Chapter 8 Roz
ROZ
Roz Harrington stood at the head of the operating table, hands steady and sure, the sterile hum of the OR filling her ears.
Bright surgical lights beat down, pooling the focus onto the young woman lying motionless before her.
The clock on the wall ticked relentlessly, every second echoing through Roz’s mind as she moved with precision.
“This is what we’re doing,” she said firmly, her voice cutting through the tense atmosphere as her surgical team awaited her orders.
“It’s high-risk, but it’s the only chance she has.
” Her green eyes, sharp and unwavering, met those of the anesthesiologist, the scrub nurse, and her first assist, daring anyone to question her.
No one did. They never did.
But it wasn’t their hesitation Roz could feel; it was Sam’s.
Sam Quinn’s presence loomed like a shadow beyond the glass window of the OR.
Roz didn’t need to look to know Sam was there, watching, her arms crossed tightly, her jaw set with that steadfast determination she always carried.
Roz could feel her, those sharp blue eyes drilling into the scene, no doubt questioning every decision Roz made.
A flicker of irritation sparked in Roz’s chest, but she shoved it down, forcing herself back into the moment. Stay focused. She’s not your problem right now.
Her gloved hands moved expertly, navigating the brain tissue with care. Every movement was deliberate, every decision calculated. This was her domain, the place where she thrived, where there were no questions, no emotions, only skill, precision, and results.
“Watch for blood pressure drop,” she barked, never lifting her eyes from the field. The nurse adjusted the IV flow, the rhythm of the beeping monitor steadying again.
Roz took a deep breath, the sterile scent of the mask grounding her.
She had done this a hundred times before, maybe more, but the weight of Sam’s gaze was unshakable.
It wasn’t like Roz to be aware of someone else beyond the four walls of the OR, but Sam was different.
That firefighter was like a fuse that had been lit inside her, unrelenting, intense, and dangerously close to setting everything ablaze.
For a moment, Roz dared to glance up at the glass.
Sam was there, as Roz expected, standing rigid, her eyes locked onto Roz’s hands like she was scrutinizing her every move.
Her face was pale, her brows drawn together in a hard line of worry.
Roz didn’t flinch or falter, but seeing that look on Sam’s face sent an unexpected ripple through her chest.
Stop it. Roz pulled her attention back to the surgery, her focus doubling. She didn’t owe anyone explanations, least of all a firefighter with a stubborn streak and impossibly sharp eyes. But still, a small voice gnawed at the edges of her mind: What if she’s right? What if this is reckless?
No. Roz shook off the thought immediately. This was her choice. Her instincts were the only thing that mattered here.
“Cauterize,” she ordered briskly, the nurse handing her the instrument she needed.
She moved methodically, repairing the damage, one microscopic step at a time.
Her pulse quickened as she worked, not from nerves, but from the mounting pressure of the surgery, of time slipping through her fingers like sand.
“This is where it counts,” she muttered under her breath, so low that no one could hear her.
The young woman’s vitals wavered for a moment, and Roz stilled, holding her breath. The entire room froze with her, waiting for her next move.
Trust yourself. Roz’s eyes narrowed, and she made her next incision. The seconds stretched into minutes, sweat beading along her temple beneath her cap, but she didn’t falter. Her fingers worked like an artist’s, balancing strength with delicacy.
The monitor beeped steadily again. The pressure in the room released, a collective exhale filling the air. Roz pulled back just slightly, checking her work one final time. The damage was stabilized. The risk had paid off.
“Close her up,” Roz said, her voice firm but quieter now.
She stepped back, letting the surgical techs take over as her job came to an end. Roz stripped off her gloves and sterile gown, her chest heaving slightly as she walked toward the scrub sink.
As the water rushed over her hands, cooling the heat in her palms, Roz looked up at her reflection in the mirror. She was still, her face stoic as always, but beneath it all was a simmer of something else stirred: relief, exhaustion, and the ever-present tightness she could never quite name.
Roz turned toward the OR door, her focus sharpening again. Sam would be there, waiting for answers or maybe just waiting to tell Roz how wrong she’d been. Roz was ready for the fight or so she told herself.
