Chapter 9 Sam
SAM
The rhythmic clang of metal echoed through the firehouse as Sam dropped a barbell onto the mat, her chest heaving with exertion.
Sweat clung to her skin, her muscles burning from the relentless workout she’d thrown herself into.
It was late, too late for anyone else to be in the gym, but that was exactly what Sam wanted.
She grabbed a towel, dragging it across her face as she leaned against the wall, trying to slow her breath. But no amount of physical strain could wipe the memory of the argument with Roz from her mind.
“You’d rather gamble and show off how brilliant you are…”
Sam had meant the words, even if they’d come out sharper than she intended.
She’d watched the surgery from behind the glass, her knuckles white against the observation railing.
Every second felt like a lifetime as Roz made those decisive cuts, her confidence almost infuriating in how unshakable it was.
And yet, here Sam was, back at square one, angry and confused, but still unable to ignore the way Roz’s determination drew her in.
“Damn it, Roz,” Sam muttered under her breath, pushing off the wall and flinging the towel onto a bench.
She wasn’t just angry; she was hurt. Hurt that Roz didn’t see how much it mattered.
That someone like her could act so recklessly and then walk away like it was nothing.
Sam couldn’t compartmentalize it the way Roz did.
The young woman in that surgery wasn’t just a patient.
She was a person, scared and vulnerable, and Sam had held her hand through it.
The thought of losing her… Sam shook her head hard, trying to banish the knot in her chest.
“You good?”
Sam looked up to find Jack leaning against the gym doorframe, arms crossed casually but his expression edged with concern. Jack was always the first to notice when something was off, and Sam didn’t know whether to be grateful or annoyed.
“Fine,” Sam replied, a little too quickly. She grabbed a water bottle, twisting the cap and taking a long drink to avoid looking at him.
Jack didn’t budge. “Uh-huh. That’s why you’ve been throwing that barbell around like it personally insulted your mother.”
Sam shot him a dry look, her lips curving faintly despite herself. “I’m fine, Mitchell. Just needed to blow off some steam.”
Jack studied her for a long beat, his sharp gaze searching. He wasn’t one to push, but Sam could tell he wasn’t buying it either. “You know you can talk to me, right?” he said, his tone softer now. “Whatever’s got you all twisted up, it’s better not to let it eat you alive.”
Sam sighed, dropping onto the bench with a heavy thud. She rubbed her hands over her face, her mind still churning. “I just…had a rough conversation with someone, that’s all,” she admitted finally, her voice muffled behind her palms.
Jack’s brows lifted knowingly. “Someone or someone?”
Sam glared at him, but there wasn’t any real heat behind it. “Not like that.”
Jack grinned faintly, backing off, but the worry remained in his expression. “Fine. You don’t want to talk about it? I won’t push. Just don’t let whatever it is distract you. You’ve got a whole team looking up to you, Cap.”
Sam flinched slightly at that, the weight of responsibility settling on her shoulders again. “I know,” she said quietly.
Jack gave her a nod, lingering for a moment longer before disappearing back into the hallway. When the door swung shut behind him, the firehouse gym fell into silence again.
Sam leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as her head dropped between her shoulders.
Her mind was a mess, a collision of emotions she didn’t know how to process.
Frustration with Roz, admiration for her brilliance, hurt at feeling shut out…
and underneath it all, that damned pull toward her.
Even now, when Sam closed her eyes, she could see Roz’s face—calm, focused, and untouchable, as if the world couldn’t shake her.
But Sam had seen the cracks too. The brief flicker of guilt in Roz’s eyes when she’d accused her of recklessness.
The way her voice had wavered, just slightly, as she defended herself.
It would’ve been easier to hate her, Sam thought bitterly. Easier to storm out and never look back. But that wasn’t how it worked.
Not with Roz.
Her phone buzzed on the bench beside her, pulling her out of her thoughts. Sam glanced at the screen and felt her chest tighten.
Roz: “She’s stable.”
The message was simple. Clinical. But Sam could almost hear Roz’s voice in the words, measured and careful.
Sam stared at the screen for a long time, her thumb hovering over the reply button. She wanted to say something, to thank Roz for saving her, to apologize for the argument, to demand why Roz made her feel like this in the first place. But all of those words stuck in her throat.
Instead, she typed out a response.
Sam: “Good. Thank you.”
