Page 8 of Open Secrets
Leaves crunched underfoot, twigs snapped like bones, and the shadows unnerved me. But I kept moving anyway, drunk determination guiding me where sense should have stepped in.
She had dumped me. Yeah. She had said the words, tears streaming, voice breaking. But she was drunk on fear, that was all. Scared of leaving, scared of me leaving. She hadn’t meant it.
“Long-distance works,” I said into the dark, like the trees needed convincing. “My parents did it. I can do it. She’ll visit. I’llvisit when I can. I told her I was gonna marry her, and it’s happening.”
A low branch knocked me square in the shoulder, hard enough to spin me sideways. I stumbled, caught myself against rough bark, and laughed a little too loud.
“She’s not gonna stop me,” I mumbled, pushing forward. “No way.”
The woods stretched on forever, every turn looking the same, but my chest felt lighter with each step. This was it. This was the fight. Maria thought she could end it with a speech and a shrug, but she didn’t know me. I wasn’t giving up on her. Not now, not ever.
The ground dipped, and I went with it, sliding down a slope until my knees slammed the dirt at the bottom. Pain ricocheted through my shins. I bit it back, shoving myself upright.
“Goddamn woods,” I hissed, wiping blood off my palms. “Don’t want me here? Too bad. I’m coming anyway.”
It felt like hours, the dark pressing in on every side, the silence broken only by my curses and the crack of branches against my body. Sweat clung to me, mixing with blood, with booze, with nerves. By the time I finally pushed through the last line of trees, I was breathing hard, half-sober, and bleeding in more places than I could count.
Maria’s street unfurled in front of me, houses quiet in the still night.
Branches hung off me like claws. My shirt was torn, my arms a mess of scratches, one eye stinging from where a twig had smacked me straight on. For some reason, it felt personal, like the whole damn forest had a vendetta against me.
But I had made it.
I dragged a breath into my lungs and grinned, crooked and wild. “Told you I’d make it,” I muttered, even though there was no one around to hear me.
“Maria!” I called.
Then I remembered her parents and whispered, urgent. “Maria.”
A window creaked. She squinted down at me, hair tangled, face softened by sleep.
“Lyle?”
I looked up, drunk courage pushing words out of me. “I have come to fight for your hand.”
Her mouth twisted. “Are you drunk?”
I shook my head — tripped over air. “...Little bit. Come down,” I whispered, remembering again.
She sighed. “My parents aren’t here.”
Relief flooded me. “Well then—” I started too loud.
“Shhh!” She cut me off. “I still have neighbours. Just come to the front door.”
When the door opened, I wasn’t standing. I was kneeling, box open in my hands, cheap metal glinting under the porch light.
“Maria,” I said, voice trembling, “I’ve loved you since you got me lost in the woods. I loved you when you kneed me in the groin while fooling around and that shit hurt. I even loved you even when you dumped me. Will you marry me?”
Her face shifted, fear and grief tangling together. “Lyle…”
I rushed on. “I have photos too. I just—I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
She stepped forward, closing her hands over mine, over the box. “Come inside.”
I followed blindly, the world narrowing to her. She shut the door, pressed her back to it, and nudged me down onto the bottom step.
“Where did you get this ring?”
