Page 75 of Tangled Desires

Worst Way - Riley Green

My heart’s pounding so loud it drowns out everything else as I watch Michael go for the door.

I grab his arm. “Let me.”

“Imogen, you don’t know what he’s like when he gets like this. He wouldn’t want—”

“I don’t care.” I need to do this. “Just let me go find him.”

Michael looks defeated, his face tight as he lets out a heavy sigh. He nods, and I don’t waste another second. I run off,heading first to the granny flat, but he’s not there. His car is still parked outside, though, so where the hell did he go? I walk around to the back, and across the yard, I spot a faint light coming from the shed. My feet drag against the grass, belly weighing me down like an anchor as I cross the yard. The shed door cracked open, spilling out some light. I’m almost there when glass shatters inside—loud, sharp, like a warning.

“Harrison!” I push the door open, spotting the blood on his hand instantly. “What the fuck happened?”

“Get out,” he growls, not even looking at me. His whole frame vibrates with anger. “Leave, Imogen.”

“No,” I shoot back, closing the door behind me. “Not until you talk to me.”

He doesn’t. He moves instead, throwing another wrench into the chaos of tools and broken glass. The sound clangs through the shed, but it’s nothing compared to the storm twisting across his face.

“Stop!” My voice cracks as I plead. Fear rises in my chest. “You’re going to hurt yourself!”

“Leave!” The word rips from him like a roar, the force of it stopping me in my tracks. His head jerks toward me, and that’s when I see them—his eyes, bloodshot and glossy, and the streaks of tears carving through the anger on his face. He’s unraveling right in front of me, and I’m not sure what to do with it.

“Shit.” His voice breaks, softer now, like he’s ashamed. “I didn’t mean—fuck—I didn’t mean to yell at you.” Before I can even process the words, he’s moving, crushing me into his arms. He’s holding on like I’m a lifeline, like letting go might break him. Glass crunches under his shoes, and his heart’s racing—wild and chaotic against me. His breath hits my neck, all sharp and broken, spilling whispered apologies that sting to hear.I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

“Stop apologising,” I mutter, gripping his shirt. My voice wavers—dammit, I hate that it does. “It’s okay to be angry, Harrison. Be angry. Just don’t… don’t bottle this up. Talk to me. Let me help.”

His laugh is barely a sound. “I don’t fucking need help.”

“Alright, then, don’t call it help. Call it venting or yelling at me or whatever makes your ego feel better. Just talk. Tell me what’s going on.”

His jaw clenches. “You can guess, Imogen.”

“No.” I tug at his shirt like it’ll drag the truth out of him. “I don’t want to guess. I want toknow. From you.”

He flinches, then his eyes shut tight. “I saw him. A few days ago. Then today, out of nowhere, he fucking calls me. Him.” The word comes out like poison. “Why now? Why can’t he just stay gone?”

Shit. My stomach knots, but I keep my grip on him. “What did he want?”

“Doesn’t matter.” His voice drops, hollow and flat. “Nothing he says matters. He’s nothing.”

His shoulders sag like the fight’s been sucked out of him, and that—God, that’s almost worse than the anger. His hand is still bleeding, a steady drip of red down his knuckles. I grab a cloth and wrap it, my hands shaking just enough to piss me off. He doesn’t stop me.

“Sorry you had to see that.” His voice is barely above a whisper now.

“Don’t.” I meet his eyes, force him to look at me. “Don’t apologise for her. Not for this. Let’s go inside, alright? We’ll figure it out there. Together.” He pulls me in, his grip firm but not rough, his face so close I can see the flecks of gold in his eyes.

“I don’t want to talk.” His breath is warm against my skin. My heart skips, betraying me.

“What do you want, then?” It’s out before I can stop it, half a challenge, half a whisper.

“You.” One word, sharp and electric. Then his hands are on my face, and his mouth crashes into mine.

For a second, everything disappears—his lips, hot and urgent, erase it all. I’m clutching his shoulders, anchored in the storm of him. The sting in his bandaged hand pulls me back. “Harrison—your hand—”

“Don’t care.” His voice is hoarse. “I just need you, Imogen.”

His words hit like a match to dry grass.

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