Page 13 of Dr. Roz Harrington
Neither spoke. Words felt unnecessary, inadequate. Instead, in an unspoken agreement, they stepped back, moving in opposite directions. Roz turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing in the quiet night. Her mind raced, her chest tight, and her lips still tingling with the memory of Sam’s.
She didn’t dare process what had just happened. Not yet. Whatever this was, wherever it was headed, it had begun. And Roz wasn’t sure if she wanted to stop it. Or if she even could.
5
SAM
Sam gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, her palms damp against the worn leather. The road home blurred in her peripheral vision, the city lights streaking like smeared paint through the windshield. Her heart thudded in her chest, loud enough to drown out the hum of the engine, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t banish the memory of Roz’s lips from her mind.
It had been a moment—one charged, electrifying moment—but it felt like it had changed everything. The feel of Roz’s hand in her hair, the press of her lips, the way Roz’s thumb had brushed over her cheek so tenderly, it was all seared into her senses. And the worst part? Sam hadn’t pulled away. She hadn’t even thought about it. She’d let Roz take control, and worse, she’d wanted it.
“Damn it,” Sam muttered under her breath, her voice tight as she pulled into her driveway and killed the engine. She sat there for a moment, gripping the wheel, staring straight ahead. She could still feel the ghost of Roz’s fingers against her skin and the weight of her body leaning into hers.
She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, but eventually, the cool night air forced her out of the car. Inside, her apartment felt too quiet, too still, and she paced the living room like a caged animal. Her mind raced with thoughts she couldn’t control.
What the hell was that? What does this even mean?
Her fingers ran through her hair in frustration, her pulse still hammering as she replayed the kiss for the hundredth time. Every detail refused to fade: the heat of Roz’s body, the command in her movements, the softness beneath all that fire. Sam clenched her jaw, trying to shove the memory aside.
“It was nothing,” she told herself, her voice echoing in the empty room. “A mistake. That’s all.”
But even as she said it, her chest tightened with the lie. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Roz again, the way she’d looked at her, like she wasn’t just in control but completely certain of what she wanted. It had rattled Sam, and nothing—not pacing, not a long, hot shower—could shake it.
The next day, Sam threw herself into work with laser focus, determined to shove the previous night as far from her mind as possible. Her crew had assembled for a morning drill, and Sam barked orders with a sharpness that left no room for argument.
Jack shot her a questioning look, but she ignored him, crossing her arms as her team reset the drill. Every command was precise, her voice slicing through the morning air with the kind of authority that left no room for distraction.
But distraction crept in anyway. Between drills, as her crew regrouped and refueled, Sam found herself staring at theground, her mind wandering back to the night before. The memory of Roz’s lips burned in her thoughts, the tension in her chest flaring again.
“Cap?” Jack’s voice broke through her haze, and she looked up sharply.
“What?”
“You good?” Jack asked, his tone laced with concern. “You’ve been on edge all morning. More than usual.”
Sam straightened, forcing her features into a neutral mask. “I’m fine. Focus on the drill.”
Jack didn’t look convinced, but he nodded, backing off. Sam turned away, her jaw tightening. She couldn’t afford to lose focus, not here. But no matter how hard she tried, Roz was still there, her presence lingering like an itch Sam couldn’t scratch.
Later that afternoon, Sam found herself at Harrington Memorial, ostensibly to check on Ben’s progress. She told herself it was just routine, part of her duty as captain to make sure her team was recovering. But as she walked the familiar halls of the hospital, her pulse quickened, and she knew it wasn’t just Ben she was here to see.
Roz appeared like a force of nature, stepping into the hallway just as Sam turned the corner. She was in her scrubs, her choppy pink hair slightly disheveled, but her piercing green eyes were as sharp as ever.
“Captain Quinn,” Roz said, her voice cool and professional.
“Dr. Harrington,” Sam replied, keeping her tone equally neutral.
They stood there for a moment, the silence between them heavy. Sam searched Roz’s expression for any sign of acknowledgment, some crack in her mask that hinted at whathad happened between them. But Roz was unreadable, her composure as unshakable as ever.
“How’s Ben’s occupational therapy progressing?” Sam asked finally, breaking the silence.
“Very well,” Roz replied. “He should make a full recovery and regain full function.”
“Good.” Sam nodded, her arms crossing over her chest.
Roz’s gaze lingered a second too long, and Sam felt her pulse quicken. There was something in the way Roz looked at her, something just beneath the surface that wasn’t entirely professional. Sam opened her mouth to say something, but the words caught in her throat.
“Anything else you need, Captain?” Roz asked, her tone neutral but her eyes sharp, searching.
