Page 27 of Open Secrets (Infidelity #5)

Lyle — Present

Throwing my keys on the table, I toe off my boots by the door, shrugging out of my coat. The kitchen light blinks weakly in the darkness, probably left on by Maria so I don’t trip over the damn sofa again like yesterday.

Lately, I’ve been working overtime—volunteering to train troops, taking on whatever crap duty no one else wants. Like maybe if everyone sees me busting my ass, they’ll forget I’m the idiot who let some reckless mistake follow him home.

Christ, Connor. Connor with his big mouth and his smug grin. Connor, who’s been “taking breaks” from Bellamy since high school, like that’s what marriage is—seasonal loyalty. And me, stupid enough to listen. To take advice from him like he had any clue what a family costs.

I knew the code. Every regulation, every risk, etched into me after twenty-five years. Knew what would happen if I slipped. But I let myself believe Cece was harmless. That she was fun. That she could be trusted. And now look at me.

There’s a silhouette at the dining table, sitting perfectly still. My hand flies to my chest. “Jesus.”

The shape shifts, light catching her face.

Maria.

Sitting in the dark like a damn ghost, her eyes fixed on me, unblinking.

“You scared me,” I breathe, letting my keys clatter to the counter.

She doesn’t answer—just pushes a foil-covered plate across the table toward me. “Maura made spaghetti with meatballs. I brought you some.”

Of course. Maura—the woman who keeps the kids after school and makes them dinner on the nights I’m deployed… usually.

I nod, throat tight, and head for the sink. Splash some water on my face, rubbing hard like I can scrub the worry out of my skin. Normally, I’d duck into the bathroom for this, but I can tell Maria didn’t wait up because she missed me.

When I sit down and peel back the foil, steam curls up. I glance at Maria, grateful, she reheated my food while I was parked outside, having a midlife crisis in the car.

I take a bite, chew, swallow, then force the words out. “I’m sorry.”

Her eyes flick to mine, steady, unreadable. “Why?”

I set my fork down. “For avoiding you. For being…”

“Prissy,” she supplies.

A small huff of a laugh escapes me. “Yeah. That.”

She doesn’t push. Just nods toward the plate. “Finish your food.”

So I do. I eat while she moves to the kitchen, the soft clinking of dishes filling the silence. When I’m done, I bring my plate over and wash it by hand. She dries, like it’s the most natural routine in the world.

I lean on the counter, shaking my head. “I’ve come at this every which way possible, Maria. Short of begging Collins to ignore it, I can’t…” My voice breaks, so I swallow hard, staring at the drain like it might give me an answer. “I can’t see a way out.”

My chest shudders, air catching. Then—her arms slide around me, soft and firm at once, her cheek resting against my shoulder.

“What’s the worst-case scenario?” she murmurs, kissing my shoulder lightly. “In your head. What’s the worst that can happen?”

I close my eyes, letting it spill. “Collins decides to give me a general discharge. I lose my benefits, any shot at getting another job, we lose the house. And you…” My throat knots. “…you finally realize what a moron you married.”

I don’t add the last part—the one that haunts me most. That once again, just like when Rain got sick, I’ll be completely useless. A uniform without a mission. A man without a role.

For a second, I almost wish she’d scream. Slam something. Anything. At least then I’d know where the floor is.

Instead, she just stands there—quiet, still, waiting. And that’s worse.

I clear my throat, my voice rough. “You quiet ’cause you’re finally done with my shit?”

Maria shakes her head slowly, then steps back. “No. I’m quiet because I’m trying to come up with a way to say this—” Her hand smacks against my shoulder, sharp enough to sting. “—you’re a moron.”

“Huh?” I blink at her, thrown.

She jabs a finger toward my chest, then points at her own. “Now is not the time for you to pull away and disappear in your head. We—” She pokes her finger harder into my chest. “—have to come together to fix this mess. Because, honey… that’s all we have.”

Her voice shakes, but her eyes don’t.

“And yes,” she goes on, “we could lose the insurance, the pension, all the shiny little perks. But you won’t lose your memories.

You’ll still be a great soldier—the one who protected his country, even when it cost him his teammates.

You’ll still be the man who provided a home, who kept us safe, who gave our kids a father worth looking up to.

It’ll be horrible, the kids finding out but everyone else, they already know, the secret is out baby.

Command may not know it, but everyone else already suspects. ”

I open my mouth, but she doesn’t let me interrupt.

