Page 36 of Open Secrets
Maria shakes her head, biting her lip like she already knows, like she’s heard this excuse before.
“It’s my job,” I say finally, the words sounding weak even to my own ears. “It’s what I signed up for.”
Nina doesn’t let up. “You’ve said that. But lots of captains don’t deploy nearly as often. This isn’t just about the Army. This is about you. So I’ll ask again—why do you keep going?”
My chest tightens, my hands balling into fists on my knees. I can feel Maria’s stare on me, burning, waiting.
“Because…” I swallow hard. “Because that’s what Connelly men do.”
Nina tilts her head, waiting, inviting me to keep going.
“My father served,” I say, voice rough. “And his father before him. Connellys wear the uniform. We fight. We don’t stay home—we serve. That’s our pride. That’s our bloodline. And I—” My voice cracks before I can stop it. “I didn’t want to be the one who broke that. I didn’t want to be the weak one.”
The silence is brutal. Maria’s breath shudders out across the room, sharp, like my words have split her open in a new place.
Nina leans forward slightly, her voice steady but unrelenting. “So tell me, Lyle—do you expect your son to serve? Or your daughter?”
The question lands like a round to the chest. I blink at her, caught off guard. “No,” I answer instantly, shaking my head. “God, no.”
Her brows lift, calm but pointed. “Why not? They’re Connellys too, aren’t they?”
I freeze. The words echo in my head—my own words, just minutes ago. Connellys serve. Connellys fight. It’s our bloodline.
But now? Now the thought of Remi in uniform, of Taylor or Rain or even little August following me down this path—my stomach twists, with bile climbing up my throat.
I lower my gaze, my voice cracking as the truth scrapes out. “They’re… they’re my kids.”
For a second, no one breathes.
Then something warm presses against my arm. Maria’s hand, sliding across the space between us, her fingers interlocking with mine. It’s small, tentative—like testing if the bridge will hold.
I grip back, almost desperate. Not hard, not enough to hurt, but enough to say I feel it. I hear you. I’m here.
Maria doesn’t look at me. Her gaze stays fixed forward, wet and burning. But she doesn’t pull away either.
Dr. Nina leans back slightly, her eyes flicking to the faint scar running along my jaw.
“You said you got hurt,” she says quietly. “Was that recent?”
I shrug. “A year ago.”
“And did you see a therapist afterward?”
I nod, not sure where she’s going with this.
“Together?” she presses.
I shake my head.
Her gaze shifts to Maria. “So you didn’t see anyone.”
I answer for her before Maria can roll her eyes. “Maria believes in toughing it out.”
Maria scoffs. “Why would I need to see a therapist?”
“Well,” Dr. Nina says evenly, “what was your reaction when you found out your husband had been hurt?”
Maria’s jaw tightens. She shakes her head, a bitter laugh escaping. “I didn’t find out. Not from the army. Another wife from his unit hadn’t heard from her husband on their daughter’s birthday, so she asked around. None of us had heard. So, as the captain’s wife, I made the call to command—and that’s how I found out they’d been MIA longer than anyone bothered to tell us.”
