Conflict of Heart

Chapter 33

The steady beat of the heart monitor, while a beacon of hope to some, was nothing more annoying than a mosquito buzzing around Isabella's head. As she looked at her mother lying prostrated in the hospital bed, a mixture of emotions so intense cascaded over her like a torrential flood. Helplessness. Sadness.

Desperation.

But despite the maelstrom of feelings rampaging within her, her grip was gentle as she clasped the limp hand of her mother and brought it to her lips to kiss it softly. She watched her mother's features, relaxed and still, her chest rising and falling in even beats.

Isabella sighed, glancing down at the delicate pale hand in her own. "I'm so confused, Mom," she whispered, tears gathering in her eyes. She thought of her life, what it had come to in the last few weeks. The battles that she was fighting, the decisions that she didn't know how to make.

"I don't know what to do. I know you raised me to be strong when times get tough, but I . . ." She blinked harshly when her vision blurred, her gaze focused on the still figure beside her. "It's been so long since I heard your voice. And . . . although I may be almost thirty, I still need you. I'll . . . I'll never not need you, Mommy."

She clutched the hand in her hold, gripping it like a lifeline as tears slowly trailed down her cheeks. "Please, wake up. Please. I need you. I'll do anything, but please . . . Please wake up," she sobbed, lowering her face to hide in her arms as she cried by her mother's side.

She cried like she never had before, the stress and worry of the past few weeks, her inner turmoil, and the new knowledge about her back's condition. She wept for it all until she couldn't cry anymore and was left sitting there, despondent, lost, and terribly weak.

A knock came at the door then. Her body tensed and she was instantly on her feet, blocking the sight of her mother from whoever it was behind the door. She still held her mother's hand firmly in her own as the door opened, and she braced herself for whatever encounter she may face.

But her stance eased and her suspicious expression morphed into one of confusion when Ryker entered. She sighed and looked away, not uttering a word as she willed her frantic heartbeat to calm down.

Ryker remained silent as he slowly closed the door behind him. She could feel the intensity of his gaze on the side of her face. He didn't move from his position by the door, no doubt studying her. Somehow she knew that he was aware of the state that she was in because he didn't say anything as he approached her. Her breath hitched when she felt one of his rough hands gently grab her arm.

Too exhausted to protest, she let him turn her to face him, but shock left her speechless when his thick arms suddenly wrapped around her waist, drawing her into his firm embrace.

For a moment, Isabella didn't react. But when the comforting warmth of his skin caressed her seemingly frozen body, she melted and wrapped her arms around his torso. She was too tired to cry, but she buried her face into the soft fabric of his shirt and inhaled shakily, taking note of that familiar scent that she had come to associate with him.

The hug was entirely innocent and no words were uttered between them as Ryker continued to hold her firmly against him, his intimidating frame and firm muscles whispering words of protection and security to her delicate state of mind. Something that she had not felt for a long time.

Eventually one of his hands found its way into her dark tresses, and his long fingers raked gentle strokes through the silky strands, knowing that it would calm her further.

"I came to speak to you about something," he said, his chest vibrating against the side of her face after a long moment's silence.

"Hm?" she hummed, her eyes threatening to close under the soft ministrations of his fingers.