“And what job will you really lose, huh? Rapists are literally presidents now, Lyle. Presidents.” She throws her hands up, incredulous. “And you think you’ll be banished from the world because of one mistake? Please. You’re not that important.”

The words cut—but not the way I expect. Not like an insult. More like a lifeline being thrown to a man too stupid to stop drowning himself.

I stare at her, something inside me cracking open. Not breaking—expanding. She’s right. She’s always been right about me.

“You’re not that important,” I repeat, and suddenly I’m laughing, a rusty sound I barely recognize. “Goddamn, Maria.”

Her lips quirk up. “I’m serious. The world won’t end. We won’t end.”

I reach for her hand, pulling her closer. “When did you get so wise?”

“Around the time you got so stupid,” she says, but there’s no bite to it.

I lean in, pressing my forehead against hers. Her breath catches as my hands find her waist. Something quiet passes between us—that same feeling that’s been there for years, never quite gone no matter how many arguments or deployments or silences we’ve endured.

“I love you,” I whisper against her mouth.

She answers by closing the distance, her lips soft but insistent against mine. The kiss deepens, and I back her against the counter, lifting her onto it in one fluid motion. Her legs wrap around my waist, ankles locking behind me.

“The kids?” I manage between kisses. Her hands slide into my hair, pulling me closer as she whispers against my lips, “Bed.”

I glance toward the hallway where our kids are sleeping.

“A hurricane won’t wake them,” she assures me, reading my hesitation.

“Still,” I say, my voice rough with want, “we shouldn’t scar them anymore.” I add this last part softly, remembering the arguments they’ve overheard, the tension they’ve felt.

She nods, already kissing my neck, her lips finding that spot just below my ear. A shudder passes through me as she bites down gently, then soothes the sting with her tongue. The contrast of sharp pain and soft pleasure makes my knees weak.

I slip my hands under her hips and lift her from the counter.

She wraps her legs tighter around my waist, and I stumble slightly, knocking into the refrigerator.

It takes me longer than necessary to navigate the dark hallway and stairs, but I manage to get us to the bedroom in one piece, kicking the door closed behind us.

The moonlight spills through the blinds as I toss Maria onto our bed. Her hair fans out across the pillow, her eyes glinting in the darkness. I turn back to lock the door, pulling my shirt over my head as I make my way back to her.

She watches me with hungry eyes as I strip completely, my clothes dropping forgotten to the floor. The mattress dips as I climb in beside her. Maria wriggles out of her remaining clothes, tossing them over the edge of the bed with a playful smile.

She giggles as I kiss her chest, the sound vibrating against my lips. I reach out, fumbling for the lamp, and switch it on. Soft golden light bathes her skin, highlighting every curve, every familiar line of her body.

She groans against my lips, turning on her right side to reach for the lamp. I catch her wrist, transferring it to my right hand while her other arm remains trapped beneath her pillow.

"Lyle," she moans, her voice catching as my lips trail down her neck.

"I want to see you," I tell her, my voice husky with need. The soft glow illuminates every inch of her body, and I drink in the sight of her.

"I'm not..." she whispers breathlessly, "I'm not a young woman anymore."

I stop immediately, lifting my head to look at her.

With my left hand, I grasp her hip possessively, feeling the softness there that wasn't present when we first met.

"This is mine," I say firmly, my fingers pressing into her flesh.

"Every year, every stretch mark. Mine. Don't you dare try to hide from me. "

She looks away, unconvinced, vulnerability written across her features. I soften my approach, leaning down to kiss her lips gently. "I love you," I murmur against her mouth. "Your body. You hear me?"

I move my hand to her stomach, the place that carried our babies. My fingers trace the silvery lines there, each one a memory of the life we've built together. She nods slowly, her eyes finding mine, vulnerability giving way to something warmer.

Letting go of her hand, I smirk and grab her breast, feeling her nipple harden against my palm. "Now let this old man do what he wants," I say, voice rough with desire. She giggles as my lips replace my hand, her laughter vibrating against my mouth.

"Old man," she teases, still on her side, fingers threading through my hair. "You still act like the sixteen-year-old who saw boobs for the first time."

"Hey," I mumble against her skin, "you'd be fascinated too if the first car you ever drove was a Ferrari."

She smiles, arching into my touch. "Ferrari, huh?"

"Damn right," I say, trailing kisses down her body. "And I still can't believe I get to drive it every day."