Chapter 11 Sam #2
“Okay,” Jack said, his voice quieter now. “You don’t.”
Sam swallowed, looking away as she ran a hand through her hair, her pulse thrumming under her skin. She wanted to apologize, but the words stuck in her throat, tangled up with everything else she wasn’t ready to face.
“I’m fine,” she muttered again, more to herself than to him.
Jack watched her for another beat, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t push. “All right,” he said finally, stepping back into the kitchen. “Try to get some sleep, Cap. You’re no good to the rest of us if you burn yourself out.”
Sam didn’t answer. She turned on her heel and headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time, as if she could outrun the storm in her head.
The bunk room was dark and silent when she entered, the rhythmic breathing of her crew the only sound.
Sam moved quietly to her locker, stripping off her jacket and boots with practiced efficiency.
She sat heavily on the edge of her bunk, elbows braced on her knees, hands hanging loosely between them.
The exhaustion was starting to set in now, dragging at her limbs, but her mind wouldn’t stop. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Roz’s face—not the woman she kissed, not the woman who whispered her name like it meant everything, but the woman who told her to leave.
“Just go. I’ll handle this.”
The words felt like a slap. Sam knew Roz’s walls better than anyone—how quickly she could shut down, how fiercely she guarded herself—but tonight had been different.
Evelyn had caught them in a moment that was theirs, a rare crack in Roz’s impenetrable facade, and Roz had slammed the door shut on Sam like it had never happened.
Sam rubbed her hands over her face, her breaths shaky and uneven. She shouldn’t be this hurt. She shouldn’t feel so abandoned, so raw. But she did.
“Dammit, Roz,” she whispered to herself, her voice trembling with frustration.
She sat like that for a long time, shoulders hunched, staring at the floor without really seeing it. Eventually, the silence became unbearable. She stood abruptly, grabbed her jacket, and slipped back out of the bunk room.
Sam found herself in the gym, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead as she pulled on her gloves and moved toward the heavy bag.
She didn’t care enough to bother wrapping her hands.
The first punch was sloppy, too wide, but the impact sent a jolt up her arm that she welcomed.
She swung again, harder this time, and then again until her fists were pounding the bag with every ounce of anger and frustration she couldn’t hold in anymore.
Why didn’t you fight for me?
Why did you let her win?
Why do I care this much?
The questions circled endlessly in her mind as she hit the bag over and over, sweat rolling down her back, her breaths coming fast and hard. Her knuckles ached, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop.
“Cap.”
The voice cut through the haze, sharp and stern. Sam froze mid-swing, her chest heaving as she turned to see Jack standing in the doorway, his arms crossed.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, his tone a mix of frustration and concern. “It’s almost three in the morning.”
“I’m fine,” Sam said, her voice hoarse as she pulled her gloves off and tossed them onto the bench.
“Yeah, you keep saying that,” Jack replied dryly, stepping into the room. “But punching the hell out of that bag says otherwise.”
Sam didn’t answer, turning away as she grabbed a towel and wiped the sweat from her face.
“You gonna tell me what’s going on, or are we just gonna keep pretending you’re okay?” Jack pressed, his voice softer now. “Because whatever it is, it’s eating you alive, Cap.”
Sam opened her mouth, ready to fire off another deflection, but the words wouldn’t come. Her throat tightened, her shoulders slumping as she dropped onto the bench. She stared at the floor, her hands fisted in the towel, trying to pull herself together.
“Jack,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t.”
Jack studied her for a moment, his expression softening. He didn’t push. He just sat down on the bench across from her, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, waiting.
Sam didn’t look up, didn’t say anything else. The silence between them stretched out, heavy and unspoken, but for the first time all night, it didn’t feel so suffocating.
Hours later, Sam lay on her bunk, staring at the ceiling. Her body was exhausted, every muscle aching, but sleep wouldn’t come.
She replayed the moment in Roz’s office over and over, the softness of Roz’s kiss, the way it turned desperate, and then the way Roz pulled away as Evelyn’s voice shattered the quiet. She couldn’t shake the look on Roz’s face: fear, regret, shame.
“I’ll handle this.”
Sam closed her eyes, her chest aching as she thought of Roz alone, facing Evelyn’s disapproval without her. She wanted to fight for Roz, to pull her into her arms and tell her that nothing else mattered. But Roz had pushed her away, and now Sam didn’t know how to reach her.
As the first rays of morning light crept through the window, Sam let out a shaky breath. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t know what to do.