Page 47 of Dr. Roz Harrington
The door creaked.
Sam froze mid-kiss, her lips still brushing against Roz’s. She felt the tension flood back into Roz’s body like a dam breaking, the arms around her neck going rigid. Sam’s heart sank into her stomach, a chill prickling up her spine as she turned to look.
Evelyn Harrington stood in the doorway.
Her sudden presence was like ice water poured over the moment, freezing everything in its place. The light from the hallway caught on the sharp lines of her face, casting her features in shadow. Her expression was blank, eerily calm, but her eyes, sharp and cold, cut straight through both of them.
Sam stepped back instinctively, her hands falling away from Roz as if she’d been burned. Roz didn’t move, but Sam could see the color drain from her face, her carefully built composure shattering like glass.
Evelyn’s gaze flicked between them, landing on Roz with the kind of quiet disapproval that carried more weight than shouting ever could.
“I expected more discretion, Rosalind,” Evelyn said, her voice cool and precise. The words might as well have been bullets.
Sam opened her mouth to speak, to saysomething, but the words wouldn’t come. Evelyn lingered for only a second longer before turning on her heel and leaving the office, the soft click of the door shutting behind her echoing.
The silence left in her wake was suffocating.
Sam turned back to Roz, her chest aching at the sight of her. Roz looked frozen, staring at the door as if Evelyn might return any second to finish what she’d started.
“Roz…,” Sam said quietly, reaching out, but Roz flinched, like the touch might hurt.
“Don’t,” Roz whispered. Her voice was tight and brittle. She blinked hard, finally looking at Sam, but the softness was gone. All that remained was a wall, higher and colder than Sam had ever seen it.
“Roz, it’s not?—”
“Don’t,Sam,” Roz said again, sharper this time. She ran a hand through her hair, her fingers trembling slightly before she clenched them into a fist. “Just…go. I’ll handle this.”
Sam felt like she’d been punched. “What?”
“Go,” Roz repeated, her tone clipped and final. “Please.”
Sam stared at her, trying to understand, trying to breathe. “You don’t have to do this. Whatever happens, we can deal with it together, ”
“I saidgo,” Roz snapped, her voice rising. The words hit Sam harder than Evelyn’s had.
Sam swallowed hard, anger and hurt bubbling in her chest. “Fine.” She forced the word out through gritted teeth, her hands clenching at her sides. “If that’s what you want.”
Roz didn’t answer. She turned away from Sam, bracing her hands on the edge of the desk like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
Sam lingered for a moment longer, half hoping Roz would stop her, saysomethingto make sense of it all. But she didn’t.
Finally, Sam turned and walked out, shutting the door a little harder than she needed to.
She stalked down the empty hallway, her boots echoing again, but this time the sound made her skin crawl. Her chest felt tight, her throat burning as she replayed it over and over: the kiss, the door opening, Evelyn’s voice, Roz pushing her away.
By the time she reached her truck, Sam’s hands were shaking as she yanked the door open and climbed inside. She sat there for a long minute, gripping the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white.
She mentally replayed Roz’s words: “I’ll handle this.”
Sam shook her head, her jaw clenching. “Yeah, sure you will, Roz,” she muttered bitterly, slamming her keys into the ignition.
She didn’t look back as she drove away.
The firehouse was quiet when Sam returned, the hum of overhead lights and the faint murmur of the city outside the only sounds breaking the silence. It was late, far too late for anyone but the night shift to still be awake, but that was what Samwanted. She didn’t trust herself to speak to anyone, not with her temper threatening to boil over.
She strode through the engine bay, boots hitting the concrete floor harder than necessary, the weight of the evening clinging to her like smoke. Her jaw was clenched so tightly it ached, but she welcomed the pain. Anything to distract from the loop playing in her head: Roz, her hands on Sam’s face, soft at first, then desperate; the door creaking open; Evelyn Harrington’s ice-cold gaze. “I expected more discretion, Rosalind.”
Sam bit back a growl as the words echoed again, her shoulders tensing under the weight of them.
