Chapter 11 Sam
SAM
The hospital after hours always had a strange energy.
It was too quiet, too empty, like the entire building was holding its breath.
Sam wasn’t supposed to be here, not really.
She’d told herself it was to check on a patient, maybe swing by Ben’s floor and look busy.
But none of that was true. She was here for Roz.
Roz’s office sat at the far end of the hallway, tucked away like a secret.
Sam made her way there, boots echoing on the sterile tile as she passed rows of locked doors and dimly lit rooms. The firehouse was home, sure, but there was something grounding about being here, about walking through walls Roz called hers.
The door to Roz’s office was cracked open, light spilling into the hall. Sam paused, taking a moment to steady herself, then knocked gently before pushing it open.
Roz was at her desk, pen tapping rhythmically against a folder. She looked up when Sam entered, a tired smirk curling at the corner of her mouth. Her pink hair caught the warm lamplight, the strands brushing against her sharp jawline.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Roz said softly, but her tone held no bite.
Sam closed the door behind her, leaning against it for a moment as she took in the scene: Roz, framed by the clutter of papers and medical books, looking as exhausted as she was beautiful. Sam’s heart did something stupid and soft in her chest. “Since when do I follow the rules?”
Roz huffed a quiet laugh, sitting back in her chair. “You’re incorrigible.”
“Yeah?” Sam took a step forward, shoving her hands into her pockets. “That a compliment or a complaint, Doc?”
Roz’s lips twitched. “Both.”
Sam’s grin faded as she crossed the small office, stopping just in front of Roz’s desk.
The air between them shifted, that familiar pull settling in.
Neither of them moved, but it didn’t matter, Sam could feel the electricity stretching the space between them, buzzing beneath her skin like an itch she couldn’t scratch.
“You look tired,” Sam said softly, taking in the faint circles under Roz’s green eyes.
Roz shook her head, waving her off. “Don’t start with that. You’re the one pulling twenty-four-hour shifts, not me.”
“Right. And yet here you are, burning the midnight oil. It’s like you live here.”
“Somebody has to.”
The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable. Roz looked up at Sam, her expression softer now, almost curious. Sam swallowed thickly, her pulse quickening.
“Hey,” Sam murmured. “Come here.”
Roz hesitated, but only for a moment. Sam reached out, her fingers brushing Roz’s wrist, coaxing her gently out of her chair.
Roz stood slowly, her movements deliberate, until they were standing toe-to-toe.
Sam tilted her head, searching Roz’s face, her guarded eyes, the slight furrow of her brow, and then reached up to cup her cheek.
“You okay?” Sam asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Roz’s gaze softened, something unreadable flickering in her expression. She didn’t answer. Instead, she leaned into Sam’s touch just slightly, closing her eyes for a heartbeat before opening them again.
Sam couldn’t help herself. She closed the final inches between them, pressing her lips to Roz’s in a kiss that was soft at first, but quickly turned into something more. Roz exhaled against her mouth, a small sound that set Sam’s nerves on fire.
Sam pulled Roz closer, her hands tangling in her hair as she deepened the kiss.
Roz responded in kind, her arms looping around Sam’s neck as she melted into her.
The world outside disappeared, the empty hallways, the flickering fluorescents, the weight of everything waiting beyond the door.
It was just Roz now. Just her lips, her warmth, her sharp edges softened under Sam’s touch.
Roz’s back hit the edge of the desk as Sam pressed forward, pinning her there.
Sam couldn’t stop herself, didn’t want to, as her hands roamed, one sliding down to Roz’s hip, pulling her flush against her.
Roz’s breathing grew heavier, the faintest sound slipping from her throat as Sam kissed her again and again, like she’d never get enough,
The door creaked.
Sam froze mid-kiss, her lips still brushing against Roz’s. She felt the tension flood back into Roz’s body like a dam breaking, the arms around her neck going rigid. Sam’s heart sank into her stomach, a chill prickling up her spine as she turned to look.
Evelyn Harrington stood in the doorway.
Her sudden presence was like ice water poured over the moment, freezing everything in its place. The light from the hallway caught on the sharp lines of her face, casting her features in shadow. Her expression was blank, eerily calm, but her eyes, sharp and cold, cut straight through both of them.
Sam stepped back instinctively, her hands falling away from Roz as if she’d been burned. Roz didn’t move, but Sam could see the color drain from her face, her carefully built composure shattering like glass.