The doors to the OR swung open as Roz stepped out, peeling off her surgical cap and running a hand through the damp strands of pink hair clinging to her forehead.
She exhaled sharply, her body thrumming with both the lingering adrenaline and the quiet relief of a successful surgery.
The young woman was stable, for now, but Roz knew better than anyone that the next forty-eight hours would be critical.
The hallway outside was unusually silent, save for the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the steady rhythm of Roz’s shoes against the tile. She was ready to scrub out and disappear into her office for a moment of peace before diving into the next case.
But peace, it seemed, was a luxury she wouldn’t be afforded tonight.
As soon as Roz turned the corner, she saw Sam waiting for her.
The firefighter stood rigidly, her broad shoulders squared, hands clenched into fists at her sides.
The firehouse dress blues Sam still wore seemed slightly wrinkled, her face flushed, her eyes sharp and unrelenting as they locked onto Roz.
Roz didn’t stop walking, though her chest tightened at the sight of Sam’s expression, anger mixed with something far more dangerous: fear.
“You want to yell at me, don’t you?” Roz said before Sam could get a word out, her tone clipped and defensive as she crossed her arms over her chest.
Sam pushed off the wall, stepping directly into Roz’s path. “What the hell was that in there, Harrington?” Her voice was low, but it carried a hard edge.
Roz arched a brow, her lips pulling into a faint, condescending smirk. “That,” she said coolly, “was me saving a life.”
Sam’s jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing. “That wasn’t saving a life. That was gambling with it.”
Roz flinched, but the reaction was subtle, her mask of composure snapping back into place almost immediately.
She tilted her chin up, refusing to let Sam see the sting behind those words.
“I did what I had to do,” Roz shot back.
“The surgery was risky, but it worked. She’s stable, which is more than I can say for how you’re acting right now. ”
Sam took another step forward, her voice rising despite the quiet of the hallway. “You could’ve lost her. Don’t you get that? She’s not just another patient to me, Roz. She’s a person, a young woman who needed someone to care about more than just proving something.”
Roz’s lips parted slightly, her green eyes flashing as she processed Sam’s words. “Prove something?” she repeated coldly, her tone cutting like glass. “You think I did that to prove myself?”
Sam didn’t falter. “I think you did it because you refuse to take the safe route. Because you’d rather gamble and show off how brilliant you are.”
“Careful, Quinn,” Roz interrupted sharply, stepping closer.
The faint tremble of anger curled in her voice now, her walls locking firmly into place.
“I’ve spent my entire career making the calls no one else has the guts to make.
If you want someone to blame for how scared you are, fine, but don’t you dare question my integrity. ”
Sam’s face flushed with frustration, her breathing heavy as the silence stretched between them. The tension was palpable, thick and charged, every word between them a spark.
“You can justify it however you want,” Sam said finally, her voice low and simmering. “But that doesn’t mean you were right.”
Roz’s jaw tightened. “And yet, she’s alive because of me,” she shot back. “So forgive me if I don’t feel like I owe you an apology for doing my job.”
Sam opened her mouth to argue, but Roz’s expression stopped her cold. There was something in Roz’s face, something raw beneath the steel, though it vanished almost as quickly as it appeared.
“I don’t expect you to understand,” Roz said finally, her tone softer now, though her posture remained defensive. “But don’t you ever question my commitment to my patients again.”
Sam exhaled sharply, shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts.
“You don’t get it, Roz,” she said quietly, her voice taut with emotion.
“It’s not just about you. People like me, we have to trust people like you.
And when you act like the risk doesn’t matter, it, ” She broke off, her voice catching briefly before she steeled herself again.
“It makes it damn hard to believe in what you’re doing. ”
For the briefest moment, something flickered in Roz’s eyes, guilt, maybe, or something close to it. But instead of addressing it, she pulled herself back together, letting her carefully constructed armor fall into place.
“You don’t have to believe in me, Sam,” Roz said, her voice icy and detached. “Because I’m not asking for your approval. I don’t need it.”
Sam stared at her for a long beat, her chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
Roz smirked faintly, though there was no real humor behind it. “I’ve been told.”
The silence stretched again, but this time, there was something deeper beneath it, an unspoken ache, a collision of pride and vulnerability that neither of them wanted to name.