Page 92 of Flock
He chuckles. “I am.”
“And then lose my number.”
His smile disappears as his fingers tighten on the top of the wheel. “If that’s what you want.”
“I want the fucking truth!”
“You’re getting it,” he says calmly, “you just don’t like what I’m telling you.”
“Because it makes no sense!”
“It makes perfect sense.”
A minute or two of silence follows before he finally speaks up.
“Can you keep a secret?”
“Of course.”
“Too quick to answer,” he snaps. “I mean really keep a secret. Can you think of secrets that you’ll take to your grave, that you’ve never confided in anyone, ever?”
“I have a few, yeah.”
“And how do you go about doing that?”
“By never talking about it. Or thinking about it. Acting like it never happened.”
“Exactly. I can’t give you specifics on a history that doesn’t exist. I can’t give you rules and details or dates about things that never fucking happened.”
“So, all of those people back there?”
“Can keep a secret. Nothing about that party, and no one in attendance, can tell you who was there or what went down because it never happened.” He goes quiet for a good few minutes and I know it’s because he’s trying to find his words. He darts his gaze my way. “Masons have walls—out here, it’s tree lines. So, when you asked me what tonight was. I told you the truth. It was a fucking party. When you asked what we do, the answer is nothing.”
“Unless I’m in on the secret. And even then, nothing ever happened?”
His answer is silence, but I’m starting to think that silence may be admission.
“So why even show this to me? Why not leave me clueless like the rest of the world?”
“Because you’re with me.” Simple. To the point. And if I want to be with him, I have to be willing to be in on his future secrets. He chances another quick look at me. “It’s going to be your decision.”
“And what if I don’t want to be in on it?”
“No choice tonight,” he says, gunning the gas. He checks his rearview again and I turn and see blue lights flash from a side road behind us before turning our way. “Hold on,” he says as I turn to face him in the seat.
“You’re kidding. You’re going to pull over, right?”
“No can do, baby, they aren’t impounding my shit for thirty days.”
Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.
A phone rings in his pocket, and when he pulls it out, I don’t recognize it. He answers without looking my way. “Yep, someone must have called in ... I figured. Better break it up. I’ll take this one.”
Sean floors it and my eyes go wide. I turn and see the lights are falling farther behind us—he’s losing them, but every muscle in my body is screaming with warning.
“We’re running from the police. You do realize that?”
I sink in my seat as Sean completely ignores me, his concentration solely on the road.
