Page 86 of Open Secrets
Rain crosses her arms. “Grandma said you ran into the forest.”
“What?” Lyle sputters. “I did not run into it—we happened to get lost.”
Taylor nudges Rain with a grin. “And they didn’t even have phones back then.”
Rain swivels back to us, eyes wide. “Wait. How old are you?”
August’s pout dissolves into delight. He bounces on his toes. “Did you have dinosaurs as pets?”
The table breaks into laughter—well, everyone except Lyle, whose ears are now bright red.
“Remind me to yell at my mother,” he mutters, snapping the last lunchbox shut with more force than necessary.
We finally sit down for breakfast, dodging requests that range fromDo we get dinosaurs?toCan we have private bathrooms?toWill the new house have a pool?
We’ll be lucky, if we get something half as good as this.
This house is our home. Big enough for four kids, with a backyard. An office. And best of all, it’s right on the bus route.
Maura—our lifesaver, the woman who keeps the kids after school—lives just five minutes away, also on this route. Which means the kids don’t have to worry about switching buses.
My fork scrapes against the plate. I don’t realize how hard I’ve been gripping it until Lyle’s hand slides over mine, warm and steady. I glance at him, and his expression says it all:One thing at a time.
I force a smile, loosening my grip. One thing at a time.
And right now?
Right now, I have to deal with a pregnant bitch.
A pregnant bitch who booked herself a room at a swanky hotel right in the middle of downtown Austin. Room 201, according tothe slip shoved in our mailbox. No name, no signature. Just the number, written with the kind of loopy confidence that said she thought Lyle would be terrified enough to fold.
Debra didn’t even hesitate when I called to say I’d be late. Apparently, we didn’t have any patients booked until noon, so she claimed the morning to “have my back.” Now she’s riding shotgun, kicking her feet up on the dash like this is a road trip.
“If you don’t come back in fifteen minutes, I’m calling the cops,” she says, dead serious but with that sparkle in her eye.
I just give her a thin smile.
“Come on,” she presses, “how exciting is it to play hooky and confront the mistress?”
The word snaps something inside me. “She’s not his mistress.”
Debra’s eyebrows shoot up, daring me to keep that same energy.
“Sorry,” I mutter fast, heat rising in my chest. My voice flattens. “I’m just—this is the part where I lose any small amount of dignity I have left.”
She studies me, softer now. “Hey.”
“What?”
“You love him, right?”
“Of course I do.” My grip on the wheel tightens. “That’s not what…” I exhale hard. “It just bugs me. All of it.”
“I’m guessing it would bug a lot of women,” she says dryly. “What does Lyle say?”
I look away, focusing on the skyline pulling closer. “I haven’t really told him yet. I mean, we fought. I stormed off. Then life shoved more serious things in our face and… it just got pushed.”
Debra tilts her head. “You were doing so good—telling him you wanted to end the whole arrangement. Why clam up now?”
