Page 65 of Dr. Roz Harrington
Roz exhaled slowly, her heart sinking. But she didn’t leave. She didn’t run. Instead, she looked at Sam. “You don’t have to say anything. Not yet. But I’m not leaving until I say what I came here to say.”
Sam’s lips parted, her expression a mixture of frustration and something softer, something vulnerable. She didn’t reply, but she didn’t walk away either.
Roz took another step closer, her pulse loud in her ears. “I’ll wait.”
And for the first time in weeks, Roz felt steady, even as the silence stretched between them.
15
SAM
The firehouse was settling into its usual morning rhythm, a mix of low chatter and the quiet thrum of exhaustion. The smell of soap and smoke lingered faintly in the air, a reminder of the earlier callouts. Boots clattered against the concrete floor, muffled voices echoed through the bay, and someone laughed from the common room, a sound that didn’t quite break through Sam’s haze of fatigue.
She sat in her small office, shoulders hunched as she skimmed through a pile of incident reports. Her desk lamp pooled light over the papers, the bulb buzzing faintly in the otherwise muted room. A half-empty coffee cup sat forgotten beside her, its contents long gone cold.
Sam let out a slow breath, dragging a hand through her hair as she checked the clock. She tapped her pen against the desk, absently glancing at her phone for what felt like the hundredth time that day already. Nothing. The screen remained dark and empty.
Not that she’d expected a message.
She set the phone down quickly, like it burned her fingertips, and turned back to her paperwork with grim determination.
Roz Harrington.
The name flickered through her thoughts no matter how much she tried to bury it. Her stomach twisted, the same mix of anger and ache she’d been carrying for days gnawing at her ribs. She hadn’t heard from Roz since their argument. She hadn’t reached out either.
Sam clenched her jaw and turned the page, forcing herself to focus. There was no use thinking about someone who didn’t want to fight for her.
Her focus broke when someone knocked at the office door, a light rap of knuckles followed by the voice of Logan, one of the younger guys on the crew.
“Hey, Cap,” he said, poking his head in with a curious expression. “There’s someone here to see you.”
Sam frowned, setting her pen down and leaning back in her chair.
“Who?”
Logan shrugged, his grin boyish and teasing. “Didn’t say. She’s waiting outside. You want me to?—?”
“No, I’ve got it.” Sam pushed herself up from her chair, her boots heavy against the floor as she made her way out of the office. She was already bracing herself for a civilian complaint or another department meeting she’d forgotten about.
As she walked through the bay, the evening light streamed through the open garage doors, streaking the polished fire trucks in orange and gold. The sight might’ve been beautiful if her mind weren’t so tangled.
Outside, the air was crisp, tinged with the sharp scent of diesel and fading sunlight. Sam squinted against the brightness as she stepped into the parking lot. And then she froze.
Roz.
The breath hitched in her throat, her steps halting like her boots had suddenly rooted into the ground.
Roz stood near her car, leaning against the passenger-side door as though it might hold her upright. She looked out of place here—too pristine and elegant against the gritty backdrop of the firehouse. Her blazer was tailored and dark, her jeans casual but expensive, but it was her face that stopped Sam cold.
Roz’s usual sharp, confident demeanor was muted. There were no snarky remarks waiting on her lips, no cool mask of indifference. Her expression was vulnerable, uncertain, even. Her arms were crossed, as if to protect herself, but her eyes, her dark, steady eyes, found Sam’s across the distance, and Sam’s chest clenched tight.
Determination. Hope. And something raw, something Sam had never seen on Roz’s face before.
Sam’s body went stiff on instinct, the ache in her chest giving way to anger, the lingering sting of Roz’s silence bubbling to the surface. Her voice was sharp, clipped, when she finally spoke.
“What are you doing here, Roz?”
Roz flinched, barely, but Sam saw it. The smallest falter in Roz’s mask. It felt like a crack in an unmovable wall.
