Page 86 of Tangled Desires

“You manage it. Slow, deep breaths. In for four counts, hold for four, out for four. Ground yourself—notice five things you can see, four you can touch, three you can hear. Remind yourself you’re safe. Move your body, even if it’s just walking.” Her voice is gentle but firm. “And when it feels too big, reach out. Don’t carry it alone.” I nod once, trying to absorb it. The weight doesn’t lift, but something shifts.

“Let’s shift gears. How are things at home?”

“Good. Michael, Joe—they’re solid. Imogen…” Her name comes out quieter. I sit back, folding my arms.

Dr. Lowes perks up. “Imogen?”

A slow breath leaves me. “She’s… We’re having a baby. Soon.”

Her face lights up. “Congratulations! How’s that been for you?”

“Like standing on the edge of something big,” I say after a beat. “Terrifying. But right.”

“And Imogen? What’s she like?”

The corner of my mouth quirks up. “Sharp. Tough. Calls me out without blinking. She’s got these ribbons—always in her hair. Doesn’t take crap from anyone, least of all me.” I pause, remembering the way her eyes spark when she’s mid-argument. “She pushes me. Hard. Doesn’t let me coast. Keeps me honest.”

“She sounds like someone special.”

“She is,” I murmur. “Makes me want to show up. Be better. For her. For our child.”

She doesn’t know it, but she’s become this anchor—keeping me grounded when the past gets too loud. The way she talks about the baby, like it’s already a part of her world, makes me want to believe I can fit into that picture. That I won’t screw it up. It’s the quiet moments, too. When she’s not looking, and I catch her rubbing her belly, lost in thought. When she falls asleep on the couch, ribbons tangled and slipping free, and all I can think is, don’t mess this up, Price.

Imogen doesn’t ask for anything—doesn’t need to. She’s built like that. Independent, untouchable. But that only makes me want to give her everything. To prove that maybe, just maybe, I can be the kind of man she deserves.

“It sounds like Imogen challenges you in ways that matter. Makes you reflect, step up. That’s important, Harrison. Especially now.” She crosses her leg, folding her hands in her lap. “Being a father isn’t about perfection. It’s about presence. Consistency. Kids don’t need a flawless parent; they need someone who shows up, who loves them through their mistakes. And it sounds like you’re already thinking about how to be that person—not just for your child, but for Imogen, too.”

I nod slowly, the weight of her words settling in. The ache in my chest loosens, just a little.

“You’re carrying a lot,” she continues. “Guilt, fear, expectations of what you think a father should be. But parenting isn’t about erasing your past; it’s about learning from it. You already know what not to do—what your father got wrong. That’s a powerful place to start.”

“It’s just hard,” I murmur. “The past... It’s like I’m dragging it behind me every step I take with them. How do I get rid of that? What if it’s not enough?”

“That weight won’t just disappear, Harrison. But confronting it can make it easier to carry. Maybe it’s time to talk to your mother—your brother, too. Just the three of you. Look the past in the eye, bring all that pain and resentment into the light. If you want to move forward, to give Imogen and the baby the best of you, it may be the only way to find closure.”

Her voice softens. “But know this—youareenough. It will be. Because you care enough to ask that question. Because you’re willing to do the work.” She holds my gaze. “And when it feels overwhelming, lean on the people around you—Imogen,Michael, your friends. You’re not in this alone, even if it feels that way sometimes.”

The backyard hums with life—smoke curling from the BBQ, beer bottles cracking open, and voices blending into a warm, familiar chaos. Bradley and Xavier are manning the grill, bickering over the “perfect” way to cook ribs like it’s a sport. I hang back, half-listening, content to be here, soaking in the easy rhythm of it all. On the patio, Michael’s with the girls. Liv says something that sends Imogen into a fit of laughter, doubled over, hands on her knees. It hits like a spark—sharp, bright, undeniable.

“Mate, it’s been too long since we all got together like this,” Brad says, flipping the spare ribs. “How’s everything on your end, Harrison? Life good?”

“Yeah, good.” I take a swig from my beer. “Busy, but good. Been a wild few months.”

“Life, pregnancy, love, and footy—that’s what it’s all about.” Xavier raises his tongs in salute. “Speaking of, heard about that last game—your team got smashed. What happened?”

“Don’t remind me.” I laugh, shaking my head. “We got cocky. Thought we had it in the bag. Lesson learned.” The conversation rolls on, easy and familiar—work, footy, old stories from nights we can barely piece together. It’s all surface-level until suddenly it’s not.

“I’m seeing a counsellor,” I say, the words slipping out like they’ve been waiting too long.

Silence, then Xavier freezes mid-toss of the tongs. “No shit. What brought that on?”

“Imogen,” I say, rolling the bottle between my hands. “She found someone. And Michael’s been on my back about it, too. Figured it was time.” They trade a glance. Something shifts in their eyes—not pity, not shock. Respect, maybe.

“Imogen’s got you sorted, huh?” Brad’s voice is quiet, deliberate.

Xavier grins, jerking his head toward the patio. “She’s good for you. And with the baby coming... Well, that’s something.”

“Nah, this would’ve happened, anyway,” Brad says, smirking. “Baby just sped it up.”

---