Chapter 15 Sam
SAM
The firehouse was settling into its usual morning rhythm, a mix of low chatter and the quiet thrum of exhaustion.
The smell of soap and smoke lingered faintly in the air, a reminder of the earlier callouts.
Boots clattered against the concrete floor, muffled voices echoed through the bay, and someone laughed from the common room, a sound that didn’t quite break through Sam’s haze of fatigue.
She sat in her small office, shoulders hunched as she skimmed through a pile of incident reports. Her desk lamp pooled light over the papers, the bulb buzzing faintly in the otherwise muted room. A half-empty coffee cup sat forgotten beside her, its contents long gone cold.
Sam let out a slow breath, dragging a hand through her hair as she checked the clock. She tapped her pen against the desk, absently glancing at her phone for what felt like the hundredth time that day already. Nothing. The screen remained dark and empty.
Not that she’d expected a message.
She set the phone down quickly, like it burned her fingertips, and turned back to her paperwork with grim determination.
Roz Harrington.
The name flickered through her thoughts no matter how much she tried to bury it. Her stomach twisted, the same mix of anger and ache she’d been carrying for days gnawing at her ribs. She hadn’t heard from Roz since their argument. She hadn’t reached out either.
Sam clenched her jaw and turned the page, forcing herself to focus. There was no use thinking about someone who didn’t want to fight for her.
Her focus broke when someone knocked at the office door, a light rap of knuckles followed by the voice of Logan, one of the younger guys on the crew.
“Hey, Cap,” he said, poking his head in with a curious expression. “There’s someone here to see you.”
Sam frowned, setting her pen down and leaning back in her chair.
“Who?”
Logan shrugged, his grin boyish and teasing. “Didn’t say. She’s waiting outside. You want me to—?”
“No, I’ve got it.” Sam pushed herself up from her chair, her boots heavy against the floor as she made her way out of the office. She was already bracing herself for a civilian complaint or another department meeting she’d forgotten about.
As she walked through the bay, the evening light streamed through the open garage doors, streaking the polished fire trucks in orange and gold. The sight might’ve been beautiful if her mind weren’t so tangled.
Outside, the air was crisp, tinged with the sharp scent of diesel and fading sunlight. Sam squinted against the brightness as she stepped into the parking lot. And then she froze.
Roz.
The breath hitched in her throat, her steps halting like her boots had suddenly rooted into the ground.
Roz stood near her car, leaning against the passenger-side door as though it might hold her upright.
She looked out of place here—too pristine and elegant against the gritty backdrop of the firehouse.
Her blazer was tailored and dark, her jeans casual but expensive, but it was her face that stopped Sam cold.
Roz’s usual sharp, confident demeanor was muted.
There were no snarky remarks waiting on her lips, no cool mask of indifference.
Her expression was vulnerable, uncertain, even.
Her arms were crossed, as if to protect herself, but her eyes, her dark, steady eyes, found Sam’s across the distance, and Sam’s chest clenched tight.
Determination. Hope. And something raw, something Sam had never seen on Roz’s face before.
Sam’s body went stiff on instinct, the ache in her chest giving way to anger, the lingering sting of Roz’s silence bubbling to the surface. Her voice was sharp, clipped, when she finally spoke.
“What are you doing here, Roz?”
Roz flinched, barely, but Sam saw it. The smallest falter in Roz’s mask. It felt like a crack in an unmovable wall.
“I needed to see you,” Roz said softly, pushing off the car. Her hands were buried in the pockets of her jacket, her shoulders tense as though every muscle in her body was resisting the urge to flee.
Sam swallowed hard, keeping her feet firmly planted where they were. She was torn between wanting to demand answers and turning on her heel to leave Roz standing there alone, just like Roz had left her.
Her frustration rose, hot and bitter, but she didn’t say anything yet. She just stood there, fists curling at her sides as she stared at the woman in front of her, the woman who still managed to make her heart pound, no matter how much she wanted to hate her.
Roz shifted her weight, her gaze unwavering despite the clear nerves in her posture. She exhaled slowly, deeply, as though steadying herself.
“I know you don’t want to see me,” she began, her voice quiet but steady. “And I know I don’t deserve to show up like this. But…I needed to.”
Sam didn’t move. The words barely made a dent in the shield she’d thrown up around herself.
