Page 32 of Open Secrets (Infidelity #5)

Lyle — Present

“Hi, big brother.”

Anna slides into the booth across from me, setting her bag down with a thump.

“Hey,” I say, leaning back with my coffee. “You get here okay?”

She nods, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Actually, yeah. It was nice to get away from wedding planning for once. Mom and Clay’s mom seem to think every lunch break is the time to decide a million things at once.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “They still fighting?”

“Like cats and dogs.” She groans, dropping her forehead into her hand for a second before looking up again. “Seriously, I’m two seconds away from banning them both from any planning sessions.”

I sip my coffee, trying to sound casual. “Maria told you not to let them start in the first place.”

Anna huffs. “I thought it would be easier that way. Neither Maria nor I have the time to plan a wedding from scratch, and Bethany—” she makes a face “—seems to be taking not being my maid of honour a little too personally.”

I grimace. That’s my opening. “Actually, that’s why I asked you to meet me.”

Her brows knit. “Wedding planning?”

“No.” I shake my head, fingers drumming the coffee cup. “Bethany.”

Her whole posture changes. She leans in, wary. “Okay…”

So, I tell her. Everything.

How Bethany and I stayed friends after our stupid hookup.

How I let the truth about the abortion slip.

How she twisted it, exaggerated, lied when she told our mom.

And most importantly, how she drove a wedge between Maria and our family for years.

By the time I finish, my coffee’s gone cold.

My stomach feels the same. “I know I have no right to ask this,” I say finally.

“But I just… I can’t even look at her anymore.

I get that I made the mistake, but Anna—please.

Don’t invite her to the wedding. Maria doesn’t even know I’m here asking you this, and she’d kill me if she did, but… please.”

Anna stares at me like I just sprouted a second head. She blinks once, twice. Then:

“Are you done?”

I nod slowly.

Her voice comes out sharp enough to make the entire diner turn their heads. “Are you fucking kidding me ?”

“Anna—” I hiss, glancing around as people glance over.

She doesn’t care. Her eyes flash as she leans across the table. “Did it never occur to you to tell me this before? Jesus, Lyle.”

I say, weakly, “She was your best friend.”

Anna’s jaw tightens. Her voice cracks like a whip.

“And you’re my family. Maria is my family.

Jesus, Lyle—I was pissed when I thought Bethany accidentally told Mom, but I forgave her because she’s a religious nut who couldn’t keep her mouth shut.

But this?” She shakes her head, eyes burning.

“She purposefully isolated Maria while she was going through the worst time of her life. How could you not say anything?”

My throat feels like sandpaper. “So, you’re gonna—?” I start, hoping for some sign of mercy.

“I’m gonna more than uninvite her .” Anna’s voice rises, and I know she doesn’t care that half the diner can probably hear us. “She’s getting a reality check and a punch from me, if I don’t talk myself out of it first.”

Just then, our food arrives, like the universe has the worst sense of timing.

The waiter slides a plate of chicken-fried steak in front of me and sets down Anna’s plate of stacked pancakes, the butter melting down the sides.

He drops off a basket of biscuits, too—because this is Texas, and apparently carbs are mandatory.

“Thanks,” I mutter automatically. Anna thanks him, sweet as pie, and then the second he walks away she’s back on me.

Fork poised above her plate, she shakes her head. “I mean, I knew Bethany was spiralling. She hated getting older, hated not being married, hated the pity looks. But to try and ruin your marriage? That’s not just desperate, that’s cruel.”

I push the gravy around my plate, no appetite left. “She told me she didn’t care.”

Anna snorts, stabbing into her pancakes.

“Oh, she cares. Of course she cares. All those church people asking her when she’s settling down and having kids, then I get engaged to Clay…

” She hacks off another bite, chewing like she’s offended by the syrup itself.

“…She couldn’t stand it. So, she’s been avoiding me. ”

Pouring a generous amount of syrup on top of her pancakes Anna mutters. “I was giving her space. Being nice. But I’m done.”

