Page 41 of Open Secrets
The laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it, rough and shaky but real. I press a hand to my mouth, shaking my head. “You have such a way with words.”
She smirks, raising her nacho like a toast. “Yeah, well, lucky for you, my bullshit detector works overtime. And right now, it’s telling me you need another drink.”
Debra does what she always does—slaps sense into me with words blunt enough to bruise, then somehow stitches me back together with nachos and sarcasm. By the time my glass is empty, I actually feel lighter. Not whole, not fixed—but lighter.
Unfortunately, lighter also means tipsy. Which quickly turns into the floor tilting under me every time I try to stand.
Debra raises her brows as I sway. “You’re not driving.”
I throw my arms wide, wobbling dramatically. “Oh, but officer, I walk so straight.”
She rolls her eyes, already fishing my phone out of my purse. “I’m calling your husband.”
“Nooo,” I groan, grabbing at it too late. “He’ll say I’m a—” hiccup “—mess.”
Debra smirks. “Youarea mess.” She presses the phone to her ear, ignoring me.
By the time Lyle walks into the bar, I’m slumped sideways in the booth, humming tunelessly while Debra tries to keep me upright. The moment I spot him, though—broad shoulders, smouldering smile. I straighten and point, grinning like a fool.
“There he isss,” I announce to the entire bar. “Mr. Captain Sexy himself.”
Debra chokes on her drink. Lyle freezes mid-step, colour rising in his cheeks as the nearest tables turn to look.
“Maria,” he mutters, jaw tight but his mouth twitching like he’s fighting a smile.
I lean over Debra, sing-songing, “Can’t help it—damn sexy, damn sexy—” until the words collapse into giggles.
He reaches us, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Sorry,” he tells Debra, hooking an arm around me to haul me gently to my feet.
Debra just smirks. “She’s your problem now, Captain Sexy.”
I cackle, clinging to his chest. “See? She agrees.”
Lyle huffs, shaking his head as he steers me toward the door. “Christ, Maria.” His voice is low, half-exasperated, but his arm never wavers—steady around my waist, warm against my back, carrying me out like I’m breakable even when I’m acting like a fool.
We walk in silence to the car, the night air cool against my flushed cheeks. He opens the passenger door, guiding me down gently, like I might shatter if he lets go too fast.
As he rounds the hood and slides into the driver’s seat, I blurt it out, small and slurred: “I’m sorry I’m such a mess.”
He exhales, not sharp, just steady. “You’re allowed.”
I smile sadly, turning my face toward the window so he won’t see my eyes sting. He reaches for the keys, but before he can turn the ignition, the words tumble out again, heavier this time, stripped of laughter.
“Why do you even want me, Lyle? You could always get someone younger, shinier, not such a disaster. The kids would probably choose her anyway. She’d be sweet and nice and… not their evil—”
“Stop.” His hand slams lightly against the steering wheel, not angry, just firm enough to cut through my spiral. He turns toward me, his voice rough. “Stop, Maria. We are not divorcing.I am not leaving you. Don’t you get it? I love you. And I’m not perfect—Christ, you of all people know that—but I’m yours. Always.”
I bite my lip hard, holding back the sob that threatens to claw its way up. No words come out, only silence.
He watches me for a moment, then covers my hand with his, warm and solid, anchoring me.
“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” he says quietly, with that Captain’s steadiness he wears like a second skin. “We’re gonna go home. You’re gonna sleep this off. And tomorrow…” His thumb brushes over my knuckles. “Tomorrow you’re gonna tell me everything you’ve been protecting me from. All of it.”
I nod, but it’s shaky, hesitant, my throat thick with the truth I’ve buried for years.
He has no idea what he’s asking for.
None.
