Page 54 of Lassoed Love

“Absolutely fucking not,” Xavier counters, refusing to back down. “Anything to do with Isla does, sir. You should listen to her. You need to calm down.”

I can feel the weight of their confrontation, a precarious balance between a protective instinct and a father’s fury. The familiar warmth of Xavier’s presence grounds me, but the chaos in the room threatens to pull me under. Dad’s anger, fueled by confusion and frustration, is a tempest I can’t control.Why does everything have to be so complicated?

Dad’s anger intensifies, the threats escalating. Storming off, he leaves us on the porch, the remnants of his fury lingering in the air.

Xavier instinctively wraps a protective arm around me. “Are you okay? I’m sorry, I had to come in,” he says, concern etched in his features. Tears well up in my eyes, embarrassment flushing my cheeks more.

“Please, Xav, just go. I’ll be fine. I can control it. Just leave—you’ll only make things worse,” I plead, my voice shaky. But Xavierremains resolute, tightening his grip around me.

“I’m. Not. Fucking. Leaving. You here withhim,” he seethes, each word a declaration of unwavering determination. “He can threaten me all he wants.”

Just as Xavier asserts himself, Dad returns, now brandishing a shotgun. Panic grips me, fear taking root in my chest.

“Dad! What the fuck? Put the gun down,” I plead, my voice desperate. Never before have I witnessed my father resort to such extreme measures. The gravity of the situation dawns on me, and I find myself teetering on the edge of a precipice, unsure of what comes next.

Dad’s words slur with a mix of anger and alcohol. “You’re not welcome ‘ere, mate. Get the bloody hell out before I make ya.” His threat is thick—the shotgun, a menacing punctuation to his words as he points it towards Xavier.

Xavier stands his ground, his protective stance unwavering. “You’re outta line, mate. Put the damn gun down,” he demands, his voice steady despite the tension crackling in the air. Unfazed, raises his hands in a gesture of surrender, his eyes locked onto Dad’s. There’s not a trace of fear in those intense blue eyes.How can he remain so composed in the face of this chaos?

“Ya think you can waltz in ‘ere and take my girl? Not on my bloody watch!”

I tremble as the standoff unfolds before me, caught between the man I’ve known my entire life and the one who’s become only recently myanchor.

“Dad, please, this is insane. Just put the gun down,” I implore, the desperation in my voice echoing the chaos in my mind.

Dad’s eyes, bloodshot and cloudy, flicker between Xavier and me. “I warned ya, Isla. Get rid of him or both of ya will be sorry,” he slurs, the shotgun wavering in his grip.

Xavier’s jaw clenches, his protective instincts colliding with a fierce determination. “Isla, go inside. I’ll handle this.”

“No, Xav, please,” I whisper, tears streaming down my face.

My heart pounds in my chest, fear and determination waging a battle within me. “Dad, please, put the gun down. We can’t go on like this. You’re scaring me, and I can’t bear to see you like this,” I plead, desperation and fear lacing my words.

Dad’s eyes, bloodshot and wild, flicker with a mix of anger and confusion. “You stay outta this, Isla. This ain’t your concern.”

“But it is, Dad. It is my concern,” I assert, my voice firm. “I won’t let you hurt him or yourself.”

I step in front of the barrel, gripping the gun with both hands. Xavier, still with his hands raised, interjects, “ISLA! What the fuck are you doing?” His words bellow loudly.

“No! Dad, please, put the gun down. We need to talk, not fight,” I implore, my grip on the gun tightening. The once-familiar porch now feels like a battlefield, and I’m caught in the crossfire, torn between protecting the man I—what do I feel?My thoughts are conflicted—The man Icareabout and my father, who’s spiralling out of control.

“Isla, ya foolish girl! Get the fuck out o’ the way,” hethreatens, his voice laden with frustration.

I stand there, determined but scared shitless, praying that my actions can somehow defuse the chaos.

I know the gun isn’t loaded.Years of growing up with my father, out hunting and learning about guns, taught me that. As Dad goes to pump the shotgun, the chamber where shells are normally held is empty—a glaring sign that he hadn’t loaded any shells into the shotty. It’s something he’d taught me to notice really well—now a detail he must’ve overlooked in his dishevelled state.

The sky has now darkened completely, thunder rumbling in the sky, rain starting to patter on the roof and behind us. The tension is palpable, a storm both outside and within.

Xavier roars, “Put the fucking gun down, Callum,” as he moves closer to me, gripping the barrel of the shotgun, pointing it upwards to the roof.

“Isla, MOVE!” In the chaos, my father is knocked off balance and Xavier yanks the gun from his grip.

“Don’t you ever fucking do that again, Isla, do you hear me?” he roars, his proximity unsettling.

“I had to fucking stop him—he wasn’t budging.”

Xavier pumps the shotgun’s barrel back in an attempt to empty the shells, but realisation dawns—it’s already empty. His piercing and intense gaze locks onto mine, a silent exchange of tumultuous emotions. “Please, just go!” I urge, frustration now building, pushing him.

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