“Why do all the women in my life have knives in their hand when they’re threatening someone.?” I ask, half-joking, more than half worried.

With her mouth full, Anna shoots me a look. “What?”

I clench my teeth. “Close your mouth. I actually have a reputation.”

She smirks, syrup glittering on her fork. “What reputation?” She chews slow, eyes dancing. Then she lets out a laugh and a piece of pancake flies off her fork, sails across the table, and lands on my napkin like it was aimed.

For a second I just stare at the pancake on my lap, then at her—equal parts annoyed and amused.

“You can’t take me,” she says casually, wiping syrup off her chin.

“Please,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You’d cry in five minutes.”

She grins. “You’d probably cry first.”

We both laugh, the sound easy and good, and it beats the alternative.

Anna leans forward, tone levelling. “Look, Lyle—I’m gonna take care of Bethany, but you can’t keep doing this.”

I nod quickly. “I won’t ever befriend an ex again. Ever.”

She rolls her eyes so hard it’s a wonder they don’t stick. “That’s not what I mean. I mean your typical ‘I’m right, end of story’ bullshit.”

“What?” I ask, genuinely thrown.

She sets down her fork, fixes me with that little-sister glare that hasn’t lost its edge since we were kids.

“Ever since we were little, you’ve taken a stand and come hell or high water—or who it hurts—you don’t budge.

In high school, Mom and Mr Silva clashed so bad she almost pulled us out of school, but you refused to stop seeing Maria.

And I supported that, because back then it was about love. And about sticking it to mom.”

She leans in, voice sharp. “But now? You’re an adult. Start acting like it.”

I scrunch my brows, irritation prickling. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Anna throws her hands up, exasperated. “Literally anyone in this universe will tell you being friends with an ex—even a one-night stand—is a bad idea. Especially when your wife asks you not to. It would’ve cost you nothing not to do it.

Nothing. But you did it anyway, because Captain Lyle decided it was fine, and to hell with everyone else. ”

Her words hit like a body blow—because she’s not wrong.

I lean back in the booth, staring at the condensation sliding down my glass. For a second, I’m speechless.

“You always had tunnel vision,” Anna adds, softer now. “It’s what makes you a good soldier. But it’s also what makes you a shitty husband and brother sometimes. You can’t just decide what’s right for everyone and expect us to live with it.”

My head snaps up. “How am I a shitty brother?”

She throws her napkin onto the table, eyes flashing. “You knew why Maria was icing me out. And all those times I called you, venting about how I never got to see the kids or her anymore? You told me to let it go, said she was stressed. All the while knowing why it was happening.”

I open my mouth to argue, but the words die on my tongue. She’s right. God, she’s right.

“I’m sorry,” I manage, my throat tight. “I didn’t…”

“You didn’t care about me,” she cuts in, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. “Maria used to be one of my closest friends. She’d let me vent, give me advice. And suddenly I didn’t have that anymore. You just—let it happen.”

I straighten in the booth, defensive without meaning to. “I gave you advice.”

Anna barks out a humourless laugh. “Telling me to ‘hang in there’ when I mentioned being passed over for junior partner twice was not advice, Lyle.”

I rub the back of my neck, shame burning hot. “I thought I was—hell, I don’t know—being supportive.”

She shakes her head, reaching for her purse. “You weren’t supporting me. You were covering for her. And in the process, you left me out in the cold.”

The words hit harder than I expect, because underneath the sharpness, I can hear it—the hurt little sister who counted on me and didn’t get me when she needed.

I press my lips together, guilt churning in my gut. “You’re right,” I admit quietly. “I screwed that up.”

“Ya, you did,” Anna mutters, bracing her hand on the table like she’s about to push herself up.

I grab her wrist before she can move. “Wait—don’t go. Don’t go angry, okay? I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

Her jaw clenches, but she eases back into her seat, folding her hands across her chest. We sit there in silence for a long beat.

