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The corners of Joe’s lips tipped up. “Yes, sir.”
Doc turned to her and linked their arms. “Any of these bruises on my boy’s face yours?”
She chuckled as Doc escorted her from his office. “Unfortunately not. They’re courtesy of Quinn.”
“Now that’s a good boy.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Joe said, trailing behind. “I’m standing right here.”
“Give me a break, Joseph. If the roles were reversed, you would’ve done the same to Quinn.”
Doc ushered Roxie into an exam room and onto the table. After washing his hands and donning gloves, he performed a quick assessment.
“Looks like you’ll need some stitches on your lip. Probably two. Three tops. It shouldn’t leave a scar.”
Her stomach rolled. The mere thought of getting stitches made her nauseous. But she wasn’t a four-year-old, dammit. She lifted her chin. “No problem, Doc.”
Damn. Had her voice shaken?
Joe coughed, and she glared at him. Did he think this was funny?
“Rox, I’ll just go ahead and wait for you out—”
“Oh hell no, buddy.” No way was she going through this alone. “You’re the one who broke my lip.”
“Jesus, Roxanne, I swear I didn’t mean to.”
“Yes, I know. But still.” She crossed her arms. “You broke it, so now you get to sit here with me. And you have to hold my hand because you know I hate—”
“Needles,” Joe finished.
As she lay down, he pulled a chair next to the table and offered her his hand. Without hesitating, she accepted, holding it in a death grip.
“You always were the biggest damn crybaby when it came to needles.”
* * *
Joe watched Roxie’s eyes narrow.
Good. Anger was better than fear.
As his dad approached, he felt her pulse quicken. She slammed her eyes shut and tightened her bone-crushing grip on his hand. It was starting to hurt, but hell would freeze over if he ever admitted that out loud.
“Now, Roxie,” his dad said in what Joe considered his ‘Trust me, I’m a doctor’ voice. “There will be a tiny prick, and then it may sting a little—”
“Don’t lie to me, Doc,” she said, voice trembling. “You’re going to jab that needle right into my face. Right? It’s okay. Go ahead.”
Damn. After all these years, it still hurt to watch her put a brave face on. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Breathe, Roxanne. Just keep your eyes closed and breathe. I’ve got you.”
She inhaled sharply when the needle was inserted, and a lone tear trickled out from her closed eyes.
His heart constricted. He wiped the wetness from her cheek with his free hand, and the urge to continue touching her consumed him. He gave in, softly running his fingers over the line of her jaw. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself. She needed comfort. And maybe he did, too.
Joe glanced over at his father, who was finishing up the second stitch. “He’s almost done, Rox. I promise.”
Joe frowned. What the hell was he doing? Why was he reassuring her? He didn’t even like the woman, right? She’d fucking destroyed him. The two of them—at least in his mind—were like mortal Shakespearian enemies.
Another tear leaked out.
