Page 35 of Open Secrets (Infidelity #5)

Maria – One Year Later

“Shit. Fuck. Dammit.”

The string of curses drifts out of the downstairs bathroom. I pause at the doorway and peek inside to find Lyle flat on his back, half-buried under the sink, fiddling with a wrench.

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask.

His muffled reply comes from somewhere in the pipes. “What does it look like? The fucking pipe cracked.”

“Can’t you just shut the main line off? We’re gonna be late and you’re gonna ruin that tux.”

Another curse. Then, “It’ll just take a minute.”

I fold my arms. “We don’t have a minute. I’m the maid of honour. I kind of have to be there.”

Silence.

“And in case you forgot,” I add, “you’re walking her down the aisle, Lyle.”

That gets him. He scoots out from under the sink, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, a streak of something brown clinging to his lapel.

“Don’t,” he warns as my face twists.

I grab the scrub brush I’d used on the tub earlier and swipe him clean. Thankfully, it’s just dust bunnies. This house seems to breed them in corners and vents, but I remind myself it sat empty for a year—of course it’s got ghosts of dust everywhere.

Once he’s scrubbed, washed, and vaguely human again, I herd him outside like a cranky teenager.

It takes forever to back out of the driveway. Our neighbours apparently own three cars and insist on parking all of them in front of our house. Lyle convinced me not to go nuclear about it, but as we scrape the curb, I decide that’s over. This house is ours, and they’re going to learn it.

And what a house. The second we saw it, we knew it was ours, well I did.

Lyle needed some convincing. Huge property with a fully enclosed backyard.

Five bedrooms, master on the ground floor—perfect.

No pool yet, but more than enough space to build one.

It needed repairs, but with Lyle’s VA loan and his pension, we got it for a steal.

Now, a year later, it’s ours in every sense. Dust bunnies, cranky pipes, nosy neighbours and all.

As we drive, I casually run my hand through his hair. “You’re so good at the house stuff.”

He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “Hmm.”

“You know… do you ever miss going out?”

“I do go out. I’m going out now.”

“To do something other than errands,” I press.

He sighs. “Where are you going with this?”

I drop my hand into my lap. “Fine. I love you, Lyle, but you’ve become a grumpy-gus and I’ve had it.”

His mouth opens. “Well, forgive me—”

“I get that this transition to civilian life hasn’t been as easy as either of us thought,” I cut in, “but I think it’s time to get back out there.”

He frowns, confused. “Back out where?”

“Clay gave you that dean’s number. Why don’t you call him?”

Lyle puffs out a breath. “A pity job from my brother-in-law.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s not a pity job. They need someone with authority to wrangle those spoiled kids. And if you’re on payroll, we’ll probably get a faculty discount if one of ours ever wants to go there.”

That makes him scratch his head. “That’s right.”

I grin. “So, will you give him a call?”

He looks at me as we roll to a stoplight. “Have I really been that bad?”

I purse my lips. “Have I gotten my puppy yet?”

He groans and rolls his eyes. “I’ll call him—and you can get that damn puppy.”

My smile breaks wide. I lean over the console and kiss his cheek.

He chuckles. “Careful.”

Laughing, I settle back in my seat. “How does your dad feel about you walking Anna down the aisle?”

“Hurt,” Lyle admits, eyes still on the road. “Even if the old man doesn’t want to admit it.”

I wince. “What did he expect after the scene he made at the engagement dinner?”

Lyle winces too, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. “Yeah… but in his defence, a chocolate fountain is way too easy to topple over.”

I give him a look, then shift to a more serious tone. “Is everything okay with your dad? It’s not like General Connelly to cause a scene.”

He sighs, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “He’s having a hard time with Clay’s age and I guess he enjoyed that open bar a bit too much.”

I shake my head. “Still can’t believe he broke his foot the week before her wedding.”

“I can,” Lyle says, “he’s old. I’m surprised he only broke his foot.”

“He should be happy his daughter bagged someone ten years younger,” I mutter ignoring him.

Lyle shrugs, one hand loose on the wheel. “Sometimes it feels like my dad thrives on tension. Things are finally civil between you and him, so now he’s pissed Anna off instead.”

I huff a laugh. “Well, maybe she’ll get an apology in five years too.”

“One can hope.”

We roll into the lot, the car humming quiet as he eases into a space.

Before I can unbuckle, he says quietly, “I hope you know—I don’t regret it.”

I turn back to him. “What?”

“I might be having a tough time,” he admits, voice low, “but I don’t regret leaving.”

A smile tugs at my mouth as I reach over and take his hand. Warm, steady. “I know,” I whisper.

He takes a breath, squeezes once, then lets go. “Come on, before Anna gets pissed off.”

We hurry inside, splitting off—me toward the dressing room, Lyle toward the front to make sure his dad actually found a seat.

As I walk, my heels clicking loudly on the tile, I can’t help but remember how awkward it was when Orson Connelly apologized.

If you can even call it that.

I don’t think the man has apologized to anyone in his life. Watching him try was like watching a gazelle take its first steps—shaky, unnatural, almost painful to witness.

“I suppose what I’m trying to say,” he’d stammered, stiff-backed and red-faced, “is that… well… I am sorry. I should not have taken sides without hearing yours. And… for what I said. Now I know I was the pathetic one. The man who failed to help his own grandchild.”

To be honest, I hadn’t really cared if he apologized. It’s not like Orson and I have ever been close. Still, it was nice to hear—and nice to know future Thanksgivings won’t be unbearably awkward if I ever get stuck next to him at the table.

I push the memory aside as I slip into the dressing room just as the makeup artist finishes the last touches on Anna.

She’s still in a robe, her hair and face flawless, glowing in that bridal way that makes even me want to tear up.

She flashes me a quick wave before disappearing into the bathroom with her gown draped carefully over her arms.

Clay and Anna never wanted a huge bridal party—it’s just me on her side, and Clay’s brother on his. Simple. Intimate. But it also means there’s no buffer, no one else to help with last-minute chaos.

We have to hurry—the rest of the guests are already being seated. And we’re late.

I usher Anna along, helping her with the last of it—something borrowed, something blue.

She murmurs that her mom just left to track down her dad, and I bite my tongue, pretending not to hear the sharp edge in her voice.

Instead, I gush over the sparkle of her earrings, the way her veil falls just right.

It steadies her, just enough, and together we head down.

The ceremony is beautiful. Simple, elegant, everything they wanted. August carries the rings down the aisle, looking absurdly mature in his tux, and my heart swells. I smile through tears, trying not to blot my makeup with the tissues I stashed in my bouquet.

Later, after the customary dances—the bride and groom, the best man and maid of honour—I barely have time to catch my breath before Lyle finds me. Without a word, he whisks me onto the dance floor, his hand firm at the small of my back, his grin infectious.

I laugh as he twirls me around. “What are you so happy about?”

“Life,” he says. “You.”

I smile, looping my hands around his neck. “Do you think they’ll be happy?”

He glances toward Anna and Clay, laughing with a circle of friends, then nods. “I think they will be.”

“Like us?” I ask.

He smirks faintly. “They can try.”