Chapter 2 Roz
ROZ
The OR was quiet except for the steady beep of the monitors and the low murmurs of Roz’s team.
Every movement in the room revolved around her, deliberate and precise.
Roz stood at the head of the table, her gloved hands steady as she guided the surgical instruments with ease.
The patient, a middle-aged man with a subdural hematoma, was stable, but Roz didn’t relax.
She never did, not until the last stitch was in place.
“Retract,” she said, her voice calm but firm. The scrub nurse moved without hesitation, and Roz leaned closer to inspect the exposed area of the brain. Her sharp green eyes tracked every detail, her mind fully focused, until it wasn’t.
It was just a flicker, a brief intrusion she didn’t expect: piercing blue eyes, set in a face framed by strength and conviction. Sam Quinn. The firefighter from the ER. The memory came unbidden, her low, steady voice cutting through Roz’s thoughts: “Will she make it?”
Roz blinked, her grip on the instrument tightening slightly. She shoved the distraction aside, irritated by her own lack of discipline. Focus, she told herself. This is what matters.
“Looking good, Dr. Harrington,” her resident said, breaking the silence.
“Of course it is,” Roz replied, her tone clipped but not unkind.
She stepped back slightly, allowing her team to finish the closure while she supervised.
Her posture remained composed, her sharp features unreadable, but the moment of distraction lingered in the back of her mind, unwanted and persistent.
When the surgery was complete, Roz stripped off her gloves and gown, handing them off to a nurse. She offered a brisk nod to her team. “Good work,” she said, already halfway out the door.
Back in her office, Roz sank into her chair, letting out a small sigh as she leaned back.
The dim lighting and the hum of the overhead vent offered a moment of solitude, a brief pause in her relentless schedule.
Her desk was cluttered with patient files and a half-empty cup of coffee, but her attention was elsewhere.
She hadn’t thought about the firefighter in hours, not since she’d arrived at the hospital that morning.
But now, alone in her office, the memory crept back in.
Sam Quinn had been so...unshakable. Most people who questioned Roz did so with hesitation, as though bracing for the inevitable cutting reply. But not Sam.
Her voice had been steady, even challenging, when she’d asked about Lila. “Is she going to make it?” There had been no fear in those words, only determination and something else. A fierce protectiveness that Roz wasn’t sure she’d ever seen before, not even in the most dedicated doctors.
Roz huffed, leaning forward to shuffle through the charts on her desk, trying to redirect her thoughts.
It wasn’t just Sam’s confidence that stuck with her; it was the way she carried herself, the commanding presence that matched Roz’s own.
Roz was used to being the dominant force in the room, but Sam had been different.
She hadn’t tried to overpower Roz; she had stood beside her, solid and immovable, like an anchor in the storm.
And Roz hated anchors. They weighed you down and stopped you from moving forward. But she couldn’t deny the admiration bubbling just beneath the surface, even as it annoyed her.
She flipped a file open, scanning the notes inside without really seeing them. Why was she still thinking about Sam Quinn? It wasn’t as though the woman had done anything extraordinary. She’d been protective of her patient. Stubborn, yes, but hardly unique.
Except...she had been.
Roz tapped her pen against the desk, her jaw tightening.
Sam’s discipline and strength were at odds with Roz’s relentless need for control, but it was exactly that difference that intrigued her.
Roz prided herself on never letting anyone challenge her authority, not in surgery, not in life.
Yet here she was, distracted by a firefighter who had the nerve to stand toe-to-toe with her in the emergency room.
It wasn’t just frustrating, it was unsettling. And Roz didn’t like being unsettled.
She glanced at the clock on the wall, noting the time. Another surgery awaited her, another chance to reclaim the focus that Sam Quinn had so annoyingly shaken. With a determined breath, Roz stood and grabbed her lab coat.
She’s just a firefighter, Roz told herself as she strode out of the office, her steps as sharp and purposeful as ever. A disciplined, stubborn, irritatingly memorable firefighter. That’s all.
But even as she headed back to the OR, Sam’s blue eyes followed her, unrelenting and unforgettable.
Roz adjusted the lapel of her tailored blazer for the third time that evening.
The fabric was impeccable, a deep navy that fit her sharp frame perfectly, but she still felt uncomfortable.
