Page 70 of Tangled Desires

Mum doesn’t even look at him. She just swirls her glass and keeps drinking. Their voices get louder, angrier, until everything’s just noise, and I feel trapped.

Dad turns to me with a soft smile. “Imogen, love, why don’t you go upstairs and finish your homework?” I nod, getting up. I look at Mum, but she doesn’t look at me. My throat feels like it’s closing tight, but I go upstairs, anyway, their arguing still echoing behind me.

Hours later, Dad comes in, sitting on my bed. He smooths my hair and looks at me, but his eyes don’t match his words. “Your mum just had a bad day, sweetheart. Things will be better tomorrow.”

“Are you okay?”A voice snaps me out of my daze. I blink, realising I’ve been staring off into space. Amanda’s looking back at me, eyebrows furrowed with concern.

I nod quickly, embarrassed. “Yeah, sorry. Just… zoned out.” I force a smile and grab another curling iron, trying to distract myself. Suddenly, a sharp pain flares in my lower abdomen, like a deep, twisting cramp. I double over, gasping.

“Imogen, are you alright?” A woman rushes over, her eyes wide with concern.

I can’t be alright—not with that pain flaring up again, sharper this time. My breath catches, my heart thunders. This isn’t happening. Not now. Panic claws at my chest, but I force myself to breathe through it, bracing against the counter.

“How far along are you?” she asks, voice gentle.

“Twenty-four weeks,” I manage, voice shaky.

She nods, her expression easing. “Could just be Braxton Hicks.”

I try to smile, but it’s more of a grimace. I’ve heard of Braxton Hicks, but never really looked into it. She must see the confusion on my face, because she pats my shoulder with a grin. “Practice contractions. Nothing to worry about. Your body’s just getting ready.”

Right. A rehearsal for the main event. I take a few more breaths, the ache finally dulling to a throb.

“Bloody hell,” I mutter, shaking my head.

She chuckles. “The joys of being a woman, huh?”

“Mhm,” I reply, pushing through the lingering panic as I straighten up.

Maddie catches my eye, offering a sympathetic smile. “Midge, if you need to go, I can handle the last two clients. No worries.”

“Nah, I’m good. Just a bit of excitement. Nothing I can’t handle.” I rub my belly, the warmth spreading, and pull off my shirt. The cool cotton of my dress offers some relief, but evenwith it being mid-June, the heat flares up beneath my skin. That’s when I spot her—Shelly Bryant, in all her nosy glory, staring like she’s just seen Bigfoot. Her eyes are saucer-wide, glued to my belly, mouth half-open like she’s waiting for flies.Brilliant. I finish the last section of my client’s hair, watching as Shelly sidles up to Maddie, whispering like a kid with a juicy secret. Subtle as a neon sign. My jaw sets as I take my time fluffing the curls, throwing a pointed glare her way. She doesn’t even flinch. By the time I ring up my client, Shelly’s still at it, gawking without a shred of shame.

Enough.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you it’s rude to stare?” I call out, my voice cutting through the salon as every head turns to me, half-amused, half-shocked. Let them be.

Shelly gasps, clutching her pearls like I just slapped her. “I beg your pardon? My, my, didn’t yours ever teach you some manners?”

I don’t bother hiding my smirk. “Fortunately, Shelly,no,” I say, feigning pity. “She left my father and me seventeen years ago, so my manners might be a bit out of practice.” A few of the women snort, barely holding back their laughs. Shelly’s face flames red, but I don’t give her the chance to sputter.

Grabbing my shirt and bag, I add with a grin, “Now, if you don’t mind—not that you know how to—I’m off to rest because this kid’s kicking my ass.” I sling my tote over my shoulder, letting my words land like a bomb. Let her choke on that one.

“See ya, Maddie,” I call, waving.

“Bye!” Maddie grins, enjoying the show.

As I walk past Shelly, her jaw finally snaps shut. Let her waddle off to her gossip crew. Good luck keeping up, Shelly. Life in Wattle Creek isn’t for the weak.

The couch sinks under my weight as I drop down next to Dad, the sound ofSeinfeldreruns filling the room. Kramer’s wild entrance earns a laugh from him, low and familiar. A beer dangles from his fingers, and I cradle a frosty glass of peach iced tea. It’s perfect—just the right amount of sweet and peachy, like always. “You’ve still got it,” I say, taking a sip and smirking over at him.

“Damn right I do,” he replies, his grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

For a moment, it’s like nothing’s changed. Just the two of us, back in the day. But the memory tugs at something in my chest, and before I know it, I’m saying, “Dad, did you ever... I mean, after Mum left, did you ever see her again? Keep in touch?”

His smile falters, just for a moment, before he shakes his head. “Nope. Not once. Tried calling her a few times after she left, even sent some texts, but she was long gone. Didn’t want to be found.”

I glance down at my glass, watching the peach iced tea swirl in lazy circles. “So, that’s it? She just vanished? She never called? Sent a text?”

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