When she finally raises an eyebrow and shifts like she might leave again, the panic makes me blurt, “I’m a horrible brother who didn’t think about you, and I’m sorry.”

Nothing. Not even a twitch.

“And I suck,” I add.

That earns me the faintest crack in her armour. “Yes,” she says flatly. “You do.”

The waiter appears, his eyes darting between Anna’s massacred pancakes and my untouched steak. “Anything else for y’all?”

Anna gives him a bright, too-sweet smile. “A milkshake. Chocolate.” She turns to me, eyes gleaming like she’s daring me to disagree.

I stare at my cold steak and mutter, “Make it two.”

The waiter nods, clearly relieved to escape, and disappears.

I try again, carefully. “So, what’s going on at work?”

Anna shrugs, gaze fixed on her destroyed food. “Meh.”

I don’t let it go. “C’mon. Tell me. Markus said you were handling his case really well.”

Her lips twitch, but it’s not a smile—it’s something smaller, sadder. “Of course he did.”

Something’s wrong. I can hear it in her tone. “Anna. What is it?”

She takes a breath, then another, her eyes flicking toward the window like maybe she can toss the words out there instead of at me. “I thought the reason I wasn’t getting anywhere—partner-wise—was because I wasn’t ruthless enough. You know, not cutthroat like the guys. So…”

Her voice drops, and she presses her napkin flat on the table, smoothing the wrinkles with her fingers. “…I kind of became a bitch.”

“I don’t believe that,” I say right away.

She gives me this sad little smile. “You should. I’ve been a slimy, good-for-nothing, woman-shaming lawyer lately. The kind of person I swore I wouldn’t be.”

“Anna,” I lean forward, shaking my head, “that’s not who you are.”

She shrugs, looking down at her plate. “Feels like it is. Somewhere along the line, I stopped being nice and just… leaned into being the asshole in the room. And yeah, it gets results, but it doesn’t feel good.”

“You’re not a bad person for fighting hard,” I tell her. “You just forgot you can fight and still be you.”

She looks up at me, eyes tired but curious. “And how exactly do I do that?”

“Start small,” I say. “Be the Anna that used to believe she was awesome. The one who gave a shit. You don’t have to prove yourself by being mean.”

She lets out a half-laugh, half-sigh. “I’ll get right on that.”

She smiles, thanking the waiter as he brings over our milkshakes.

“Tell me what else is going on,” Anna says, softer this time. “The truth.”

I stare at my milkshake for a beat, the straw trembling between my fingers.

“All right,” I say, and the words spill before I can stop them. “You want the truth? Fine. No edits, no sermon.”

She gives me a look—half dare, half relief—and I start from the beginning, because the truth doesn’t come neat. It comes jagged. Messy.

“We opened our marriage,” I say, watching her face while the story unfurls.

I tell her about Connor—how stupidly jealous I was of him, how that envy led me down the road to the biggest mistake of my life.

About Cece. The arrangement that wasn’t supposed to matter, and how it turned into blackmail that could tear everything down.

Finally, I tell her about the confrontation in the hotel room. How Maria stood there, cool as steel, and told Cece to back the hell off.

Anna’s eyes widen, then she leans back with a laugh. “I knew Maria was a badass.”

That gets a real smile out of me. “Yeah. She is.”

Anna props her chin on her hand, studying me. “And now?”

I shrug, shoulders heavy. “Now we’re just… waiting. It’s been a week. Debra swings by the hotel every morning, and Cece’s car is still parked there.”

Anna’s mouth curls into a smirk. “You know what will light a fire under her ass?”

My brows draw together. “Anna…” My voice comes out warning, but she’s already got that look.

That same wicked look she had when she was five and convinced me to wear a tutu to her dance recital.

My stomach dips. “What are you thinking?”

Her smirk only deepens. “Let’s just say you should be happy I’m a lawyer.”