Chapter 5 Sam
SAM
Sam gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, her palms damp against the worn leather.
The road home blurred in her peripheral vision, the city lights streaking like smeared paint through the windshield.
Her heart thudded in her chest, loud enough to drown out the hum of the engine, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t banish the memory of Roz’s lips from her mind.
It had been a moment—one charged, electrifying moment—but it felt like it had changed everything.
The feel of Roz’s hand in her hair, the press of her lips, the way Roz’s thumb had brushed over her cheek so tenderly, it was all seared into her senses.
And the worst part? Sam hadn’t pulled away.
She hadn’t even thought about it. She’d let Roz take control, and worse, she’d wanted it.
“Damn it,” Sam muttered under her breath, her voice tight as she pulled into her driveway and killed the engine. She sat there for a moment, gripping the wheel, staring straight ahead. She could still feel the ghost of Roz’s fingers against her skin and the weight of her body leaning into hers.
She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, but eventually, the cool night air forced her out of the car. Inside, her apartment felt too quiet, too still, and she paced the living room like a caged animal. Her mind raced with thoughts she couldn’t control.
What the hell was that? What does this even mean?
Her fingers ran through her hair in frustration, her pulse still hammering as she replayed the kiss for the hundredth time. Every detail refused to fade: the heat of Roz’s body, the command in her movements, the softness beneath all that fire. Sam clenched her jaw, trying to shove the memory aside.
“It was nothing,” she told herself, her voice echoing in the empty room. “A mistake. That’s all.”
But even as she said it, her chest tightened with the lie. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Roz again, the way she’d looked at her, like she wasn’t just in control but completely certain of what she wanted. It had rattled Sam, and nothing—not pacing, not a long, hot shower—could shake it.
The next day, Sam threw herself into work with laser focus, determined to shove the previous night as far from her mind as possible. Her crew had assembled for a morning drill, and Sam barked orders with a sharpness that left no room for argument.
Jack shot her a questioning look, but she ignored him, crossing her arms as her team reset the drill. Every command was precise, her voice slicing through the morning air with the kind of authority that left no room for distraction.
But distraction crept in anyway. Between drills, as her crew regrouped and refueled, Sam found herself staring at the ground, her mind wandering back to the night before. The memory of Roz’s lips burned in her thoughts, the tension in her chest flaring again.
“Cap?” Jack’s voice broke through her haze, and she looked up sharply.
“What?”
“You good?” Jack asked, his tone laced with concern. “You’ve been on edge all morning. More than usual.”
Sam straightened, forcing her features into a neutral mask. “I’m fine. Focus on the drill.”
Jack didn’t look convinced, but he nodded, backing off. Sam turned away, her jaw tightening. She couldn’t afford to lose focus, not here. But no matter how hard she tried, Roz was still there, her presence lingering like an itch Sam couldn’t scratch.
Later that afternoon, Sam found herself at Harrington Memorial, ostensibly to check on Ben’s progress.
She told herself it was just routine, part of her duty as captain to make sure her team was recovering.
But as she walked the familiar halls of the hospital, her pulse quickened, and she knew it wasn’t just Ben she was here to see.
Roz appeared like a force of nature, stepping into the hallway just as Sam turned the corner. She was in her scrubs, her choppy pink hair slightly disheveled, but her piercing green eyes were as sharp as ever.
“Captain Quinn,” Roz said, her voice cool and professional.
“Dr. Harrington,” Sam replied, keeping her tone equally neutral.
They stood there for a moment, the silence between them heavy. Sam searched Roz’s expression for any sign of acknowledgment, some crack in her mask that hinted at what had happened between them. But Roz was unreadable, her composure as unshakable as ever.
“How’s Ben’s occupational therapy progressing?” Sam asked finally, breaking the silence.
“Very well,” Roz replied. “He should make a full recovery and regain full function.”
“Good.” Sam nodded, her arms crossing over her chest.
Roz’s gaze lingered a second too long, and Sam felt her pulse quicken. There was something in the way Roz looked at her, something just beneath the surface that wasn’t entirely professional. Sam opened her mouth to say something, but the words caught in her throat.
“Anything else you need, Captain?” Roz asked, her tone neutral but her eyes sharp, searching.
Sam hesitated, her breath hitching. For a moment, she considered addressing the kiss, confronting Roz about it, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she shook her head. “No. That’s all.”
