Page 24 of Tangled Desires

“What if he freaks out? What if he doesn’t want this?” My words come out in a shaky rush, panic clawing at me. My heart’s racing. “This was supposed to be one night—just one reckless night. How could he want this? I barely know him. What makes me think he’d want to be a dad?”

“You think he’s some big, tough guy who doesn’t care, but trust me, this might be the thing that changes him.”

“Change him how?”

Isla sighs, tilting her head. “Look, Harrison’s got his rough edges, yeah, but he’s not a bad guy. He’s loyal, and when he cares, he’ll fight like hell for the people he loves. He might surprise you, Midge.”

I swallow hard, the weight of her words sinking in. “Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll tell him. Just... give me a minute to figure out how to say it.”

“You can definitely do that.” Isla nods. “There’ll be nights when it feels like you’re drowning in it, when the questions and fear won’t stop coming, and it’s all too much. But you’re not in this alone. We’ll cry, laugh, scream—whatever it takes. You’ll get through it. I’ll make sure you do.”

Her words settle into the cracks, patching the panic just enough. No way am I turning into my mum. I’ve clawed my way too far to go down that road. Dad raised me tougher than that—tougher than this. If Harrison bails, so what? I’ve handled worse. Who needs a bloke, anyway? I swipe at my eyes, dragging in a breath and bracing for whatever’s next.

There’s a tiny person on board now, and I’ll be damned if I let them down. Isla shifts Callie onto her hip, tickling her chubby cheek.

“Guess what, little miss? You’re getting a cousin to boss around.” She grins at me, throwing in a cheeky raspberry for Callie’s delight. “Too soon?”

“Way too soon,” I groan, rolling my eyes. But there’s a twitch at the corner of my mouth, the start of a reluctant smile. Unease simmers, but I rest my hand on my stomach. Game on, kid.

8

1 week later

You Say - Lauren Daigle

It’s been a week since I took the pregnancy tests with Isla.

A week of relentless nausea and fatigue kicking my ass. Dad’s been asking what’s up, but I can’t bring myself to tell him. Not yet. For the time being, I’d told him I caught a real bad stomach bug, and he believed me right away. Because why would he think otherwise? After a doctor’s appointment, a blood test, and an ultrasound, they confirmed what I already knew.

I’m definitely, without a doubt, pregnant.

I hold up the first ultrasound scan, confirming I’msix weeksalong. My breathing picks up, and panic stirs inside me again. I sink down onto my bed, staring at the little blob on the sonogram. It’s so tiny, so unreal. Yet, it’s growing inside me. This little thing is gonna be a baby.

My baby.

What the fuck do I do now? I feel like I’m on a rollercoaster that I can’t get off. One minute, I’m feeling okay about it, like I can handle this shit, and the next, I’m spiralling into a pit of doubt and fear.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. I’ve got to tell Dad. I’ve got to tell Harrison. This isn’t something I can keep secret. But the thought of their reactions makes my stomach churn more than the morning sickness. He’s always been my rock, but I can’t even imagine the look on his face when I tell him. I sigh, dropping onto my bed and staring at the ceiling. I run a hand over my face, feeling the exhaustion creeping in again. A week of this, and it’s already wearing me down.

By the time I pull into the driveway, my body feels like it’s been through the wringer. My back’s killing me from standing all day doing clients’ hair, and my feet are throbbing with every step I take. I’ve already vomited twice this morning. And don’t even get me started on my aching tits—every time I brushed against something, it felt like I’d been hit with a brick.

It’s been one of those days.

The salon was packed from the moment I walked in. One of my regulars came in for her usual cut and colour, and she was sweetenough to bring me a croissant—which I couldn’t even look at without feeling queasy. Then there was a new client, a bloke in his early twenties, who wanted a drastic change—bleach and a buzz cut. He sat there texting the whole time, oblivious to the fact that I was battling nausea and trying to keep the scissors steady.

By the time Mrs. Morrison rolled in for her weekly trim, I was barely holding it together. She spent the whole time banging on about the latest scandal in town, while I tried not to hurl in the sink. I slapped on my best customer-service smile, nodding along as she prattled on, even though all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and crash.

As I climb out of the car, my eyes snag on it—Harrison’s black Subaru WRX parked down the road, its shiny paint gleaming like it’s showing off. My stomach flips. What is he doing here?

The driveway is empty—thank God Dad’s still at work—but my relief vanishes when I spot him. Harrison is slouched on my veranda chair, shoulders hunched, head down.

Something’s off.

As I step closer, his head snaps up, and he stands. No smirk. No cocky grin. Just a look that steals the air from my lungs. I cross my arms, trying to keep my cool.

“Care to explain why you’re on my front veranda?”

He stands tall, his voice low. “I know you said one night, but Imogen, I need you to understand. I’m being real fucking honest here... it’s been consuming me all fucking day. I don’t think I can just do ‘one night.’”

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