Page 28 of Glass Rose (Where Roses Rot #1)

TWENTY

GAVIN

John’s ragged breathing against my neck reminds me I’m running out of time—for him, for Sofia, for all of us. His blood seeps through my shirt, warm and sticky between my shoulder blades where his wounded arm dangles.

The keypad of the weathered blue boathouse beeps, red light turning green with a mechanical click, and I shoulder the door open, dragging us both inside before kicking it shut behind me.

The interior is dim, illuminated only by thin strips of sunlight filtering through dusty windows. Three boat slips, two empty.

Someone’s been here.

That can be either good or bad.

John mumbles something incomprehensible, his body growing heavier against me. I place him onto the wooden dock, propping him against a support beam.

“Stay with me, old man.” I tap his cheek. “Just a little longer.”

“I’ll try.”

The remaining boat sits low in the water, a sleek twenty- footer with an outboard motor. Military-grade, designed for stealth and speed.

I return to John, hooking my arms under his shoulders. “This is gonna hurt.”

“Everything hurts,” he slurs. “Where’s… Sofia?”

“We’re going to get her now.” I position him carefully on the rear bench and secure him with a life vest, more to keep him upright than for safety. If we capsize, he’s dead anyway. “Hang tight.”

He manages a weak nod before his head lolls back against the seat. His eyes close, but his chest still rises and falls.

I untie the mooring lines and start the engine. It catches on the first try, a low, powerful rumble that vibrates through the hull, and I ease the throttle forward, guiding us out of the boathouse and into the open harbor.

The bridge is about half a mile away. I cut through the water, pushing the engine harder than I should.

Every second counts.

I spot movement along the bridge railing.

Infected, dozens of them, crowding against the edge where Sofia must have jumped.

Some are falling or being shoved over the edge by the mass of bodies behind them, hitting the water with sickening splashes.

The current carries their bodies away, but they continue to move, arms grasping at water and air as they sink.

I search for any sign of her. “Sofia!”

Nothing.

My heart slams against my ribcage. The water stretches empty in every direction, just choppy waves and floating debris. Fuck. FUCK.

She has to be here. She has to be alive.

“SOFIA!”

I cut the engine to idle, straining to hear any sound over the slap of waves against the hull and John’s labored breathing. The cold water would sap her strength quickly .

How long has it been? Five minutes? Ten? Too fucking long.

No!

She’s alive. She has to be. She can do this.

Please…

There—a hand breaking the surface fifty yards to my right. Then her head appears, gasping for air before disappearing again.

“Hold on!” I rush back to the controls and gun the engine.

The boat lurches forward, slicing through the water toward where I last saw her. She surfaces again, closer now, arms flailing. The current is sweeping her under.

Fuck she must be exhausted. But she’s still fighting. My girl is not giving up.

I cut the engine again as we close in, not wanting to risk hitting her with the propeller. “Sofia!” I lean over the side, extending my arm as far as I can reach. “Grab my hand!”

She stretches toward me, fingertips brushing mine before a wave pulls her away.

“Fuck!” I strip off my vest and kick off my boots. “I’m right back, John.”

His ragged voice calls out behind me, but his words are lost as I jump into the churning water, scanning for Sofia.

Her head barely crests the surface ten yards ahead before disappearing again. I swim through the water with powerful strokes. My enhanced strength gives me an edge, but even I feel the current that’s trying to drag us both under.

Don’t stop fighting, baby.

I reach the spot where she went under, diving deep.

The murky water stings my eyes, but I glimpse dark hair floating like seaweed.

My hand closes around her jacket, and I tow her with me, kicking hard for the surface.

We break through together, Sofia’s head lolling against my shoulder, eyes closed, lips blue.

“Fuck.” I tread water with one arm while holding her face above the surface with the other. “Breathe, goddammit.”

She coughs, water spilling from her mouth.

Water sloshes over the gunwale as I heave her limp body onto the boat. She lands hard on the deck, hair plastered across her face.

Not moving. Not breathing.

“No fucking way.” I roll her onto her side, pounding between her shoulder blades. “You don’t get to die after that stunt.”