Evelyn’s gaze flicked between them, landing on Roz with the kind of quiet disapproval that carried more weight than shouting ever could.
“I expected more discretion, Rosalind,” Evelyn said, her voice cool and precise. The words might as well have been bullets.
Sam opened her mouth to speak, to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Evelyn lingered for only a second longer before turning on her heel and leaving the office, the soft click of the door shutting behind her echoing.
The silence left in her wake was suffocating.
Sam turned back to Roz, her chest aching at the sight of her. Roz looked frozen, staring at the door as if Evelyn might return any second to finish what she’d started.
“Roz…,” Sam said quietly, reaching out, but Roz flinched, like the touch might hurt.
“Don’t,” Roz whispered. Her voice was tight and brittle. She blinked hard, finally looking at Sam, but the softness was gone. All that remained was a wall, higher and colder than Sam had ever seen it.
“Roz, it’s not—”
“Don’t, Sam,” Roz said again, sharper this time. She ran a hand through her hair, her fingers trembling slightly before she clenched them into a fist. “Just…go. I’ll handle this.”
Sam felt like she’d been punched. “What?”
“Go,” Roz repeated, her tone clipped and final. “Please.”
Sam stared at her, trying to understand, trying to breathe. “You don’t have to do this. Whatever happens, we can deal with it together, ”
“I said go,” Roz snapped, her voice rising. The words hit Sam harder than Evelyn’s had.
Sam swallowed hard, anger and hurt bubbling in her chest. “Fine.” She forced the word out through gritted teeth, her hands clenching at her sides. “If that’s what you want.”
Roz didn’t answer. She turned away from Sam, bracing her hands on the edge of the desk like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
Sam lingered for a moment longer, half hoping Roz would stop her, say something to make sense of it all. But she didn’t.
Finally, Sam turned and walked out, shutting the door a little harder than she needed to.
She stalked down the empty hallway, her boots echoing again, but this time the sound made her skin crawl. Her chest felt tight, her throat burning as she replayed it over and over: the kiss, the door opening, Evelyn’s voice, Roz pushing her away.
By the time she reached her truck, Sam’s hands were shaking as she yanked the door open and climbed inside. She sat there for a long minute, gripping the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white.
She mentally replayed Roz’s words: “I’ll handle this.”
Sam shook her head, her jaw clenching. “Yeah, sure you will, Roz,” she muttered bitterly, slamming her keys into the ignition.
She didn’t look back as she drove away.
The firehouse was quiet when Sam returned, the hum of overhead lights and the faint murmur of the city outside the only sounds breaking the silence.
It was late, far too late for anyone but the night shift to still be awake, but that was what Sam wanted.
She didn’t trust herself to speak to anyone, not with her temper threatening to boil over.
She strode through the engine bay, boots hitting the concrete floor harder than necessary, the weight of the evening clinging to her like smoke.
Her jaw was clenched so tightly it ached, but she welcomed the pain.
Anything to distract from the loop playing in her head: Roz, her hands on Sam’s face, soft at first, then desperate; the door creaking open; Evelyn Harrington’s ice-cold gaze. “I expected more discretion, Rosalind.”
Sam bit back a growl as the words echoed again, her shoulders tensing under the weight of them.
“Cap?”
The voice startled her. Sam turned to find Jack Mitchell leaning against the kitchen doorway, his eyes shadowed and sharp. He was nursing a half-empty mug of coffee, his uniform shirt rumpled and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked like he’d been waiting.
“Didn’t expect you back tonight,” Jack said casually, but there was an edge to his tone, something wary. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” Sam said, the word coming out too quickly, too sharp.
Jack didn’t move, didn’t even blink, and that was exactly why Sam didn’t want to see him right now. Jack knew her better than most. He had a knack for reading people and breaking through their walls, and Sam didn’t trust herself not to crumble if he pushed.
“Fine, huh?” Jack echoed, the skepticism obvious as he took a sip of his coffee. “You stormed in here like you were chasing a five-alarm fire.”
“Jack,” Sam said, her voice low and warning.
“What?” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender, though his gaze didn’t waver. “I’m just saying, Cap, you look like you’re ready to punch something. If you want to talk about it—”
“I don’t,” Sam snapped.
The words were harsher than she intended, and she regretted them immediately when she saw the flicker of surprise in Jack’s expression. He covered it quickly, though, his features settling into something unreadable.