Nicoleâs eyes stung with unshed tears at the sight.
As Roscoe noticed her gaze, he hastily covered up and tried to rise.
âStay seated,â Nicole insisted, her voice thick with emotion.
She reached out, touching his shoulder gingerly.
Roscoe sank back down, attempting to downplay his injuries.
âItâs nothing, really.
Itâs just now that Iâve seen itâ¦â
Nicole, her tone laden with disbelief, pressed, âDo you take me for a fool?â
In the midst of a heavy silence, Nicoleâs voice trembled slightly.
âIs this from the parking lot incident?â
Her mind flashed back to the guards, their hands wielding sinister, blade-Like weapons, which she had first mistaken for whips.
Those very weapons were intended for her, but Roscoe had intercepted the blow, taking the hit in her stead.
When Nicole broached the subject, Roscoe dismissed it with a stoic front.
âItâs nothing.
Iâve weathered worse.
â
Nicole, driven by concern, unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the grim reality of his injuries.
It confirmed Jarrodâs words.
Roscoeâs existence within the Watts dynasty was fraught with hardship.
As she reached out, Roscoe caught her hand in a tender grasp, stopping her.
âCareful, youâll soil your hands,â he cautioned.
Nicole bowed her head, noting the crimson that had already transferred to her skin.
With quiet care, Roscoe wiped her hand clean, ensuring no trace of the ordeal remained on her.
Suddenly, Nicole felt a constriction around her heart, and a peculiar sensation pricked at her nose.
She had thought she lost the ability to connect with others emotionally, assuming she had hardened herself into someone unfeeling and callous under Jarrodâs influence.
Yet, amidst her inner turmoil, she yearned to understand his motives.
Doubt gripped her.
She feared the answer might reveal a lack of any real purpose behind his actions.
Tears spilled from Nicoleâs eyes, landing on Roscoeâs skin.
In a hushed tone, she whispered, âItâs not worth it, Roscoeâ¦â
Roscoeâs composure faltered.
The once skilled surgeon was momentarily at a loss, his hands fumbling as he tried to comfort her.
âNicole,â he uttered softly, a plea in his voice.
Brushing away her tears, Nicole mustered a smile and took charge.
âTurn around.
Let me see to those wounds,â she insisted.
Roscoeâs protest was faint.
âThereâs no need for that.
â
âDonât argue.
Just turn around,â Nicole persisted, not willing to take no for an answer.