Page 35 of Dr. Roz Harrington
Roz had always been careful, cold, and professional, always keeping the personal at arm’s length. She’d built a life of control, carved out her identity in a world that expected her to be sharp and untouchable. Vulnerability was a liability. Feelings were dangerous.
But Sam… Sam had wrenched open a door Roz had thought was sealed shut forever.
The way Sam had looked at her in the hallway—raw, angry,desperate—haunted Roz. Sam had laid herself bare, even if it had been in frustration, and Roz had stood there, holding herselfback. She could still hear the edge in Sam’s voice, the unspoken plea beneath it all.
“It’s not just about you.”
Roz tipped her head back against the chair and stared at the ceiling. It wasn’t about pride or proving herself—at least, it hadn’t been with that surgery. Shedidcare. More than she should. More than she wanted to admit.
And that terrified her.
Her phone sat face down on the table beside her, Sam’s unanswered message a silent accusation. Roz reached for it, her fingers brushing the edge of the screen before she snatched her hand back like it had burned her. She wasn’t ready to respond, not yet. Not while the rift between them yawned wider with every passing hour.
What could she even say? That Sam was right? That Roz was afraid to care because once she did, there would be no turning back?
Roz let out a shaky breath, running a hand through her pink hair as she fought the wave of emotions threatening to swallow her whole. This was why she avoided connections, why she stayed in control. Because the second she let someone in, it all unraveled.
The wine sat forgotten on the table as Roz stood abruptly, retreating to her bedroom. She stripped off her clothes, slipping into a loose shirt and a pair of soft shorts before collapsing onto the edge of her bed. She stared out the window, her reflection faint in the glass, her green eyes shadowed and tired.
The silence of her apartment surrounded her, but tonight, it wasn’t a comfort. It was suffocating.
Roz lay back against the pillows, pulling the blanket over her as she stared at the ceiling. Her phone buzzed once, probably another message, but she didn’t look. She turned it face down onher nightstand, her chest tightening as she rolled onto her side and shut her eyes.
The rift between her and Sam felt like a chasm now, wide and dark and impossible to bridge. And Roz wasn’t sure she had it in her to try. Not without risking everything—her control, her heart, herself.
For a long time, she lay there, still and silent, the weight of her own walls pressing in around her. She could push Sam away, bury her feelings, and hide behind her work like she always did.
But deep down, Roz knew Sam Quinn had already slipped through the cracks. And nothing Roz did would ever make her forget it.
9
SAM
The rhythmic clang of metal echoed through the firehouse as Sam dropped a barbell onto the mat, her chest heaving with exertion. Sweat clung to her skin, her muscles burning from the relentless workout she’d thrown herself into. It was late, too late for anyone else to be in the gym, but that was exactly what Sam wanted.
She grabbed a towel, dragging it across her face as she leaned against the wall, trying to slow her breath. But no amount of physical strain could wipe the memory of the argument with Roz from her mind.
“You’d rather gamble and show off how brilliant you are…”
Sam had meant the words, even if they’d come out sharper than she intended. She’d watched the surgery from behind the glass, her knuckles white against the observation railing. Every second felt like a lifetime as Roz made those decisive cuts, her confidence almost infuriating in how unshakable it was. And yet, here Sam was, back at square one, angry and confused, but still unable to ignore the way Roz’s determination drew her in.
“Damn it, Roz,” Sam muttered under her breath, pushing off the wall and flinging the towel onto a bench.
She wasn’t just angry; she was hurt. Hurt that Roz didn’t see how much it mattered. That someone like her could act so recklessly and then walk away like it was nothing. Sam couldn’t compartmentalize it the way Roz did. The young woman in that surgery wasn’t just a patient. She was a person, scared and vulnerable, and Sam had held her hand through it.
The thought of losing her… Sam shook her head hard, trying to banish the knot in her chest.
“You good?”
Sam looked up to find Jack leaning against the gym doorframe, arms crossed casually but his expression edged with concern. Jack was always the first to notice when something was off, and Sam didn’t know whether to be grateful or annoyed.
“Fine,” Sam replied, a little too quickly. She grabbed a water bottle, twisting the cap and taking a long drink to avoid looking at him.
Jack didn’t budge. “Uh-huh. That’s why you’ve been throwing that barbell around like it personally insulted your mother.”
Sam shot him a dry look, her lips curving faintly despite herself. “I’m fine, Mitchell. Just needed to blow off some steam.”
Jack studied her for a long beat, his sharp gaze searching. He wasn’t one to push, but Sam could tell he wasn’t buying it either. “You know you can talk to me, right?” he said, his tone softer now. “Whatever’s got you all twisted up, it’s better not to let it eat you alive.”
