Page 72 of Lassoed Love

Imogen raises her hand in the air. “I need a minute to process the thought of my best friend fucking Xavier in his car AND sucking him off—right under my nose, I must add!”

I try to lighten the atmosphere with a playful giggle, feigning a blush. Imogen breaks her silence with a dramatic gasp.

“So, how do you feel about everything now? Have you both spoken about your feelings? Do you have feelings for him?” Imogen bombards me with questions, her curiosity relentless.

Externally, I offer a tentative response, “W-we’re just friends... I guess. We haven’t really spoken about anything. It’s more like a mutual attraction, you know? I don’treallyknow how he feels.”

Internally, my thoughts are a messy whirlwind. Xavier’s charm, the unspoken moments, and now Imogen’s genuine concern all weigh heavily on my mind. A conflict brews within me, a flurry ofemotions that I find myself navigating without a clear path.

Imogen shoots me a worried glance as I respond to her barrage of questions. “Isla, I don’t want you to get hurt,” she says softly, concern etched in her eyes.

“After everything with that pathetic excuse of a man, I don’t want you rushing into something only to get hurt again, you know?”

I’m caught off guard by the sincerity in her words, and a warmness spreads through me. Imogen's concern resonates in my mind, and for a moment, I feel an overwhelming wave of love for her. I couldn't have asked for a better friend. Claire included. Damn, I miss her.

“I know, Imogen. Trust me, I don’t want that either. It’s just weird. I’ve never felt so drawn to someone, and the fact that it’s him of all people really rattles my brain, you know?” I confess, my voice carrying a mix of bewilderment and vulnerability. After a beat, Imogen breaks the silence, her voice filled with compassion.

“Isla, you deserve happiness. Just take things one step at a time. If there’s anyone who can navigate this, it’s you.”

I guess she’s right. Keeping things casual for now sounds like the only foolproof plan as I run it through my head—the perfect way to protect my heart while having some fun. With everything happening now with dad, major distractions are the last thing I need.

Maybe keeping Xavier at arm’s length while exploring these desires might just work. Can casual be enough without complicating things, though?

I hopeso.

The afternoon sun casts a warm glow over the backyard as Dad and I sit on the porch, nursing cold VB stubbies. The air is thick with the hum of cicadas and the distant melody of birds chirping—the soundtrack to a scorcher of a day. Despite the heat, Dad seems to be in a better mood today, a subtle shift from the cloud that usually hangs over our visits.

We just finished cleaning out the shed at the back of the house, a task that involved more grunts than words from Dad, but he managed a smile or two. I consider it a win. The memories of that night, when Xavier faced the business end of Dad’s shotgun, lurk in the corners of my mind, but we've danced around the topic, and it hasn’t surfaced in our conversation yet. My body shudders at the mere thought. As we sip our beers in the silent ambience, I let my guard down a bit, indulging in the cold brew. Beer isn’t my favourite, but here, in my father’s company, it feels right. The metal cap clinks as I take a sip, and the familiar bitterness lingers on my palate.

Dad breaks the comfortable silence, catching me off guard with his question. “So, life in the city, uh? What’s that like?” His words carry a genuine curiosity beneath the gruff exterior. I hesitate for a moment, my mind flickering through the images of bustling city streets and crowded cafes.

“It’s different, Dad. Busy, you know? Always something happening. Work was demanding, but I enjoyed it," I respond cautiously,trying to gauge his reaction.

He nods, taking a swig of his beer. “Oh, ye? Sounds like’a different world. What ‘bout the people? They treat ya right?” His eyes, weathered by time, meet mine, searching for a glimpse into the life I’ve led beyond these familiar walls.

I offer a small smile, appreciating the effort in his question. “Yeah, Dad, they treated me well. It’s just... different. More opportunities over there, but I found myself missing the quiet of home sometimes. I guess that’s what brought me back.” The unspoken truth lingers in the air—the pull between the life I had built in the city and the roots that ground me here.

Dad grunts, a simple “Righto,” and I sense the weight of his unspoken thoughts. After all these years, I’ve come back for a work opportunity, not specifically for him. What he may not understand is that I always yearned to come back home, to see him. It’s something I’ve failed to let him know, unable to build up the courage to express this deep desire. How do I tell him that home isn’t just the place—it’s him, too?

In that moment, my phone chimes, and I see Xavier’s name lighting up the screen. My heart quickens as I open our text message thread.

His message warms my heart, and a slight smile creeps onto my face. I quickly respond,

His reply is instant.

My heart rate picks up. Texting Xavier Mitchell was not something I ever imagined, but here I am. I smile as I type,

I can’t help but internally laugh at his question. He’s joking right? The amusement adds a lightness to the moment, and I read on as he continues.

I stifle a laugh, and in that moment, I glance up at my father. He watches me with a stern look, a curious glint in his eyes, as if trying to decipher the source of my amusement.

A flush of warmth creeps up my cheeks, and I hastily rattle off a response.

Oh boy.This man.

Not if, butwhen.The thought sends a shiver down my spine. As I anticipate seeing him again, excitement flares up inside me. As we sit in the serenity of the outback that surrounds us, the sun casting a warm glow over the familiar landscape, Dad breaks the quiet withanother question. “That the Mitchell boy you messagin?”

My pulse stutters. His warning about steering clear of the Mitchell boys echoes in my mind, creating a tension in the air. I’m uncertain about how he’ll react if I confess. However, the thought of lying to him doesn’t sit well either. A touch apprehensive, I reply to my father, “Yes. H-how did you know?”

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