Chapter 7 Sam
SAM
The clang of equipment and the echo of shouted instructions filled the firehouse drill yard.
Sam stood at the center of the chaos, her sharp blue eyes scanning the scene, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The team moved through a simulated rescue, hauling hoses and maneuvering ladders with practiced precision.
It should have been just another routine drill, something Sam excelled at managing, but today, her focus wavered.
Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Roz. She could still feel the phantom touch of Roz’s hands on her, the memory of her voice low and teasing in her ear. Roz had an uncanny ability to invade her mind at the most inconvenient moments, and this was no exception.
“Captain?” Jack Mitchell’s voice broke through her haze. “You good?”
Sam blinked, snapping her attention back to the scene in front of her.
One of the junior firefighters was struggling to secure a knot, the rope slipping awkwardly through his hands.
Sam strode forward, barking instructions.
“Tighter grip. Keep your weight balanced. You lose that knot, you lose the load.”
The rookie nodded, his movements stiff as he corrected his form.
Sam stepped back, hands on her hips, but her mind was already slipping again.
The tension in Roz’s green eyes, the way she said her name like it was both a challenge and a promise—it all played on a loop, pulling her focus from the task at hand.
When the drill ended, the team gathered around to debrief. Sam ran through the motions, pointing out errors, offering praise where it was due, but her voice lacked its usual sharp edge. The firefighters dispersed, their chatter fading as they returned to the station.
Jack lingered, watching her with a knowing look. “Alright, spill it,” he said, leaning against a nearby wall. “What’s going on with you?”
Sam frowned, turning away as she wiped her hands on a towel. “Nothing. Just tired.”
Jack snorted. “Come on, Cap. I’ve worked with you long enough to know when something’s eating at you. You’re not exactly subtle.”
Sam’s jaw tightened, her back still to him. “It’s nothing, Jack. Drop it.”
“Sure.” Jack crossed his arms, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “You’ve been distracted all week for no reason. Definitely sounds like nothing.”
Sam turned to face him, her expression hard. “You done?”
Jack held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. Just saying, if you need to talk, I’m here.”
Sam sighed, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “I appreciate it, but it’s not something I can talk about.”
“Not something or not someone?” Jack asked, raising an eyebrow.
Sam froze for a beat, her defenses slipping for just a moment before she composed herself. “It’s complicated.”
“Ah.” Jack nodded knowingly. “Complicated. The universal code for ‘I’m in deep, but I don’t want to admit it.’”
Sam shot him a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. “Don’t you have something better to do?”
Jack chuckled, pushing off the wall. “Not when you’re giving me such prime entertainment, Cap. But seriously, don’t let whatever this is mess with your head too much. We need you sharp.”
“I’m always sharp,” Sam said, her tone firm, though the flicker of doubt in her eyes betrayed her.
“Sure,” Jack said with a smirk, walking away. “If you say so.”
Left alone, Sam leaned against the wall, her head tilting back as she let out a slow breath.
Jack wasn’t wrong, she was in deep. Too deep.
And the worst part was, she didn’t want to climb out.
Roz had wrapped herself around Sam’s thoughts, her presence lingering like a shadow, and no amount of drills or distractions could shake her.
Sam pulled her phone from her pocket, her thumb hovering over Roz’s name in her messages.
The last exchange between them was still fresh in her mind, filled with teasing words that had set her heart racing.
She wanted to text Roz now, to ask how her day was going, to feel that connection again.
But she hesitated, tucking the phone away instead.
She couldn’t let herself get pulled under. Not here. Not now.
But as she pushed off the wall and headed back into the firehouse, Sam knew she was lying to herself. Roz wasn’t just under her skin, she was in her blood. And no amount of distance or distraction was going to change that.
The firehouse was quiet in the late evening, the hum of distant sirens blending with the faint buzz of fluorescent lights.
Sam sat on the edge of her bunk, her phone resting in her hands.
She stared at the screen, her thumb hovering over Roz’s name in her messages.
The emptiness of the room mirrored the hollow ache she couldn’t seem to shake.
They had stolen moments together, tucked away like precious gems—hidden, cherished, and fragile. But it wasn’t enough. Not anymore.
Sam sighed, leaning forward as she typed out a message, her fingers hesitating on the keys before she hit send.
