Page 38 of Dr. Roz Harrington
Sam’s pulse quickened as she tucked the phone into her pocket, her feet already carrying her back toward the parking lot. The anger, the longing, the confusion, it all tangled together, and for once, Sam wasn’t going to fight it.
Roz was waiting.
And Sam couldn’t stay away.
Sam spotted Roz before Roz saw her. The woman leaned casually against the hood of her car, bathed in the golden light of the hospital’s exterior lamps. From a distance, she looked unshakable, poised, composed, and untouchable as ever. It only made the knot in Sam’s chest tighten further.
Sam took a breath, forcing herself to stride forward, her heavy boots clicking against the pavement. Roz’s head lifted at the sound, and for a brief moment, their eyes met. Sam felt the impact of it like a blow to the chest. Roz’s gaze was sharp but unreadable, a mask carefully put in place, though something flickered beneath the surface, something vulnerable and raw.
“You don’t waste time,” Sam said as she stopped a few feet away, her voice rougher than she intended. The tension between them was as thick as the humid night air.
Roz arched a brow, a hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. “Neither do you, apparently.” Her tone was light, too light, and it set Sam on edge.
“I needed to see you,” Sam admitted, crossing her arms, her frustration barely contained. She hated how much control Roz always seemed to have, how she made Sam feel so…unsettled. “Are you going to stand there and act like none of this matters?”
Roz’s smirk faltered for just a second, but her posture didn’t shift. “What exactly do you want me to say, Sam?” she asked, her voice carefully measured. “That I regret saving her life? Because I don’t.”
Sam ran a hand through her hair, teeth gritted. “It’s not just about the surgery, Roz. You made a call, and I—” She stopped herself, her voice catching. “I was the one who held her hand, Roz. I was the one who promised her she’d be okay. And then I had to watch you gamble with her life like it didn’t matter.”
Roz’s expression flickered, her cool composure wavering. “It did matter. She mattered. And I did what I had to do.”
“And what if you were wrong?” Sam shot back, her voice louder now, cracking slightly with the weight of her emotions. “What if you’d lost her? Would you have been able to look me in the eye and say that?”
Roz didn’t answer immediately. She held Sam’s gaze, her green eyes clouded with something Sam couldn’t quite name. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter, more controlled. “You think I don’t ask myself that question every single time I step into an operating room?” Roz’s tone sharpened, a rare edge of defensiveness in her words. “I knew the risks, Sam, but I made the call because Ihadto. That’s what I do. I take the responsibility no one else wants.”
The words hung between them like a weight, both women breathing hard, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. Sam felt herself softening despite it, because she knew Rozwasn’t lying. Roz carried the same burdens Sam did, even if she wore them differently.
Sam let out a slow breath, her shoulders slumping slightly. “It’s not just that,” she admitted finally, her voice quieter now. “It’s you, Roz. You just…shut me out. You act like none of this affects you, like I don’t, ” She stopped abruptly, biting back the words that almost spilled out.
Roz looked at her then, really looked at her, and Sam saw something shift. For a split second, Roz’s walls cracked, and the vulnerability Sam had glimpsed before peeked through. Roz hesitated, her mouth opening as if she might say something, but instead, she gave a small, self-deprecating laugh and shook her head.
“You think too much, Sam,” Roz said softly, her lips quirking in a faint, teasing smile. “Always so serious.”
Sam’s jaw tightened. “Don’t do that,” she said, her voice low and firm. “Don’t brush this off like it’s nothing.”
Roz tilted her head, the smile faltering as she held Sam’s gaze. For a long, heavy moment, neither of them spoke. Then, Roz finally dropped her gaze, exhaling as if she were carrying the weight of something she couldn’t say out loud.
“Go home, Sam,” Roz said, her voice softer this time, almost tired. “You’ve had a long day.”
Sam stared at her, anger flaring again. “You’re really good at that, aren’t you? Shutting people out.”
Roz didn’t reply, her face blank, the walls firmly back in place. Sam felt the ache in her chest expand, frustration warring with the pull she still felt toward the woman standing in front of her. She wanted to shout, to force Roz to say something, anything, that would make this easier. But instead, Sam turned abruptly, her boots pounding against the pavement as she walked back toward her truck.
She didn’t look back.
The firehouse was dark and quiet when Sam finally made her way upstairs to her bunk. She dropped onto the edge of the bed, her shoulders heavy with exhaustion as she stared at the faint light of her phone on the nightstand.
The conversation replayed in her mind on an endless loop, Roz’s sharp words, the rare glimpse of something softer, and the way she always,alwaysfound a way to pull away before Sam could get too close.
Sam swiped her phone open, scrolling aimlessly through old messages, pausing on the brief exchanges with Roz. The clinical texts. The occasional teasing remarks. They were soher—distant and carefully controlled, always giving just enough to keep Sam hooked but never enough to let her in.
Sam flopped back onto her mattress with a heavy sigh, her hand draped across her face as she stared at the ceiling. Her chest ached with something she couldn’t name, a mix of anger, hurt, and something deeper, something raw and terrifying that she wasn’t ready to admit to herself.
Her phone buzzed suddenly, and she shot up, her pulse quickening.
But it wasn’t Roz. Just a weather alert.
Sam exhaled slowly, her shoulders slumping as she fell back again, her phone still clutched in her hand.
