Page 26 of Glass Rose
The water runs for around a minute before it shuts off abruptly. So much for three minutes.
His arm reaches out for a towel, and I hand him one without looking. One second later, he steps out with it wrapped around his waist, water droplets tracing paths down the contours of his chest, following the roadmap of scars to disappear beneath the towel. I force my eyes up to his face.
“You’re staring.”
“Scientist. I observe things.” I clear my throat. “That cut needs stitches.”
“It’ll close on its own. Enhanced healing.” His fingers brush over the wound. “Already better than it was an hour ago.”
“And if it gets infected? Does your super-healing cover sepsis?”
The corner of his mouth twitches. Almost a smile. “Worried about me, Doc?”
“I’m worried about being stuck with a six-foot-three corpse when you drop dead from stubbornness.”
“I won’t drop dead.” He props himself against the counter, studying me. “But if it makes you feel better, you can play doctor.”
“I am a doctor.”
“Not that kind.”
“There’s a first aid kit in the hall closet. Mom always kept it stocked.”
“Sofia.” His voice softens. “We don’t have to?—”
“I need to do something useful right now.” My fingers clench around the edge of my towel. “Please.”
He nods once.
“Thank you.” I exhale, steadier now. “Get dressed. I’ll find you a shirt that might fit—my dad’s closet…” My dad. Downstairs. Dead. By my hand.
“Hey.” His fingers claim my chin, forcing it up to meet his gaze. “Stay with me.”
I blink rapidly. “I’m here.”
“Are you?”
“I’m trying.”
“Mhm…” His eyes drift between mine. “Sofia?”
My voice comes out smaller than I intend. “Yes?”
“Clothes?”
“Right. Clothes.” I shake myself out of whatever weird trance I’ve fallen into. “Let me grab something.”
I dart across the hall to my parents’ bedroom, averting my eyes from their photos on the wall. The walk-in closet still smells like Dad’s aftershave and Mom’s perfume.
I grab one of his old military pants, a thermal henley, and heavy boots. Dad was a bit shorter, but these still might fit Gavin’s tall frame. Arms full of clothing, I return to the bathroom.
Gavin’s standing exactly where I left him, towel wrapped low on his hips.
“These should fit.” I thrust the clothes at him, careful not to touch his bare skin. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”
He catches my wrist. “You need clothes, too.”
I glance down at my towel. “Right.”
