Page 56 of Open Secrets
I look at the aging commander, his back a little more bent than I remember, hair gone completely white. At least he has the decency to look ashamed.
He clears his throat, eyes darting anywhere but mine. “Wasn’t my idea, Connelly. They—uh—they asked to be here. I figured…” His voice trails off.
I wait, jaw tight, letting him squirm.
Finally he mumbles something about a mess in the garage and slips past me toward the back door, moving fast for a man his age. Doesn’t even meet my eyes on the way out.
Like the coward he is.
And just like that, I’m left in the living room, face to face with the last two people I wanted to see.
I’m aware I could just turn around and leave. God knows it would be easier. But honestly? This has been a long time coming.
I look at my parents, then lower myself into a chair across from them. Calm. Deliberate.
They exchange a quick glance, surprised I’m not bolting. Well, I’m done with that.
When neither of them starts, I do. “So, You two planned this little ambush?”
My mother huffs, crossing her arms. “I hardly call it an ambush. Your father was with Walter at the club when you called, and we figured it was time to have a chat.”
My father leans forward, his voice clipped, still carrying the old command tone that once made me snap to attention. “We believe your little tantrum has gone on long enough. First, you marry that—”
“Careful,” I cut in, my voice sharp.
His jaw flexes, but he doesn’t stop. “—that woman. Then you allow her to cut us out of our grandchildren’s lives. And instead of being a man, you follow her lead.”
Heat rises in my chest, but I stay seated, gripping the armrest until my knuckles burn.
“And now,” he continues, his voice thick with disdain, “this nonsense about retirement. Connelly men do not choose retirement. Connelly men serve. I gave forty-five years. I am a Major General. And you want to what—give up as a captain?”
The old shame tries to crawl up my spine, but I force it back down. I meet his eyes, steady.
“I have given twenty-five years of my life to a career you chose for me,” I say, my voice sharp but steady. “And while I don’t regret it, I will not allow myself to have the same relationship with my children that you have with yours.”
My mother gasps softly, then shakes her head, lips pressed thin. “Well, that is a terrible thing to say. We provided you with a good life, Lyle. And now that it is your time to take care of us, you wash your hands of it. Your sister is getting married—how do you suppose that will happen with you refusing to see sense?”
I laugh. A sharp, humourless sound. “Take care of me? When Remi was born, Mom, you came to the hospital—despite Maria asking you not to—and you promised you’d be there for him. For us. You said while I was away, I could trust you with my family.”
I stand, pacing now, heat building in my chest. “And the second we did something you didn’t approve of, you cut us off. Jesus, Mom—my daughter was sick. She was in the hospital. And you walked away. Maria needed you. The kids needed you. And where were you?”
My voice cracks, and I push harder, louder. “Off on your fucking moral high ground.”
“Do not speak to your mother like that,” my father snaps, his voice like a whipcrack.
I whirl on him, years of swallowed obedience snapping clean in two. “And you. What kind of weak man does it take to call a woman begging for help to save her child pathetic? Rain could have died. Do you understand that?”
I step closer, chest heaving. “Your granddaughter could have died if Maria hadn’t been made of steel.”
My face burns hot, years of suppressed rage crawling up my throat. My mother’s head snaps toward my father. Her voice is sharp, incredulous. “You never told me Maria came to you.”
My father shakes his head, his tone dismissive. “Not now, dear.”
“Don’t say that.” She pushes up from the sofa, eyes wide. “Why did Maria come to you?”
My father rises too, straightening his back, puffing his chest like he’s still the man in uniform. “I refuse to be yelled at by the two of you.”
He makes for the door.
