Page 104 of Lassoed Love

“YES, I fucking am,” I roar back, the admission ripping from my chest. The air becomes charged with tension, and my mother gasps audibly, the weight of my declaration hanging in the air like a storm about to break.

I can’t remember the last time I was this close to losing it. Betteryet, I can’t even remember the last time I was ever in love with someone—I don’t think I ever have been, to be honest. Before things escalate further, I push off Bradley, storming away, my emotions in turmoil. My mother’s distressed cries ring in my ears as she calls out, “Xavier!” Her voice becomes a distant echo as I make my way towards the barn, seeking solitude to cool off.

Amidst the escalating tension, my mother’s distressed cries cut through the air again, and I can hear her say, “Dom, listen to your bloody son! Stop this! He’s hurting!”

Her voice, filled with desperation and concern, echoes in the open space, pleading for understanding. The words hang in the air, a stark reminder of the pain that now reverberates through our strained family dynamic.

Bradley says something in response, but the words become muffled, drowned out by the growing distance between us. The world blurs as I walk away, emotions running wild, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve just unleashed a tempest that might change everything.

In the dimming light, I stride into the barn, a mixture of frustration, anger, and hurt boiling within me. Blue, my loyal companion, awaits in his stall, a comforting presence in this storm of emotions. Swiftly, I unhitch the latch, throw on his saddle and bridle, and mount him with practised ease.

With a click of my tongue and a nudge of my boot, Blue responds with eagerness, galloping out into the field. The wind whistles in my ears as I ride, the rhythmic thud of Blue’s hooves on the groundechoing the thunderous beat of my own heart. I don’t look back—I don’t care that the darkness creeps in. All I need is to escape, to outrun the chaos that engulfs me.

As the landscape blurs, my mind races in tandem. The admission of my feelings for Isla hangs heavy in the air, a declaration I hadn’t planned to make. Tears, unshed for far too long, prick at the corners of my eyes, but I grit my teeth against them and I furiously wipe at my face.

The open field offers no judgement, only the solace of speed and distance. I ride, seeking refuge in the cold embrace of the night, leaving the agitation behind.

If only for a moment.

40

The days blur together in a miserable haze since the accident. Xavier, a haunting absence, has not crossed my path since that night. Iyearnfor him, anachethat claws at me every damn day. The clinic has begrudgingly resumed operations, with Molly and Katy shouldering the responsibilities. When I tried to throw myself into work, they gently ushered me away, insisting that I need this time to be with my father.

Dad’s condition remains the same. The weekend brought no reprieve—stagnation lingered, and blood clots emerged in his legs, demanding immediate attention from the doctors. Claire had arrived Saturday night, and the sight of me and dad had reduced her to tears. We crumpled together on the hospital floor, drowning in shared despair.

In this painful limbo between home and hospital, the latter is fast becoming a second dwelling. There are nights when I linger too long, and the nurses, compassionate souls, let me find solace within their walls.

Today, around 11 am, I drag myself through the revolving hospitaldoors. The nurse at the front desk greets me with a sympathetic smile. It’s a different face today—older, with glasses and a short brown bob—that oddly reminds me of my mother and Katy. There’s a warmth to her, though, a familiarity in the midst of the ever-changing hospital staff.

I manage a weak smile. “Hi, my father is in room 213, Callum Thompson. Any changes?”

She looks at me with recognition. “Ah, Isla, is it? I’m so sorry to hear about your father,” she murmurs, and I smile politely.

“It’s okay, just praying every day, you know?”

“Of course, we all are,” she says as she types something into the computer looking for any updates and then shakes her head, her expression empathetic. “I’m afraid no updates, dear. Still holding on.”

I exhale a heavy sigh, my shoulders slumping, “Thank you.”

As I shuffle to leave, she blurts out that a few people have come and gone this morning to see my father. I nod, but scepticism tugs at me. Town folks don’t have many kind words for him, so I find this very odd. They couldn’t possibly care about my father.

She then leans in, as if sharing a secret. “Oh, Isla, now that I have you here, I thought I’d mention, now that I remember,” I brace myself for her words, not sure what to expect. “There’s a man who’s been visiting your father when you’re not around. Just checking in, asking for updates, and then he leaves.”

My brow furrows in confusion. “Who? What does he look like? Is he young or old?”

She hesitates, and then a brief description follows. “He’s younger,verygood-looking, tall—verytall.”

My mind races through possibilities, and I freeze at the thought—it’s not… Xavier,is it?I don’t think it would be him, not after the way I handled things. Is it Bradley? Maybe Harrison? But then the nurse adds, “He wears a backward cap—”

Xavier rarely wears caps, usually opting for his beloved cowboy hat. My thoughts churn with possibilities. Bradley or Harrison? But the nurse drops a bombshell. “Oh,tattoos. Tattoos on one of his arms.”

My breath hitches. The realisation hits me like a tidal wave. It’shim.

My mind grapples with the thought that he’s been here, visiting my father. The idea that Xavier has been silently supporting us, even in my absence, cracks my heart just a little more. The nurse must sense my recognition, and she says, “He seems to care a lot about your father. Comes in quietly, spends some time, and then leaves without causin’ a fuss. Just thought I’d let ya know.”

I nod, a mix of gratitude and confusion swirling within me. “Thank you for letting me know.”

“Of course, just thought he might be someone important,” she adds, her tone understanding. The weight of his unspoken support adds to the emotional turmoil. I manage a weak smile, appreciating the unexpected comfort in the midst of my father’s struggle.

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