She hit send and immediately regretted how cold it sounded. But what else was she supposed to say? That the thought of Roz taking those risks scared the hell out of her? That she hated how much Roz’s decisions affected her? That she couldn’t stop thinking about her no matter how hard she tried?
Sam threw the phone back onto the bench and stood abruptly, her chest tight with unspoken words. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight, not with this gnawing at her. Roz Harrington had been under her skin since the moment they met, and now it felt like she’d taken up permanent residence.
“Get it together, Quinn,” Sam muttered to herself, pacing the length of the gym. But no matter how many times she said it, the ache in her chest didn’t go away.
Roz was everywhere—her sharp words, her infuriating confidence, her unshakable calm—and Sam wasn’t sure how much longer she could pretend it didn’t matter.
Sam walked into Harrington Memorial’s quiet corridors, her boots echoing faintly against the polished tile.
The late afternoon sun filtered through the wide hospital windows, casting long, golden streaks of light that softened the otherwise sterile atmosphere.
Despite the calm, Sam’s shoulders were taut with tension as she made her way toward the ICU.
She wasn’t supposed to be here, not officially. Checking in on patients wasn’t a part of her job as a firefighter, but Sam had never been good at walking away when someone she’d connected with was left in the balance. Especially not now.
Sam paused outside the door to room 217, her hand hesitating on the handle as she stared through the window.
Lila, the young woman Sam had carried from the wreckage, was awake, though pale and small against the hospital bed’s stark sheets.
Her head was bandaged, a soft monitor beep echoing beside her. The sight made Sam’s chest tighten.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside. Lila turned her head slightly at the sound of the door opening, her expression flickering with surprise before settling into a faint, tired smile.
“Hey,” Sam said softly, stopping near the foot of the bed. She felt too big for the room somehow, too solid and strong when everything in here felt delicate and breakable. “How’re you doing?”
“Better than the last time you saw me,” Lila replied with a weak chuckle, though her voice was hoarse.
Sam’s lips twitched into a small smile as she shoved her hands into her jacket pockets. “You scared me there, you know,” she admitted. “You were talking my ear off about cats and favorite cities one second, then—” Sam cut herself off, swallowing down the knot in her throat.
Lila tilted her head, her smile softening into something more genuine. “You stayed with me.”
Sam met her gaze, something raw settling behind her sharp blue eyes. “Of course I did.”
There was a beat of silence before Sam stepped closer, pulling the chair at the side of the bed and lowering herself into it. She leaned her forearms on her knees, studying Lila for a moment. “You remember much about that day?”
Lila shrugged one shoulder. “Bits and pieces. Mostly just…your voice. You told me I wasn’t alone.”
Sam’s chest tightened again, the memory of holding Lila’s hand as the rubble closed around them flashing through her mind. “You weren’t,” Sam said quietly.
They sat in silence for a moment, the rhythmic beeping of monitors filling the space. Sam looked down at her hands, rough and calloused against the navy blue of her firehouse jacket. “You’ve got a strong spirit, you know,” she murmured, almost to herself.
Lila smiled faintly. “Is that what you call it?”
“Yeah,” Sam replied, her voice firm. “It’s what got you through this. You were tough when you needed to be. That’s not easy.”
The words hung between them, heavy with meaning. Sam wasn’t just talking to Lila anymore; she was talking to herself, to every person she’d ever fought to save. To Roz, who had been the one to keep Lila alive when Sam couldn’t do anything more.
The thought made her jaw tighten.
“Are you okay?” Lila asked softly, her gaze sharper than Sam expected. “You look like you’re carrying something too.”
Sam blinked, caught off guard. She hesitated, searching for the right words. “It’s…part of the job,” she said eventually, her tone quieter now. “Some days, it weighs heavier than others.”
Lila studied her, eyes soft but steady. “It’s a lot to hold alone, isn’t it?”
Sam’s throat tightened at the honesty in her voice, and she had to look away for a moment. She hadn’t realized just how much the weight was pressing on her until now.
“Sometimes,” Sam admitted. “But you’re not alone in this, okay? You’ve got people here who’ll take care of you.”
Lila nodded faintly, her smile small but warm. “Thank you, Sam. For everything.”
Sam stood, her hands flexing at her sides as she looked down at the young woman. “Take care of yourself, alright?” Her voice was firm, but there was a softness beneath it, a promise.