Page 68 of Open Secrets
He doesn’t flinch. “Then prove it. Don’t give her half a marriage, Lyle. She deserves better than that. You both do.”
Chapter Twenty
Maria — Present
“So… you’re coming with me?” I ask, confused, as Lyle starts packing way more than snacks for just me.
He doesn’t even look up, too immersed in stuffing a full-size bag of Doritos in the bag. “Well, I figured—the kids have their grandparents in their life again. We might as well take advantage.”
I squint at him. “Yesterday you were worried about them taking the kids for ice cream.”
He shrugs.
“They just met the kids yesterday, Lyle.”
“It’s not like they’re strangers,” he says, finally glancing up. “When they were little, they practically lived with them.”
I shrug, still uneasy. “Do you really think we should do that? ItisSunday.”
Now, don’t get me wrong—I love my kids. And they are well-behaved.Usually.But on Sundays? They turn into some kind of unholy union of feral raccoons and circus clowns.
He raises a brow. “Do you remember what my parents did?”
I smile. “In that case, let’s feed them sugar for breakfast.”
He laughs, shaking his head.
“I’m kidding,” I add quickly. “Your mom said she already made pancakes.”
His laughter fades as his eyes rest on me. “Still can’t believe you forgave her.”
I turn away, pretending to be deeply invested in scooping coffee grounds into the filter. “Well, she… you know.”
He shakes his head slowly. “You’re so weak.”
I throw my hands up. “She cornered me, okay? She was apologetic and crying andoldand I just—” I pinch my face into a fake sob, mimicking her wobbling voice. “‘She said I could call her mom.’”
Lyle just stares at me, pity softening his features.
I snap, louder than I mean to, “Let me have this!”
He raises his hand in adon’t kill megesture.
I narrow my eyes. “Relax.”
Clearly, he doesn’t value his life, because the next words out of his mouth are, “So… you gonna call my dadDadtoo?”
I grab the nearest thing in reach—an orange from the fruit bowl—and whip it at his head. He ducks just in time, laughing.
“Not funny,” I say, crossing my arms. “I told your mom I’m not ready for that.”
The laughter dies a little, though the smile lingers. “Fair.”
I glance away, suddenly very interested in the steam rising from the coffee pot. “It was hard enough just forgiving her. That word—mom—it doesn’t… it doesn’t come easy for me.”
He reaches across the counter, hooks his index finger around mine, tugging gently until I finally glance at him. His voice drops, soft. “I know, baby.”
Before I can answer, a sharp honk blares from outside.