“You don’t get to just show up, Roz,” Sam replied, her voice low and biting. “Not after everything.”
“I know.”
The admission came softly, but it didn’t carry the smug arrogance Sam had come to expect from Roz. Instead, there was regret woven into the syllables, and it threw Sam off balance.
She wanted to say more, wanted to throw every hurtful word she’d held back right into Roz’s face, but instead, she stood there stiffly, heart pounding in her ears.
The silence between them stretched, thick and tense. It was Roz who finally spoke, her voice gentler now, almost hesitant.
“Can we talk?”
Sam let out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking her head. “Now you want to talk?”
Roz flinched again, just slightly, but this time she didn’t back down.
“Yes,” she said firmly. “Now.”
Sam’s heart warred with itself, anger colliding with something softer, something she wasn’t ready to name. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her stance still defensive.
“I don’t think I have anything to say to you, Roz.”
Roz’s shoulders fell just slightly, but her eyes held steady.
“Then let me talk.”
For a long moment, Sam said nothing. She stood there, glaring at the woman who’d torn her heart in two, waiting for some kind of explanation that wouldn’t make a difference anyway.
But despite herself, despite everything, Sam’s body betrayed her. She didn’t walk away. She stayed rooted in place, waiting to see what Roz had to say.
Roz exhaled again, and in that moment, she looked more fragile than Sam had ever seen her. Vulnerable. Real.
Sam’s chest tightened.
The words Roz was preparing to say were sitting right on the edge of her lips, and Sam could feel it, the heaviness, the tension, the pull that had always existed between them.
But she couldn’t let herself soften yet. Not after everything.
So Sam stood there, arms crossed, chin tilted stubbornly upward, and waited.
“Fine,” she said finally, her voice sharp. “Talk.”
The silence between them felt like a tangible thing, heavy and unmoving.
Roz stood only a few steps away, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her jacket as though they were the only things keeping her steady.
Sam stood her ground, arms crossed, every muscle in her body locked in tension.
Her expression was sharp and guarded, but her eyes betrayed the storm beneath.
Roz inhaled, a shaky breath that she tried to steady before speaking.
“I owe you an explanation.” Her voice was soft but firm, as though forcing herself to hold steady. “I owe you more than that. But I don’t even know where to start.”
Sam let out a short, sharp exhale, the sound closer to a bitter laugh.
“Start with why,” she snapped. “Why you pushed me away. Why you let your mother decide we weren’t worth it.”
The words cut through the air, brutal and unforgiving.
Roz flinched like she’d been struck, her jaw tightening as she absorbed the blow.
For a moment, Sam thought Roz would shrink back, revert to that untouchable mask she wore so well.
But Roz didn’t turn away. Instead, she lifted her head and met Sam’s glare, a fire burning in her dark eyes.
“You’re right,” Roz said quietly, the words trembling with effort. “I let her decide. I let her words dig into me like they always do. I let everything I’ve fought for and thought I wanted dictate what I did next. And you were the price I paid for it.”
Sam’s arms tightened around her middle, a shield she refused to lower. She shook her head, her voice sharp and disbelieving.
“And what? You think saying that now makes it okay?” Her voice wavered, betraying a flicker of the pain beneath the anger. “I needed you, Roz. I needed you to fight for us, and you just…gave up.”
Roz’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, her composure cracking ever so slightly. But she didn’t look away.
“I didn’t give up,” she said, her voice low but resolute. “I ran.”
Sam scoffed, a hollow sound that echoed in the stillness of the firehouse lot. “That’s the same damn thing, Roz.”
“No, it’s not!” Roz’s voice rose, surprising both of them.
Her hands pulled free of her pockets, gesturing sharply as the words finally spilled out, raw and unguarded.
“I ran because I was scared, Sam. Scared of losing everything, my career, my family, the respect I’ve spent my entire life clawing to earn.
You don’t know what it’s like to walk into a room and feel like every single eye is waiting for you to fail. ”
Sam froze, her expression shifting ever so slightly. But Roz wasn’t done.
“The thought of losing you on top of everything else…” Roz paused, shaking her head as her voice softened into something almost broken.
“It paralyzed me. I didn’t know how to fight for both.
I didn’t think I could. So I did the only thing I know how to do when I feel like I’m drowning. I pushed you away.”