Page 4 of Open Secrets (Infidelity #5)

Maria — Present

I draw a breath before pushing open the bedroom door.

Lyle sits on the edge of the bed with a duffel leaning against his leg, his head is in his palms like he does when he’s stressed.

“You’re leaving?” I ask, my voice too soft.

His head lifts, caught like a kid with his hand in the jar. “Well, I thought—”

I close the door behind me, the click final, and let the breath leave me all at once. “I don’t want you to leave.”

He shrugs, his shoulders tight, his eyes fixed on the floor. “You said you weren’t happy.”

I cross the room slowly and lower myself onto the bench at the foot of the bed.

“I’m not,” I admit, words catching as I lick my lips, searching for something gentler than the truth.

“But not because of you. I don’t want to end our marriage.

I just don’t think I can survive this—” my throat closes, “—sham of a marriage anymore.”

Lyle shifts, then pushes himself to his feet, closing the short distance until he sits beside me. His body is warm, solid.

“Sham of a marriage?” he asks, quiet but sharp.

I tilt my head, eyes stinging. “Come on, Lyle. We sleep with other people. We barely spend three months a year together. And even then it’s like—work. Managing the house, the bills, the kids. Not us.”

His jaw works. “It’s… what?” The word carries more weight than it should.

I tip my head back, staring at the ceiling, fighting tears that won’t stay down. “I know it was my idea, but it just…” A sob rises, and I choke it back.

His arm comes around me, pulling me against his chest. He holds me the way he always does — steady, protective — even when he’s the reason I’m breaking.

“When you went MIA,” I whisper, my voice cracking, “I thought that was it. You were dead. They were going to find your body and I’d have to tell the kids. Tell your parents.”

My hand drags down my face, nails scratching skin, trying to ground myself. “And then this thought hit me. If you died… I wouldn’t have been the last person who kissed you. Or held you. Or loved you. Someone else would’ve had that.”

His arm tightens around me.

“I know it’s a stupid fucking reason,” I go on, breath hitching. “Who even thinks that, when their husband might be dead? But once it was there—it wouldn’t leave.”

His hand slides to my thigh holding steady. “I have the same thought,” he says, voice low. “Every time something bad happens. Or anything, really.”

I turn toward him, blinking through tears, a fragile smile tugging at my lips. “What?”

He shrugs, eyes flicking away. His jaw clenches like saying more will cost him.

“I haven’t really… done the whole open thing in a while,” he admits finally, voice rough. “I mean, I did before. But after the team—”

I catch his hand, gripping it tight, anchoring both of us.

About roughly, a year ago, Lyle and his team were ambushed during a mission. I wasn’t told all the details but I can guess, considering six went in and only two came out.

Silence stretches between us. Heavy, not empty.

“Do you ever wish we’d never opened it?” I ask. My voice is soft, but the question lands like a hammer.

Lyle’s eyes flick to mine, then away. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

My chest tightens. “Me too. More than sometimes.”

His thumb rubs over my knuckles, distracted, almost absent. “At first… I thought it was freedom. No more being alone or struggling.”

I swallow hard. “And now?”

He exhales, long and tired, and leans his forehead against the side of mine. “I hate it,” he says. “I hate the thought of anyone else touching you. And I hate myself for letting it happen.”

The words crack something in me. Tears spill hot and fast. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because you asked for it,” he says simply. “And I’d rather share you than lose you.”

The sob I’ve been holding breaks loose. I try to cover my mouth, but he pulls my hand away, forcing me to look at him.

“Never again,” he says, fierce. “We don’t do it again. I don’t care what it costs. I’d rather fight with you, just you, than lose one more second to anyone else.”

I smile through my tears, “what will you say to the buddies that worship you for our marriage?”

“I know I already said this,” he murmurs through a sigh, “but I’m so sorry about what Markus said.”

“I get he’s hurting,” I say. “I feel for him. But honestly? I’m glad you punched him.”

He huffs a short laugh, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

I sniff, a laugh slipping out despite myself. “You remember the last time you punched someone for me?”

He finally smiles — small, crooked, real. “How could I forget?”

Twenty-Four Years Ago – Galveston, Texas. 2001. “Hey,” Lyle said, sliding into the passenger seat of my car. “What was so important you drove all the way to Galveston?”

The words tumbled out before I could stop them. “I’m pregnant.”

