Page 132 of Flock
“So it couldn’t have been all that bad, right?” He muses.
I palm his jaw. “You were the only good thing about it—until you disappeared,” I admit mournfully.
“I’m not going anywhere, Pup,” he whispers, but I hear a trace of uncertainty in his voice, and it doesn’t sit well with me. I finally confessed my love for him last night after our watermelon fight, and he has yet to return the sentiment. Not that Sean needs to since he’s made it so obvious that he feels it, too, especially with how he took great care to show me. And oh, how he showed me, over and over, until early this morning.
Even without the words returned, it feels like we solidified our relationship in a big way last night after our first nasty fight and my tearful admission.
“Just,” I rasp out, hearing the raw edge and sleep still coating my voice, “just after you left, it turned into a full-blown nightmare. My dad showed up, and, God, to say it out loud, it will sound ridiculous.”
“Try me,” he nudges me by pulling me further into his chest, keeping me firmly in his grip.
“You might think this is weird or nothing much, but he was destroying his rose garden—frantically chopping the heads off the most beautiful roses. I kept screaming at him to stop, but it was like he couldn’t hear me. He just kept going at it like a crazed man possessed. It was . . . well, it was pretty fucking terrifying. It’s like he was racing some clock or something—like he had to do it. I kept calling out for him to stop, and then my mom showed up and told me it was better this way. She just stood there and watched, like she didn’t have a care in the world, as he continued to destroy everything.”
“Metaphors all over the place, huh?”
“Exactly. It doesn’t take much to decipher that one. As far as I know, she’s never once stood up to my dad. I,” I swallow, “I’ve always been pissed at her for it. For never standing up for herself, for allowing him to discard her, us like we’re nothing.”
Sean nods. “Makes sense,” he murmurs, “and it’s not like it’s too far-fetched, Cecelia. He destroyed something beautiful when he denied himself the privilege of having you in his life.”
I swallow, my heart speeding up with his words and the way he’s gazing down at me. His warmth surrounds me, making it easier to voice my next admission. “Yesterday, I told you he was home, waiting for me.”
He nods again, running a soothing hand over my skin as he keeps me cradled and close to his equally bare chest.
“It really felt different when we spoke. It seemed like Roman wanted to talk. Like he was going to try to make a real effort, and I snubbed him—cut him short to come be with you.”
“And you regret it?”
“Not really. I mean, why now?” I tilt my head. “But he left me with a sort of warning.”
Sean’s posture tenses slightly, but his expression doesn’t change. “Warned you how?”
“He told me not to repeat her mistakes—meaning my mother’s. He was referring to the company I was keeping but wasn’t specific or anything. He’s well aware I’m not really living there anymore with how much I’m gone and said as much.”
“He say anything else?” Sean gently probes.
“Yeah, he said, ‘who better to warn me than my mother’s biggest mistake.’ I think he’s just worried I’ll throw my future away for a man.”
“But it’s too late for him to parent, right? Or do you want a relationship?”
“I don’t think so,” I sigh. “I don’t know. I don’t know him, and what I have learned doesn’t exactly make me want to try for anything, but obviously, my subconscious is weighing in with that damned dream. Which it is,” I shrug, though what I’m feeling can’t be shrugged away. “Just a dream, and a nasty one, I’ll shake it off.”
He nods, his return expression telling me he knows I’m feigning keeping a stiff upper lip. I’m still clearly shaken.
“Try not to let it ruin your day, baby,” he says, caressing me like I’m precious to him—his eyes conveying so much care.
“I’m still confused about why he waited so long.”
“Ask him,” he urges. “Demand answers.”
“I tried when I first got here, and no dice. Just because he’s ready now doesn’t mean I have to be. If he makes more of an effort than the half-assed one he did yesterday, maybe,” I say, running my fingers through his hair, “but not today.”
His eyes flit to my left, where I know he’s checking the digital clock on his nightstand. Hesitance is evident in his eyes when he looks back down at me. “We slept late, Pup. I hate it, but I need to get going.”
“Really?” I say, hearing the disappointment in my voice.
“Got a lot going on right now,” he says, his eyes losing focus, “a lot.”
“Anything you can tell me?” I ask, hating the shadows clouding his expression.