Charity events weren’t her scene. Too much talking, too many forced smiles, too many people with nothing interesting to say.
She could be in the OR right now or reviewing patient charts or doing literally anything more productive than standing in a grand ballroom filled with delicate chandeliers and the soft hum of a string quartet.
The event was a collaboration between Harrington Memorial Hospital and the city’s emergency services, meant to raise funds for trauma care and first responder resources.
Roz had been cornered into attending by the hospital board, who insisted her presence would reflect positively on the neurosurgery department.
She could already hear her mother’s voice in her head: “It’s good for your image, Rosalind.
You represent the hospital’s excellence. ”
Roz scoffed quietly to herself as she picked up a glass of sparkling water from a passing waiter.
Excellence doesn’t need to schmooze. She let her eyes wander across the room, filled with a mixture of hospital staff, firefighters, paramedics, police, and wealthy donors eager to flaunt their generosity.
That’s when she saw her.
Roz froze mid-sip, her eyes locking onto a familiar figure across the ballroom.
Sam Quinn stood near the bar, dressed in her firehouse dress uniform.
The dark navy jacket, adorned with precise rows of medals and a crisp white undershirt, accentuated her broad shoulders and powerful frame.
Her hair was pulled back neatly and her posture was impeccable, exuding the same commanding presence that had struck Roz in the ER.
But this time, there was something else.
Sam wasn’t surrounded by chaos or dust or blood.
She was polished, composed, her expression calm yet observant as she engaged in quiet conversation with a group of firefighters.
Roz felt her breath catch, an unfamiliar jolt running through her chest. For someone so grounded in discipline and logic, Roz suddenly found herself momentarily untethered.
It wasn’t just admiration. Roz had plenty of that for the people she worked with, the ones who excelled in their fields. No, this was something else entirely. Something Roz wasn’t used to feeling.
Attraction.
The realization struck her like a rogue wave.
It wasn’t just Sam’s strength that caught her attention; it was the way she carried it, like it was effortless.
Her uniform fit her perfectly, every button and crease a testament to her disciplined nature.
And then there was her face, strong, angular, with sharp blue eyes that seemed to take in everything without giving too much away.
Those same eyes had questioned Roz’s judgment in the ER, and now, across the glittering ballroom, they held an intensity that Roz couldn’t look away from.
Roz’s lips parted slightly, but she caught herself quickly, her expression snapping back into its usual aloof mask. She took another sip of her water, as if that would wash away the thoughts racing through her mind. Get a grip, Rosalind.
Sam shifted slightly, turning her head, and Roz’s stomach tightened.
For a fleeting moment, she thought Sam’s gaze might sweep across the room and land on her.
Roz felt the ridiculous urge to look away, but she forced herself to stand her ground.
She wasn’t some schoolgirl with a crush.
She was Dr. Rosalind Harrington, a world-class neurosurgeon. She didn’t get flustered.
But as Sam’s head turned back to her conversation, Roz felt an odd mix of relief and disappointment.
Why am I even thinking about this? Roz chided herself, shaking her head slightly. Sam was just a firefighter. A confident, sharp, ridiculously attractive firefighter, but still...nothing more. And yet, Roz couldn’t seem to take her eyes off her.
“Dr. Harrington,” a voice interrupted her thoughts, pulling her back to the present. She turned to see a hospital board member approaching, hand outstretched in greeting. “So glad you could make it.”
Roz pasted on her professional smile, shaking his hand. “Of course,” she replied smoothly, though her mind was still halfway across the room.
The conversation droned on about funding initiatives and donor engagement strategies, but Roz’s attention kept drifting back to Sam.
She noticed how Sam nodded thoughtfully as she listened to her colleagues, the way her lips curved into a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Roz wondered if Sam felt as out of place as she did in this overly polished setting.
As if sensing Roz’s gaze, Sam suddenly glanced up, her eyes sweeping across the room before landing on Roz.
For a second, Roz forgot how to breathe.
Sam’s expression didn’t change, but her sharp blue eyes lingered on Roz, studying her in a way that felt deliberate. Roz held her gaze, refusing to look away, her professional mask firmly in place. But beneath the surface, her pulse quickened.