Page 99 of Lassoed Love

“No, no, I can’t possibly ask that of you…. I have to come in to help,” I insist.

“Don't you dare. Don’t be silly,” she retorts over the phone and a few moments pass before she speaks again. “You know we could close the clinic—just temporarily, you know—until your father has recovered.” Katy’s concern pours through the phone, and I can almost picture the chaos at the clinic. “We can’t just carry on like nothing happened. I’ll manage things here—you focus on your dad,” she insists.

I nod, even though she can’t see it. “I know, Katy. But shutting down the clinic, even temporarily, that’s a big step. What will you do without work?”

“It’s the right step. Your family comes first. I’ll handle everything. Don't you worry about me. We’ve got a great clientele, and they’ll understand. Besides, I can send out an email to our patients; let ‘em know there’s a temporary closure due to unforeseen circumstances,” Katy reassures, her determination cutting through the panic.

I hesitate, torn between gratitude for Katy’s support and worry about the clinic. “Are you sure? What if this affects our business?”

“Business can wait, Isla. This is about you and your dad. We’ve built something good at the clinic, and our patients will understand, darling. I’ll draft an email right away. You don’t need’a worry about anything here,” she says, her words offering a rare comfort in the midst of chaos.

“Thank you, Katy. I owe you one,” I say, feeling a weight lifted off my shoulders.

“No need for that. Just take care of your family. That’s what matters,” Katy replies, her voice firm.

“I appreciate it. I’ll keep you posted,” I say with a heavy sigh.

Ending the call, I feel a mix of emotions. Relief that Katy is taking charge, yet a lingering worry about the impact on the clinic. It’s a sacrifice, among many, and I wince at the thought—but for now, my focus remains on the hospital room where my father lies, fighting his silent battle.

As midday arrives, my stomach rumbles loudly in the quiet hospital room, a stark reminder of the passing hours. Imogen, a steadfast presence by my side, hasn’t left since morning. I glance at her, the worry etched on her face mirroring my own.

“I'm so grateful you’re here, Imogen. But you’ve got work, your own commitments. I can’t ask you to stay here all day,” I say, my voice laced with concern.

She squeezes my hand gently. “Isla, stop. Your dad needs you. I’ve taken care of a few things remotely, plus I don’t have too many clients at the moment. It’s all good.”

Torn between gratitude and guilt, I manage a small smile, acknowledging her kindness. “Thank you, Imogen. I just don’t wantto burden you.”

Imogen reaches out, gently squeezing my hand. “Hey, I know you shut Xavier away, Isla, but I won’t let you shut me out, too. We’re best friends, and friends stick together, always.”

Her words strike a chord, and the mention of Xavier brings forth a flood of conflicting emotions.

Thoughts of our encounter last night linger, and pain resurfaces its way back up, settling heavily in my chest. I exhale loudly, unable to shake the haunting question that creeps into my mind. “I fucked up, didn’t I, Midge?”

Imogen’s expression softens, and she squeezes my hand again and sighs, before answering me.

“You’re going through a lot right now, and sometimes things get messy. Just focus on your dad, and we’ll figure everything else out together. What happened last night, it’s not the end.”

Imogen’s reassurance provides a fleeting comfort, but as I sit by my father’s bedside, my thoughts betray me, replaying the scenes from last night. I asked Xavier to leave, brushed off his feelings as if they were inconsequential. The memory of his face, etched with pain and disappointment, has become a haunting image imprinted in my mind.

How could I be so stupid, so selfish?

The weight of my actions bears down on me, and a surge of guilt tightens my chest. I exhale shakily, feeling the sting of tears threatening to spill once more. Turning to Imogen, who has been a constant support, I find solace in sharing my inner turmoil.

“But I think it is,” I cry out. “No, no, no, I really fucked up, Midge,” I confess, my voice cracking with emotion.

“I asked him toleave, pushed him away when all he was doing was just trying to help. And his face... the pain in his eyes. I can’t shake that image.” With a choked cry, tears fall down my cheeks, betraying the depth of my regret. Imogen, always intuitive, places a comforting hand on my shoulder, a silent acknowledgment of the pain that words often fail to express.

“Oh, Isla,” she murmurs, her voice a soothing balm.

“These are tough times, and emotions are running high. You’re dealing with so much right now, and it’s okay not to have all the answers and react impulsively. Maybe he’ll… understand when things settle down, you know? You can always try to talk to him then. That man is smitten. I see the way he looks at you. He’ll come around.”

A heavy sigh escapes me as I contemplate Imogen’s suggestion.

“Ugggh, I want to, Midge. I really want to fucking talk to him,” I huff out, “I just... I’m scared. Scared of what I might hear or, worse, what I might not hear.” The tears won’t stop, and my nose is all blocked up again.

Imogen squeezes my shoulder gently, offering silent support. “You won’t know until you try, Isla.”

I wipe away at my tears impatiently. “But what if he doesn’t? What if I’ve ruined everything?”

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