never her fault?”

She looks away, voice breaking just a little. “I shouldn’t have said that. I had just found out—from Bethany, of all people—and I lashed out.”

I lean forward, my voice sharp. “Be honest, Mom. You weren’t mad about the abortion. You were mad about the lie.”

Her head whips back toward me, eyes flashing. “I was mad that Maria had an abortion without telling you—while you were married.”

“What?” The word rips out of me.

She nods, lips pressed tight. “That’s what Bethany said. That Maria got pregnant on your honeymoon and had an abortion without telling anyone.”

I stare at her, heat rushing up my neck. “Why didn’t you tell me that before? All the times I begged you to understand, and you said nothing?”

Her voice drops to a whisper. “I don’t know.”

Then she turns toward my father, her face pale, her hand reaching blindly for his. “What did we do?”

He doesn’t answer. He just squeezes her hand and stares at the floor.

“Just so there’s no confusion,” I say, my voice steady but hard, “Maria got pregnant when we were nineteen. We were broken up at the time. She came to me as soon as she found out, and together we decided to abort. I was there for her when she had the procedure. Because that’s how you raised me—to take responsibility for my actions. ”

My mom’s lips tremble. She nods slowly, then wipes at the tears streaking her cheeks. “At least… at least we did that right.”

The room feels smaller, heavier. My dad clears his throat, his voice rough. “Would it help if we apologized?”

I shake my head, leaning back. “I don’t know. If you were in her place… would you forgive?”

For once, he doesn’t argue. He just nods, his face drawn, and whispers, “Right.”