Not the plan. I had meant to ease him in, breathe, maybe even build up to it. But instead, it exploded out of me.

His head whipped toward me. “Pregnant. Like—with a baby?”

“No, with a chihuahua.” I said sarcastically, my hands gripping the wheel. “It’s yours.”

He blinked, nodding once. “Yeah, I got that. You wouldn’t drive four hours from Austin just to tell me you were pregnant with Chad’s kid.”

“Who’s Chad?” I snapped.

He stared at me, eyes bulging. “Does it matter? You’re… do you want to have this?”

“No,” I blurted, then shook my head. “I don’t know. I just—I’m nineteen, I’m in college. If my dad finds out—God, if your mom—”

His face paled. “My mom. Jesus. Mom.”

I tilted my head, dry. “If she found out we had sex on her rug…”

Lyle let out a helpless, shaky laugh. “She would burn the rug. With me still on it.”

I pressed my palms to my knees, my whole-body trembling. “Where’d you even buy the condom? At that tiny gas station with the Confederate flag in the window?”

He shook his head, lips pressed tight. “Forget that. We’re gonna have a—”

“A baby?” I finished, my chest tightening. “Are we?”

“You mean—”

I nodded hard. “I don’t want to be a mom. Not right now. And before you say adoption, neither of our families would ever accept that.”

His jaw flexed, the muscle ticking. “If we do this, we can’t tell anyone.”

“No one,” I whispered.

He looked away, eyes flicking to the window. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I’ve been thinking about it since the moment I found out,” I said, my voice tight.

“Do you need me to take you?”

I shook my head. “That would make it worse. Besides, there aren’t any clinics here. I’ll go to Planned Parenthood in Austin.” I hesitated, searching his face. “You can’t leave before boot camp, right?”

He shook his head. “I’ll go,” I said softly. “I just wanted to tell you.” His voice cracked just a little. “I’m glad you did.”

The silence stretched between us, heavy. Finally, he exhaled. “There really isn’t a clinic in Galveston.”

I huffed out a bitter laugh. “Nope. You can buy roofies on every corner, but you can’t get healthcare.”

Lyle’s voice dipped low. “I miss you.”

I stared at him, unbelieving. “I know you miss me. That’s how we ended up in this situation.”

He shrugged. “I’m just saying, going home for Christmas might have been the best thing I did.”

I just kept staring at him until he said, “Right. I should go.”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

He leaned in, hesitating like he didn’t know if he had the right. His lips brushed my cheek, soft, lingering for a second too long. Not a lover’s kiss. A goodbye.

When he pulled back, his breath ghosted against my skin. I stayed still, unmoving.

Lyle straightened, shoulders stiff, eyes already somewhere else. Without another word, he slipped out the door and disappeared into the darkness, swallowed by it.

I sat long after he was gone, the silence pressing in until I felt hollow.

I’d been feeling off for days—ever since I got back to Austin.

At first, I thought it was the flu, I was powering through the exhaustion until the nausea hit in class.

One moment I was scribbling notes, the next I was bolting into the hallway, collapsing against the wall as my stomach heaved.

I was still crouched there, head between my knees, when the janitor found me.

His muttered comment about “pregnant whores”—landed like a stone in my chest. And I knew. I was one of them.

I had never thought going home for Christmas would mean coming back with an unwanted present.

Lyle and I had run into each other at Conner’s Christmas party, gotten drunk, and ended up at his parents’ place.

They hadn’t been home. We’d laughed too much, reminisced too long, and then—well, you can guess the rest.

I had been doing everything I could to avoid thinking about what it meant.

It did mean something. At least to me. Apparently not to him, considering how fast he bolted, like pregnancy was contagious.

That was the thing, right? He got to walk away.

We both made the mistake, but I was the one left with the consequences.

If I kept it, I was white trash—single mother, waiting tables, living off food banks. If I gave it up, I was the whore who abandoned her baby so she could party. And if I ended it… then I was a murderer.

So, I did what most women in my situation did—quietly dealt with it, no matter how much it destroyed me. I wasn’t ready to be a mom. Worse, no child deserved to be born unwanted, resented. If anyone knew that, it was me.

My mom had left when I was four. I met her once, when I was fourteen—old enough to look like an adult, young enough to still want a mother. I asked her why she left. Naively, stupidly.

Her answer? “I never should’ve had you.”

God, it killed me.

And now there I was, standing in the same place she once had.