Water gushes from her mouth in a violent stream. Her body convulses with a desperate, rattling gasp that sounds like victory to my ears. I flip her onto her back, hovering close enough to feel her shallow breaths against my cheek.

“Good girl.”

Her eyelids flutter, revealing bloodshot whites before focusing on my face, and her blue-tinged lips trying to form words.

“You’re okay.” I wrap my arms around her, crushing her to me as if I could absorb her into my body, keep her safe beneath my skin where nothing could ever touch her again. “You’re okay.”

Her heartbeat pounds against mine, irregular but strong.

Alive. Safe.

John’s raspy voice cuts through the moment. “Is she…?”

“She’s alive.” I clear my throat. Didn’t realize how tight it had become.

The harbor stretches before us, deceptively peaceful despite the infected still plummeting from the bridge. We need to move. John’s breathing sounds worse by the minute, and Sofia’s shivering violently beneath me.

“Stay here.” I settle her on the seat next to John, who watches through half-lidded eyes, and move to the console, opening the emergency kit stored in the cabinet beside the wheel.

Inside, as expected, is a thermal blanket.

I wrap it around Sofia, tucking it tightly around her shaking form. “Better?”

She nods weakly, water still trickling from the corner of her mouth. Her fingers clutch the thermal blanket, knuckles white against the silver material.

“We need to go.” I return to the controls, shoving the throttle forward.

The boat surges through the water toward the island where, if my team followed protocol and is alive, medical supplies, shelter, and safety await.

I grab the radio handset, tuning to our frequency. “This is Hart. Approaching from the south with two civilians. One wounded. Respond.”

Static answers. I try again.

“This is Hart. If you’re there, respond. We need medical assistance upon arrival. Please.”

More static, then?—

“Repeat.” A voice crackles through the speaker, wary but unmistakable. Ethan. Our commander. My best friend.

“This is Hart. Authentication code sierra-tango-three-seven-niner.”

A pause. “Holy shit.” Ethan’s voice loses its professional edge. “Gavin? Is that actually you?”

“In the flesh.” I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips. “And I need medical standing by. Civilian male, early sixties, gunshot wound to the shoulder, significant blood loss. Do you have someone?”

“We thought you were dead.” Disbelief colors his words. “It’s been almost fifteen months, man.”

“Almost was. Several times.” I glance at Sofia, who observes me through exhausted eyes. “Long story.”

“Could be anyone on that radio,” Ethan says. “Prove you’re Hart. ”

“Seriously? Now’s not the time, Ethan.”

“What happened in Bangkok, 2018?”

“Asshole.” Heat crawls up my neck. “My girlfriend’s on board.”

Sofia laughs, a beautiful sound despite her chattering teeth.

Ethan sounds amused, too. “Put her on.”

“She’s half-drowned and freezing,” I snap. “And we don’t have time for this shit. John needs medical now.”

“Alright, alright,” Ethan says. “Get your ass here. We’ve got a surgeon.”

“Copy that.” I hang up the handset, feeling something close to hope for the first time in hours.

They’re alive.

Sofia reaches out from her blanket cocoon, her fingers finding mine on the throttle. “T-Thank you for coming back for me.”

“I’ll always come back for you.” It’s the truth.

After ten minutes, the island comes into view.

Trees climb from jagged shores like sentinels, their silhouettes cutting black shapes against the pale dawn sky.

Between them, the compound hunkers exactly as we designed it—three structures positioned for maximum defensive coverage, their outlines broken by strategic foliage placement.

Classic counter-surveillance architecture.

Solar panels savoring the light, still intact and functioning.

A secure location.

Maybe, just maybe, we can carve out something resembling safety in this new world.

The dock stretches toward us, and my pulse kicks hard against my ribs when I count five figures standing at its edge.

Someone new among the familiars.

Ethan stands at the edge, with close-cropped hair, behind him, Santino’s large frame and Walsh’s compact build. Two women flank them—Liv, with her braided blonde hair, and the new addition.

We were seven when I left.

I maneuver the boat alongside the dock, cutting the engine as Ethan catches the line I toss. His eyes keep darting to my face like he’s seeing a ghost. Maybe he is.

“Gavin fucking Hart.” He secures the boat. “You look like absolute shit.”

