Page 41 of Tangled Desires

Kasey laughs outright now, clearly entertained. “Couple or not, you’ve got some serious chemistry.” She hands me the little white folder with the ultrasound pictures. “Congrats, you two. That’s going to be one adorable lil’ baby.”

The sonogram folder sits in my lap, my fingers skimming its edges. Harrison’s car growls beneath us, and the rumble stirs the nausea that’s been a pain in the ass since the appointment. I press a hand to my belly, hoping it’ll calm down, but it’s Harrison who surprises me.

He eases off the accelerator, the car’s vibrations smoothing out. The nausea lessens, and for once, he’s done something useful without running his mouth.

I pull out my ginger gummies, popping two into my mouth. The sharp tang hits instantly, settling my stomach. Out of the corner of my eye, his smirk is already forming.

“What?” My brow lifts.

“Told you they were good,” he drawls, that teasing lilt back in his voice.

“Mhm. Sure.” He holds his palm out.

I frown. “If you think I’m holding your hand, you’re out of your damn mind.”

His laugh is low and rough, vibrating through the car. “Easy there, tiger. Just give me a gummy.”

Right.I drop one into his hand, trying to ignore how his fingers grip the steering wheel, strong and relaxed, or how the sound of him sucking on the gummy sends heat coiling low in my stomach. Stupid fucking hormones.

“If I wanted to hold your hand, baby,” he says, his voice dropping an octave, “I’d take it. No asking, no gentle shit with you. You’d deal.”

“You’re annoying.”

“Yeah,” he grins, “but you love it.”

His car stops in front of my house, and I’m already reaching for the handle when his voice cuts through the silence. “So… about where we’re living,” he says, his tone tighter now.

I freeze, side-eyeing him. “What about it?”

He fidgets, jaw working. “Have you considered moving in?”

I feel a knot form in my stomach, my mind running at a million miles per hour. I think about it, but the idea doesn’t sit right. Moving in with him? I’m not sure I’m ready for that. But more than that, I still need to talk to my dad about it. I need his guidance. Twenty-eight years old, and I still find myself relying on my father’s direction. I’ll always need it.

I cross my arms, trying to steady myself. “We’re not playing house, Harrison. I told you I can handle myself. We can still co-parent and not live together.”

The words come out a little sharper than I intended, but the last thing I need right now is to give up my space, my sanity, and the little independence I have left.

“Imogen.” His voice is strained, the frustration clear in his tone. “You’re pregnant. I’m just trying to help. Why do you have to be so fucking difficult?”

“Because you keep acting like this is more than it is. We don’t need to live together for you to help.”

“Yeah, I get it. We’re not a couple. You’ve hammered that home,” he mutters. “But I still care, alright? I want to be there—for you and the baby.”

Deep down, I know it’s not just that. Letting him in like this—sharing a roof, a life—it’s crossing that line I’ve been desperately trying to keep intact. We’re already a tangled mess. Throw cohabitation into the mix, and it’d be a recipe for disaster. I’d be setting myself up for heartbreak, and I’ve already had enough of that to last a lifetime.

But his face. Damn his face. For once, there’s no smirk, no snark. Just Harrison, stripped back, his shoulders tense, his jaw clenched. Vulnerability looks strange on him, almost out of place, and it twists something in my chest I don’t care to name. I let out a sigh, long and weary, trying to steady the storm in my chest.

“Fine. I’ll think about it.”

His whole body shifts, shoulders dropping as relief washes over him. “That’s all I’m asking, Immy.”

I grab the second sonogram folder from my bag, toss it onto the seat, and climb out of the car. When I reach the house, his car’s still idling, but he doesn’t leave until I’m inside. Even afterthe engine cuts, his words linger, a challenge I’m not sure I’m ready to face.

Brad and Amelia’s house looks like something out of a Pinterest board: crisp white walls, oversized windows framed with climbing vines, lavender bushes perfuming the air. It’s enough to make me sick with envy. Not that I need any help with nausea lately. At twelve weeks pregnant, every other whiff of something funky has me dry-heaving. But the smell of sizzling meat hits me the moment I step inside, and for once, my stomach doesn’t revolt. Hunger roars to life instead, fierce and demanding.

Finally, a win.

Inside, Amelia flits around her pristine kitchen, all smiles and soft tones, while Bradley mans the BBQ outside, a beer in hand like the picture-perfect host. About bloody time these two dragged themselves out of their love bubble to socialise.

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