Sam: “You still awake?”
She set the phone down, rubbing a hand over her face as she waited. The minutes stretched, the quiet pressing in on her until the screen lit up with Roz’s reply.
Roz: “Always. What’s wrong?”
Sam frowned at the words, her chest tightening. Roz always knew when something was off, even through the barrier of a screen. It should have comforted Sam, but instead, it only made the distance between them feel more unbearable.
Sam: “Just thinking.”
The reply came almost instantly.
Roz: “Dangerous habit. What’s on your mind?”
Sam stared at the message, her thoughts swirling.
She wanted to say everything: that the secrecy was suffocating her, that she hated pretending like Roz wasn’t constantly in her head, that she wanted more than stolen kisses and late-night texts.
But she knew how Roz would react. The walls would go up, the conversation would deflect, and they’d be back to square one.
Still, the frustration bled into her words as she typed her reply.
Sam: “How long can we keep this up, Roz? Sneaking around like teenagers? It’s starting to feel like we’re running in circles.”
The pause before Roz’s response felt like an eternity. When it came, it was cautious, measured, exactly what Sam expected.
Roz: “You know why it has to be this way. My career… your career… if anyone found out, well, you know.”
Sam typed back, her reply quick and pointed.
Sam: “I know. Believe me, I know. But don’t you think this is taking a toll?”
The silence that followed was deafening. Sam’s chest tightened as she watched the screen, the little typing indicator blinking on and off as Roz hesitated. When the message finally came through, it was more vulnerable than Sam anticipated.
Roz: “I’m trying, Sam. This is all new for me.”
Sam exhaled, some of her frustration ebbing. She knew Roz was trying. She could see it in the way Roz let herself be vulnerable in their private moments, in the way she teased and reassured Sam when the pressure felt too much. But knowing didn’t make it easier.
Sam: “I just… I hate feeling like I’m hiding you. Like what we have isn’t real unless we’re alone.”
The pause this time was longer, and when Roz replied, her words carried a weight Sam could feel in her chest.
Roz: “It’s real to me, Sam. Even if we can’t show it. It’s real.”
Sam read the words over and over, her thumb brushing against the screen. She wanted to believe them, wanted to hold onto the truth in Roz’s message. But the strain was undeniable, and Sam wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep walking this tightrope.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, her thoughts spinning, before she typed her reply.
Sam: “I need more, Roz. I don’t know how, but I need more.”
The response didn’t come right away, and Sam set the phone aside, leaning back against the wall as she stared at the ceiling.
The secrecy that had once felt thrilling now felt like a weight, pulling her down with every passing day.
She hated how it made her question everything, even the connection she had with Roz.
When her phone buzzed again, Sam grabbed it immediately, her heart racing as she read Roz’s reply.
Roz: “I know. I just… I don’t want to lose you.”
Sam’s chest ached at the vulnerability in Roz’s words. She typed back, her fingers trembling slightly.
Sam: “You won’t. But I’m afraid we’re going to lose each other if we keep this up.”
There was no immediate reply this time, and Sam stared at the screen, her thoughts heavier than ever. She wanted to fight for what they had, but she wasn’t sure how much longer she could fight alone.
Sliding the phone onto the table beside her, Sam lay back on the bunk, closing her eyes as exhaustion crept in. Roz’s words echoed in her mind, mingling with her own fears and desires.
It’s real to me.
It was real. Sam just hoped it could be enough.
Sam stood outside Roz’s office, her pulse quickening as she stared at the polished nameplate on the door: Dr. Rosalind Harrington. Her knuckles hovered for a moment before she knocked lightly, the sound sharp against the quiet hum of the hospital hallway.
“Come in,” Roz’s voice called from inside, calm and professional.
Sam hesitated, her hand gripping the doorknob tighter than necessary before she turned it and stepped in.
Roz was at her desk, bent over a chart, her pink hair catching the faint glow of the overhead light.
For a moment, Sam just stood there, taking her in: the sharp focus, the elegance in her posture, the way Roz seemed completely untouchable.
It was a stark contrast to the vulnerability Sam had seen in her during their stolen moments.
Roz didn’t look up right away. “I thought you’d be with Ben,” she said without glancing up.
“I was,” Sam said, closing the door softly behind her. “He’s doing okay. Stable.”