Page 7 of Open Secrets (Infidelity #5)

Lyle – Present

“She can’t do this anymore.”

This isn’t the first time she’s said those words. The last time—God, the last time—I felt like I was being crushed, like the ground gave out under me. But this time? This time hurts worse.

At first, I thought she meant the open marriage. And hell, I was fine with ending that. More than fine. The thrill of hooking up with women during downtime on base was never worth the heartache. Not compared to her. But I kept quiet because—well, I didn’t start that mess. I just went along with it.

And now? Now she wants me to quit the Army.

I can’t. It’s my life. It was my father’s life, and his father’s before him. Connelly men have been military men for generations, and we take pride in that. In serving our country.

She can’t see that. Can’t see everything the Army’s given us. This house. This life. The steady pay check that’s kept the lights on, put food on the table.

Yeah, we had to pay out of pocket for Rain’s treatment, but the only reason that pocket was heavy enough to pay is because of—guess what—the Army.

She only looks at what it’s taken. Never what it gave.

But even as I run through every defence I’ve got, I can already feel it—my words aren’t gonna be enough.

Not this time. She’s kept so much bottled in for years.

Rain getting sick. Her dad’s stroke. My mom and all the bullshit that came with her.

She swallows it down, pastes on that smile, and keeps moving like nothing’s wrong.

I’ve been begging her to get help. To talk to someone. To unload some of the weight she still carries.

It’s almost ironic, isn’t it? She’s furious at Markus for burying his feelings, for drowning them in booze and bullshit, but she’s doing the exact same thing. Different mask, same trick.

That’s what she needs—not me standing here defending myself, not another fight. She needs someone she can talk to who won’t end up in the blast radius. Someone neutral. But I can’t drag her to a therapist, can’t make her sit on that couch. Not alone, anyway.

An idea starts to form, half desperate, half wild.

I pull my phone out of my pocket, thumb hovering for a second before I press down. The dial tone hums, then clicks, and I start talking to the voicemail of the only number I can think of.

“Hey,” I say, voice low, rougher than I mean it to be. “It’s Lyle. I… I think I need your help with Maria.”

After the call, I sit there waiting, phone heavy in my hand, but Maria never comes back. The fight still buzzes in my veins, but exhaustion drags me under.

I wake to the shrill tone of my ringtone slicing through the dark. Groaning, I fumble for the phone. “What?” My voice is thick, sleep still heavy on me.

“It’s Quinn,” comes the sharp reply. “Markus got arrested last night. DUI. You might wanna bail him out.”

I blink at the ceiling, trying to process. “Huh?”

She sighs. “I’ll send you the doc info too. Good luck.” The line goes dead before I can answer.

I just stare at the screen, jaw tightening. DUI. That idiot.

Before heading to the bathroom, I thumb out a quick text to my sister. Anna—your client’s in jail.

No way am I gonna bail him out. Already did him enough favours when I asked my sister to represent him in his divorce. Big mistake.

Only after hitting send do I drag myself up. When I finally make it to the bathroom, I catch my reflection in the mirror—rumpled, eyes shadowed—and almost laugh at the thought of Markus behind bars.

Skipping the shower, I hit the bathroom, splash water on my face, and head down.

Our house is nothing fancy but solid—two stories, wide living room that spills into the kitchen, office tucked off the hall, patio out back.

When we bought it, upstairs had three bedrooms. We split two of them with partitions years ago, turned them into four.

Renter-friendly, cheap solution, but it worked. Everyone got their own space.

Prime property near base, and it’s ours for free. Perks of the Army. I shove the thought aside. Not now.

The smell of bacon and toast hits me as I hit the stairs.

Down in the kitchen, Maria is at the stove, hair pulled back, moving fast. Rain sits at the counter, swinging her legs, humming to herself while she cradles her juice.

Remi and Taylor are arguing across the table about who gets the long spoon like it’s life or death.

August pads in barefoot, dinosaur clutched under one arm, rubbing his eyes with the other.

He’s dressed yet still looks half asleep.

It’s chaos. Our chaos.

“Morning,” I say, voice still scratchy.

“Morning,” Remi mumbles, already shovelling cereal like we don’t feed him.

Taylor rolls her eyes. “You’re gross.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

Rain sighs dramatically. “Can you both not? Some of us are trying to enjoy our juice in peace.”

That earns her a look from both of them, and for a heartbeat, I almost laugh. Same scene, different day.

Maria slides a plate onto the counter without looking at me. “Eat before it gets cold.”

I pull out a chair, sit down, and try not to notice the way she doesn’t meet my eyes. The way her shoulders stay tight, like she’s holding her breath.

The kids chatter around me, trading jabs, giggling, groaning about the bus, about homework, about teachers who “hate” them. I nod, answer when I’m supposed to, but mostly I just watch her.

When the last bite is gone and the bus horn honks outside, the chaos kicks up again. Backpacks get slung over shoulders, shoes get shoved on the wrong feet, last-minute papers signed.

“Bye!” Rain sings as she bolts out the door.

“Love you!” Taylor calls, already halfway down the driveway.