Roz nodded, her expression unreadable, and stepped past her, the faint scent of antiseptic and something distinctly Roz trailing in her wake. Sam stood frozen, her body taut with tension as she watched Roz walk away.
Her hands clenched at her sides, and she exhaled shakily, her mind racing. The tension between them hadn’t just lingered, it had intensified, and Sam wasn’t sure how much longer she could ignore it.
Sam slouched on her couch, the TV flickering in the background, the volume low enough to fade into white noise.
A glass of whiskey sat on the coffee table, untouched except for the condensation pooling around its base.
She leaned back, rubbing her temple with one hand, trying and failing to focus on the game highlights playing on the screen.
Her phone buzzed, lighting up the room in a soft glow. Sam’s hand hovered over it for a second before she picked it up. Her stomach tightened when she saw the name on the screen.
Roz Harrington.
She hesitated, her thumb hovering over the notification. Finally, she opened the message.
Roz: “How’s Ben?”
Sam blinked, her pulse quickening. It was a simple question, professional on the surface, but Sam couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it. She stared at the screen for a moment, debating how to respond. Finally, she typed:
Sam: “He’s doing fine. Stable and complaining about hospital food, so I’d say he’s on the mend.”
The reply came almost immediately.
Roz: “Sounds like a good sign. Though I’d argue that hospital food is part of the healing process. Builds character.”
Sam smirked despite herself, shaking her head as she typed.
Sam: “Is that the official Harrington Memorial stance? Torture them into recovery?”
Roz: “Absolutely. It’s highly effective. I should put it in a journal somewhere.”
Sam huffed a laugh, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. Roz had a way of disarming her, even when she didn’t want to be disarmed. She stared at the screen, debating whether to end the conversation or let it continue. Before she could decide, another message buzzed through.
Roz: “How about you? Surviving your day of barking orders? Or are you always this intense?”
Sam’s eyebrows shot up. She reread the message, her lips curving into a faint smile. There was something in Roz’s tone, teasing, but sharper, more deliberate. Sam leaned forward, her thumbs moving across the keyboard.
Sam: “Someone’s got to keep people in line. Or is that too ‘intense’ for you?”
This time, the pause was longer, and Sam found herself staring at the screen, waiting. When Roz’s reply finally came, her breath caught.
Roz: “Oh, I’m fine with intense. I just wonder if you ever loosen your grip.”
Sam stared at the words, her heart hammering. It wasn’t blatant, but the implication was clear. Roz was testing her, pushing boundaries in a way that sent a thrill racing down Sam’s spine. She typed slowly, choosing her words carefully.
Sam: “Maybe. But only if the situation calls for it.”
The reply came almost immediately, and this time, there was no mistaking Roz’s intent.
Roz: “You’re always so in control. I wonder what it takes to make you lose it.”
Sam’s breath hitched, her fingers tightening around the phone. She reread the message, her pulse quickening with each pass. Her first instinct was to brush it off, to redirect, but something stopped her. Instead, she let herself feel the heat behind Roz’s words and the challenge they carried.
Sam: “I think you’d like to know, wouldn’t you?”
The reply was instantaneous.
Roz: “I would.”
Sam stared at the screen, her body humming with tension. She took a long breath, trying to steady herself, but her hands moved almost on their own as she typed her next message.
Sam: “Careful, Doc. You might be biting off more than you can chew.”
Roz’s response was playful but edged with heat.
Roz: “Oh, I can handle it. The question is, can you?”
Sam felt the corner of her mouth twitch into a smirk, the weight of the day slipping away as she let herself get swept into the exchange. She leaned back, stretching her legs out as her thumbs danced over the keyboard.
Sam: “Big talk for someone hiding behind a screen.”
Roz: “Who says I’m hiding?”
The words hung in the air, taunting Sam. She stared at them, the weight of Roz’s challenge pressing against her chest. Part of her wanted to end it, to retreat before she went too far. But the other part—the part that still felt the ghost of Roz’s touch, the heat of her lips—couldn’t resist.
Sam: “You think you’re clever, don’t you?”
Roz: “I think you like it.”
Sam let out a low laugh, shaking her head as she typed.
Sam: “Maybe.”
There was a pause, and then Roz’s next message landed like a spark in a dry forest.
Roz: “Just maybe?”
Sam’s smirk widened, her confidence growing with each beat of the conversation.