“Feel worse.” I gesture toward John’s slumped form. “Medical first, reunion later.”

The unfamiliar woman steps forward. A stethoscope loops around her neck, the metal dulled. “Trauma surgeon.” She doesn’t waste time with pleasantries and crouches beside John, checking his pupils. “How long since the injury?”

“Four hours, give or take,” I say.

“That’s Vivian,” Ethan says. “Found her holed up in an overrun hospital when we did a supply run.”

Walsh and Santino lift John from the boat. His blood leaves dark smears on the metal hull as they transfer him to a wheeled stretcher Liv steadies against the dock’s uneven boards. Vivian hovers close, calling out instructions as they follow the path to the compound.

I point to Sofia. “She needs dry clothes and warm food.”

“I’m fine.” Her body betrays her as she stumbles.

Ethan’s gaze shifts between us. “That the girlfriend?”

“This is Dr. Sofia Cruz.” I interlace my fingers with hers. “She’s a virologist from Green.”

“Green,” Ethan says. “The ones who kidnapped you?”

Sofia hides half her body behind me.

“She’s with me,” I say, voice dropping to that register he knows means don’t fuck with this. “She’s the reason I’m alive.”

Ethan studies Sofia for a beat longer, then offers his hand. “Welcome to our little apocalypse hideaway. ”

She extends hers, too. “N-nice to meet you.”

“Let’s get you warm.” He gestures to the compound.

I jump onto the dock first, my boots squelching. “Come on.” I extend my hand to Sofia, who’s still huddled in her silver thermal blanket.

She reaches up, her fingers trembling and pale against mine. I don’t wait for her to try standing on her own—just hook my arms under her shoulders and knees and lift her out of the boat.

She weighs nothing. Too light. Too fragile.

Her head nestles in my neck. “Am I not too heavy?”

That’s what she’s worried about now? After being too close to drowning? Did it mess with her head?

“Too heavy?” I snort, adjusting the blanket more securely around her shoulders. “You barely weigh anything.”

Ethan falls in step beside us. “Where the fuck have you been?”

“Trapped in a lab.”

“We searched for you.”

“I know you did.” Ethan wouldn’t have stopped until there were no leads left.

The main house hits me with a rush of sensations I’d forgotten how to miss.

Vaulted ceilings designed for heat dispersion, massive windows positioned for optimal surveillance of the surrounding terrain, and that unmistakable scent—pine cleaner layered over gun oil and leather.

My shoulders drop a fraction before I can stop them.

Home, or the closest thing to it in this fucked-up world.

“Ellie!” Ethan calls out. “They’re here!”

A woman emerges from the hallway, warm brown eyes widening at the sight of us. She’s mid-thirties, wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, two silver bangles clinking against her wrist as she approaches .

“My God.” She takes in Sofia’s drenched form in my arms. “Is she?—”

“Hypothermia, probably.” I shift her weight. “Need to get her warm.”

Ellie springs into action. “Your room’s ready. I’ll grab extra blankets and make tea.”

“Thanks.” I follow her, Sofia’s breathing shallow against my neck.

The room is sparse but clean—queen bed with military corners, dresser, single window with blackout curtains. I lay Sofia on the bed, careful with her head.

“I’ll get those dry clothes,” Ellie says.

“Gavin?” Sofia wraps her hand around one of my fingers, ice-cold and trembling. “Your team… they don’t trust me.”

“They don’t know you.”

“Do you?” Her voice is barely audible.

I sit on the edge of the bed. “I know enough.”

“Gavin—”

I interlace our fingers. “We’re safe.”

Ellie returns with a stack of clothes and towels. “I’ll help her change. Why don’t you get yourself dry too?”

I hesitate.

“It’s okay,” Sofia says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Standing, I brush my lips against her temple. “I’ll be right back.”

Ethan’s waiting in the hallway, arms crossed, and his eyes dropping to the scars visible on my wrists. “You’re different.”

“Long story.”

“The virologist.”

“Don’t start.”

“Didn’t say anything.” His eyes gleam with that shit-eating grin. “Just never thought I’d see the day.”

“What day?”

“The day Gavin Hart went soft for a woman.”