Page 91 of Open Secrets
Her head snaps toward me. “Convenience? What the hell does that even mean?”
I work my jaw, keeping my eyes on the brake lights ahead. “It’s… I know it’s hard to understand, but guys aren’t like girls. We don’t have to feel something to—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” she cuts in, her voice sharp as glass.
My grip tightens on the wheel, shame burning in my chest. “Maria—”
“No,” she says, her voice trembling now, caught between fury and hurt. “You don’t get to reduce this to biology. To ‘guys aren’t like girls.’ That’s not an excuse. That’s not a reason. That’s just a cop out.”
I drag a frustrated hand through my hair, knuckles scraping my scalp. “Why are you bringing this up now?”
Her laugh is sharp, hollow. “Because the last time I bottled my feelings, we ended up destroying our marriage.”
“It’s not destroyed,” I snap, too quick. “It’s—it’s just a hiccup. One we’ll get over.”
Her head whips toward me, eyes flashing in the dark. “How, Lyle? Tell me how. Because every time we think we’re good”—she actually makes air quotes, her fingers cutting the air like knives—“something happens that just throws it in our faces. Whether it’s a blackmailer at the door, or me spilling my guts in therapy, or you confessing some new piece of the past you ‘forgot’ to mention.”
The words sit like stones between us, heavy and impossible to move.
I grit my teeth to keep from snapping. “I told you—there was just one.”
She waves her hand, sharp and dismissive. “What about Bethany?”
“I didnotsleep with her,” I bite out.
“Again,” she says, leaning back against the headrest. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”
I glance at her, thrown, but she’s already exhaling like she’s tired of explaining.
“Youcontinuedto allow that woman into our house when you knew what she had done. And before you say you ‘didn’t know’ she had lie to your mom—” Maria cuts me off with a raised hand. “—she still took something private. About your wife. About our marriage. And handed it to someone else. What more does she have to do before you stop pretending, she’s some innocent girl you have to protect?”
I shift in my seat, gripping the wheel tighter. “She’s… you know her home life wasn’t good. I guess I always had a soft spot for her.”
Maria’s laugh is bitter, slicing. “A soft spot? If the situation were reversed—if I let a man I’d slept with into our house, someone who openly tried to ruin our relationship, would you be so forgiving?”
Her words slam into me. I open my mouth, then shut it again, nothing but heat and shame building in my chest.
Her voice is barely a whisper, but it cuts deeper than any scream. “Why can’t you ever be on my side?”
Something in me caves. The anger, the excuses, the bullshit I’ve been clinging to—it all burns out, leaving nothing but ash. I pull the car over, tires crunching against the gravel shoulder, and kill the engine. The silence after is deafening.
“I never saw it like that,” I admit, my throat thick. Slowly, I turn to her. She won’t look at me, eyes fixed on the dashboard, but I keep talking anyway. “I swear to you, Maria—I wasn’t choosing them over you. I was… I don’t know. Afraid. Afraid of losing control, of losing the version of myself I thought I was supposed to be. So I clung to anything that made me feel like I wasn’t the bad guy.”
Finally, her eyes flick toward me, wet and shining.
“And in the process,” I continue, my voice cracking, “I made you feel like you were standing alone. Like I didn’t have your back. That kills me. Because you’re the one person in this world I should’ve always been standing beside.”
I reach for her hand—not grabbing, not forcing, just offering. “I’m sorry. For Bethany. For Cece. For every time I made you feellike you were fighting alone. I can’t change the past, but I swear to God, Maria, I’ll do better. I’ll protect us.You.I’ll make damn sure you never have to question whose side I’m on again.”
Her hand trembles in mine, but she doesn’t pull away. I squeeze it gently, holding her like a vow.
“I love you,” I tell her, my voice raw. “Not the idea of you, not the convenient parts of you. All of you. And I don’t want to spend another day making you feel like I don’t.”
Maria swallows hard, her voice a whisper, almost breaking. “Then tell me… what did she have that I don’t?”
The question slices me open. I force myself to meet her eyes, even when everything in me wants to look away.
“I didn’t love her,” I say firmly. My throat burns, but I force it out. “The reason I… the reason for Cece wasn’t about her at all. It was about me. I wanted to feel like a man. And for some stupid, selfish reason, I convinced myself that meant sleeping with someone—anyone—because I knew you were doing the same.”
