Page 33 of Glass Rose
“You don’t know him like I do.”
His expression hardens. “I know his type.”
“Oh really? And what type is that?”
“The type who fucks his sources for better footage.”
My face burns. “That’s not—we were—” I stop, hating the defensive note in my voice. “What the hell do you care anyway?” And what do I care? Alex is an asshole.
“I don’t.”
“Add it to my list of fuck-ups.” I toy with my mother’s necklace, fingers trembling. “Right below ‘caused apocalypse.’”
Gavin says nothing as he navigates through side streets, avoiding main roads. The silence between us pulses like an open wound, and he is right. I do need to talk when I’m nervous.
“So that’s it?” I ask. “You’re just going to drive in judgy silence now?”
He keeps his eyes on the road. “Not judging.”
“Your face says otherwise.”
“This is just my face.”
I turn to face him fully. “You’ve been different since I mentioned Alex.”
“We’re being hunted by the military and zombies. Forgive me if I’m not chatty.”
“You were fine until?—”
“Does it matter? Your boyfriend’s waiting.”
“He’s not my—” I stop, the realization hitting me. “Wait. Are you… jealous?”
His eyes flick to mine for a split second before returning to the road. “Of what?”
“Oh my god, you are.”
“Focus on surviving, Dr. Cruz.” His voice drops, almost a growl. “Not everything’s about your love life.”
“First of all, fuck you.” I cross my arms. “Second, there is no love life. It was sex. Convenient, meaningless sex.”
“With the guy who’s supposed to expose the facility.” He takes a sharp turn. “Smart.”
“Yeah. I know. We already established that.” A silent tear escapes my eye, and I wipe it away with the back of my hand.
Fucking men and their egos. The world’s ending, we just escaped a military squad that somehow knows my name, I had to kill my infected father less than an hour ago, and this guy’s pissed about who I’ve slept with?
It was stupid, I know.
It was stupid to let him convince me to bring him to the facility instead of just handing over my documentation.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
The emotional whiplash makes me dizzy. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t be nice to me right now.” My throat tightens. “I can’t handle it.”
