Page 72 of Open Secrets
My teeth grind. “And where was I?”
“You were in the shower.”
I grip the handle so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t crack. “And how, exactly, did she even find the house?”
His knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. “I don’t know.”
“Youdon’t know?”
He shakes his head quickly. “I never gave her the address. I swear, Maria. I don’t know how she found it.”
“Are you sure you didn’t let it slip?” I press, voice low and dangerous.
“Why would I?” he shoots back, eyes flashing with a mix of defensiveness and shame.
I shrug bitterly, turning toward the window. “We agreed—no relationships. But you clearly…” My throat closes around the rest, anger and betrayal twisting in my gut.
He tries to take my hand, but I swat him away.
“I’m sorry, okay? It wasn’t easy for me to just… pick up women. So I just—”
“Got a mistress instead,” I cut in, finding my voice.
“No,” he snaps quickly. “I took the easy way.”
“I bet you did,” I mutter, staring out the window. The highway blurs past, but my thoughts are louder. “And how many other women do you have?”
“None,” he says, firm. “I didn’t sleep with anyone other than her.”
I look back at him, searching his face, trying to read the lines around his mouth, the tension in his jaw. I can’t decide if that makes it better or worse.
“That’s supposed to help me how?” I ask, my tone sharp. “Am I supposed to be relieved that you only fucked one woman? That you were faithful to yourmistress?”
His head jerks, his knuckles tightening on the steering wheel. “That’s not what this was—”
I laugh, short and bitter. “So tell me, Lyle. Should I be angry that you fucked a woman more times than you’ve fucked me in thelast three years? Or should I be happy you didn’t screw twenty-year-olds like I always thought you did?”
His mouth opens—closes. No words. Just silence thick enough to choke on.
“You went out with men too,” he fires back finally.
“Yes,” I snap. My chest tightens, my throat raw. “Twice. I slept with two men, and both times I hated myself. Because the whole time, I was thinking ofyou.”
The words rip out of me, jagged and hot, and suddenly I can’t breathe in this car. My eyes flick to the green sign up ahead—Rest Area 1 Mile.
“Take the exit,” I say, my voice shaking.
Lyle glances at me, brows furrowing. “Maria, we’re nearly there—”
“Take the fucking exit!” I scream, the sound tearing through my chest, startling even me.
His hands jerk on the wheel, and for a second, I think he’ll argue. But then the blinker clicks, loud as a hammer, and the car veers toward the ramp.
The second Lyle stops the car, I shove the door open so hard it rattles on its hinges and storm toward the bathroom.
I need a fucking minute.
A minute away from the claustrophobic silence of the car. Away from him. Away from the images flashing in my head—Lyle’s hands on someone else’s skin, his mouth pressed to a stranger’s throat, him giving pieces of himself that were supposed to bemine.