Pregnant. With a man who would have married me if I had told his family—but never forgiven me.

By the time I rolled back into Austin, morning light was bleeding across the sky. I had been driving for eight hours straight, running on nerves and bitter coffee. Sleep hadn’t touched me since the test, and I knew it wouldn’t.

Instead of heading to my dorm, I made a call. Within minutes, I had an appointment. Too fast. Too real. I couldn’t just sit in my car any longer, so I pulled into a diner.

The coffee came steaming, but I stirred it until it cooled, never drinking more than a sip before ordering another. I kept imagining life with this baby, each scenario ending the same. I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it.

The thing was, I hadn’t been pro-choice. I had believed abortion was wrong. But everything changed when it was my body, my life on the line—not some irresponsible idiot who got herself pregnant.

An hour disappeared before I knew it, and I found myself parked outside Planned Parenthood. My knuckles ached from gripping the wheel. But I forced myself out of the car, legs trembling, breath shallow.

I hadn’t taken two steps before a man blocked me, his face red, spit flying as he screamed. “Murderer! Murderer!”

I flinched back. A woman hurried toward me, and for a second I felt relief—until she thrust a pamphlet at my chest. “You don’t have to do this. There are families who would love your baby—”

I tried to push past, but the man shadowed me, stepping wherever I moved. His voice was a wall I couldn’t climb.

Then—an arm, strong and familiar, slid around me. I didn’t need to look. I knew it.

Lyle.

He stepped in front of me, shoving the man back. “Back off.”

They didn’t. The woman edged closer, her voice shrill. “Don’t let her do this—”

“Fuck off!” Lyle roared, his face inches from hers.

She stumbled back, but the man surged forward, fury twisting his face. He leaned in, screaming, spit spraying across my cheek.

Lyle’s fist flashed, and the man dropped like a sack of bricks.

The woman shrieked something about assault, but Lyle didn’t flinch. His hand pressed to the small of my back, steady, solid, guiding me through the doors.

Inside, the noise cut off like a switch.

The receptionist looked up, unbothered, sliding a clipboard across the counter when I gave my name. My hand shook as I took it.

I took a seat and Lyle dropped beside me.

The pen hovered useless in my grip. Finally, I turned. “What are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t let you do this alone.” His voice was simple, firm.

Relief flooded me so sharp it hurt. “I—uh—I thought you came to…” My voice trailed.

“Stop you? No. God, no.”

I gave him a look.

He rubbed the back of his neck, wincing. “I’m not ready to be a dad. I mean—I’m still a kid. You’re still a kid. We’re kids. We can’t have a kid.”

A breath shook loose from me. “Relax. I agree with you.”

Lowering my eyes, I started on the form. Halfway through, a question snagged me. My throat tightened. I looked up. “Do you mind if I name you as my emergency contact? I just… I don’t want my dad to—”

His hand landed on my arm, warm and firm. “Of course.”

I managed a small, shaky smile. “I still can’t believe you punched that guy. He deserved it, sure, but isn’t there some rule about hitting civilians?”

Lyle scratched his head, almost sheepish. “Is there?”

A laugh slipped out of me, fragile but real. “You’ve changed.”

He shrugged, his mouth twitching like he was fighting the truth. “I’m growing up, I guess. Learning to stand on my own. It’s still strange, doing whatever the fuck I want without my mom calling.”

I let out a short laugh. “She must love that.”

He shook his head, eyes going distant as I finished the form and handed it to the receptionist. She told me to wait so I headed back to my seat.

“I’m not gonna lie,” he said. “When you dumped me, it hurt.”

I looked at him, startled by the sudden confession. I had hated how I ended things. Regretted it even.

His voice dipped lower. “But now… with my life the way it is, it’s the best thing. For both of us. I see the guys who held on to past relationships, and they’re miserable. Clinging to something that can’t survive. It’s brutal.”

His jaw tightened, his next words pressed through his teeth. “The only reason my parents made it, is because my mom gave up her life for my dad. And I would never want you to do that.”

A nurse opened the inner door, her voice slicing through the hush of the waiting room.

“Maria?”

I rose, legs unsteady, his words still echoing in my chest as I stepped toward her. Just before the door, I glanced back.

Lyle’s eyes met mine. “I’ll be here,” he said, steady as stone.

I managed a small smile before slipping inside.

I should’ve known. He was here. He would never have made me go through this alone.