Remi grunts something that sounds vaguely like goodbye, and August drags his dinosaur out with him, waving back through the glass.

The door shuts. The house exhales.

Maria leans against the counter, bracing on her hands. The quiet is deafening.

“Can we talk? Before you head out?”

She looks at me, and suddenly I can’t stop seeing how tired she is. The dark circles under her eyes. The way her shoulders slope, like she’s been carrying the weight of this house, these kids, this marriage all by herself.

“Can we not right now?” she says quietly. “I have to get to work.”

I push back from the table, standing before I can think better of it. “It’s not—look, I was thinking. You’re right. Something needs to change. And I was thinking… we should see a counsellor.”

Her head snaps up, sceptical. “Like a marriage counsellor?”

“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “I mean, Quinn sent me this doctor’s recommendation.”

Maria’s brow furrows. “You asked Quinn? Markus’ ex?”

I shift, rubbing the back of my neck. “She’s a therapist. Figured she’d know the best one.”

For a second, Maria just stares at me, unreadable. Then she straightens her shoulders, all steel. “Fine. I’ll see her. But, Lyle—” Her voice drops, firm enough to cut. “I’m not changing my mind.”

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I don’t even know what to say. By the time I think of anything, she’s already turning, heading upstairs to get dressed. Probably for work. Probably to escape.

The silence that follows presses in thick. I gather up plates, stack cups, rinse out the sink. My hands move on instinct, cleaning up the mess while the bigger one—us—just sits there, waiting.

I tell myself I should probably get ready too. I don’t have to — today’s technically my day off. But sitting still makes me restless. Makes me think. And thinking never helps. Might as well keep moving.

Maria’s upstairs getting dressed for the clinic. She gets to work in one place, punch a clock, come home. Clean lines. Clear endings. Dentistry is her world, and she’s damn good at it. I’m proud of her for that, but it’s not my world. Not even close.

People think it’s simple for me. Either I’m deployed in some combat zone, or I’m home with my feet up. But that’s not how it works.

When I’m not overseas, I’m still working. I don’t get to sit around. I’m a captain. I’ve got over a hundred soldiers depending on me every day. The Army doesn’t hand out free time just because you’re not deployed.

Half my life is downrange, half of it is here at home. But being home doesn’t mean the job is done. It never quits. Not for me.

I press my palms against the counter, and drop my head. That’s what she never seems to understand. To her, my absence looks like a choice. To me, it’s duty.

And if she’s asking me to choose between the two… I don’t even know what the right answer is.

I leave after Maria does, letting her car pull out first before I follow. The road feels too quiet, my head too loud. I grip the wheel, thumb tapping against the leather, and finally make the call.

Dr. Nina’s office. The receptionist sounds chipper, detached, like she’s already said these words a thousand times today.

“I’m sorry, the first opening we have is Thursday.”

Thursday. Two days from now. It might as well be four years.

I clear my throat. “What about emergency slots?”

There’s a pause, then her voice drops into the careful tone people use when they know they’re about to disappoint you. “We do have one tomorrow morning, but the cost is significantly higher.”

Way above my pay grade. I know before she even says the number. I clench my jaw, force the words out anyway. “We’ll take Thursday.”

She thanks me, offers to send the details, and just like that the line goes dead.

I toss the phone onto the passenger seat and keep driving, the hum of the engine filling the silence.

By the time I pull through the gates of Fort Cavazos, it’s like flipping a switch. The second I step out of the car, posture straightens automatically, shoulders squaring like the weight of the uniform pulls me taller. Home strips me down; here, I’m built back up.

A private spots me crossing the lot and nearly trips over his own boots trying to salute. Nervous, stiff. I nod back, steady and sure, because that’s what he expects. What they all expect.

Inside the company office, two sergeants are waiting, folders already stacked high. Problems lined up in neat rows, waiting for me to solve.

“Morning, Captain.”

“Morning,” I answer, taking the files. Decisions come easy here. Assess, decide, move. No hesitation.

Later, a staff sergeant corners me about training schedules, another about leave requests. I answer without missing a beat, watching the tension drain from their faces once I’ve handed down the call. It’s competence, control, the kind that feeds me like oxygen.

Then one of the younger guys, Zed, asks about Maria. About the kids. His voice is casual, curious, maybe even respectful. I give him a half-smile, a quick “They’re good,” and leave it there. Because that’s what the Captain mask is for: to keep the real cracks out of sight.

Here, I’m unshakable. Here, I give orders and people follow them. At home, every word I say feels like it makes things worse.

This is the moment where most men would talk to a friend, let some of it bleed out before it rots inside. But I don’t have friends anymore. Not really. I have colleagues. Soldiers who look at me like a leader, not a man.

I used to. Back when I was just another kid in uniform. But the day I pinned captain’s bars, politics won. Distance settled in. Everyone became either above me or under me, and no one beside me.

For a split second, I consider calling Markus. Old habits. But then I think of his wreck of a divorce, the bitterness in his voice, the shit he threw at me and Maria. No. That line is burned.

So, I keep moving, file under my arm, mask nailed in place. Captain Connelly. Steady. Reliable. Respected.

Even if at home, I’m none of those things.