Page 26 of Open Secrets
Her brow furrows. “What are you talking about?”
Either she’s a damn good actress, or she really has no idea. My chest tightens, but the words tear out anyway.
“I had an abortion when I was nineteen. With your brother.”
Anna’s mouth falls open. She stares at me like I just slapped her. Then she looks away, struggling. “Oh. Wow. I mean… it was your choice, right?”
I narrow my eyes, fury rising hot. “Are you really gonna pretend you weren’t the one who told your mom?”
Her head jerks back. “What?”
I take a step closer, voice low and scathing. “After your idiot brother got drunk and told you.”
Her eyes widen, still blank with shock. “Maria, I… I didn’t know.”
I narrow my eyes. “Are you actually pretending your brother didn’t tell you—after I had to leave early at your cousin Tate’s wedding?”
Anna frowns, thinking. “I… remember that. I left right after you did, because of a client.”
I shake my head, not buying it. “So, who drove his drunk ass home?”
She hesitates, then shrugs. “I don’t know. Even if I did, I’d never tell my mom.”
I shake my head. “Who else could he have told?”
Anna’s face twists in confusion—then she freezes, eyes cutting sideways.
I follow her gaze to the back door. But it’s not something she’s looking at. It’s something she’s hearing. The sound of loud laughter spilling out from inside.
And just like that, I know.
The air rushes out of my chest. I go still. My voice is barely a whisper. “Bethany.”
We both stay frozen, the truth hanging sharp and ugly between us.
Finally, I find my voice, low and shaking with fury. “Anna, if you don’t want me to break her face, I suggest you take her and leave. Now.”
Anna nods quickly, guilt spilling over her features. “I’m so sorry.” She doesn’t wait for me to answer, just hurries inside.
I stay out there, rooted to the spot, until I hear the slam of doors, the rumble of engines, two cars pulling away.
Only then do I exhale, force my shoulders to loosen. I turn back, and call out, voice steady again.
“Kids—dinner!”
Their laughter spills toward me, feet pounding across the grass, glow sticks clattering to the patio.
Lyle’s gonna need shields, all four of them.
Chapter Eight
Lyle — Present
Dinner feels… good. Better than most nights. We sit around the table, the six of us, bowls of pasta steaming, garlic bread vanishing in record time. Forks scrape against plates, overlapping chatter bouncing off the walls.
Remi actually talks tonight—about a game, some shot he made, his voice animated in that way it only gets when he forgets I’m listening. Taylor rolls her eyes but adds her own story, something about a group project where she had to do all the work. August interrupts every five seconds with jokes that barely make sense, and Rain—God, Rain laughs so hard she almost spits water across the table, clutching her fox like even it finds August funny.
I should be soaking this in. My kids, loud, alive, filling the house with a kind of noise that most men would kill to come home to.
