Page 67 of Tangled Desires

He shakes his head, clearly fighting with himself. “I trust you, alright? When I’m around you, I don’t have to pretend. I guess I can just… be.”

His honesty hits me like a punch in the gut, but I try to keep my voice steady. “Okay. But I really think you should consider what I said—and what Michael said, too. You’re carrying too much on your own. For our baby. You can’t keep letting this fester, Harrison. It’s going to consume you if you don’t let someone help.”

“Maybe,” he mutters, the word heavy with reluctance.

Before I can say more, he stands abruptly, raking a hand through his hair, like the motion will make everything he just said disappear. “Anyway, enough about that,” he says, louder now, as if he can erase the vulnerability with a change in tone. I watch him, disbelief gnawing at me. How does he do that? Brush it all off like it’s nothing? He’s carrying so much, and yet he just buries it again, as if it’s no more than an inconvenience.

I get it now—the fidgeting, the restless energy, the sudden shifts in mood. It’s not just ADHD. It’s something deeper. Something heavier. What he went through, what he’s still carrying—it’s trauma. His scars run deeper than anyone can see. He’s so used to locking it all away, pretending he doesn’t need anyone, like it’s easier to shove it down than face it. I don’t know if I want to hug him or shake him. But he’s already moving, and I’m left sitting there, a thousand thoughts crashing through my head. His pain, his strength, his fucking stubbornness—it all knots together in a way that makes my chest ache.

Harrison’s phone buzzes, shattering the awkward quiet that’s been hanging between us since earlier this morning. He pulls it out, frowns at the screen, and answers.

“Yeah? What’s up?” There’s a pause, then a sigh. “Alright, I’ll come grab it. Stay put.” He ends the call and turns to me, rubbing the back of his neck.

“What’s up?”

“Customer’s Camry broke down. They need a tow,” he says, his voice clipped. “I’ll be awhile.”

“That’s fine, you go,” I say, but he just stands there, shifting his weight like he’s debating something.

“Do you… want to come with me?” he finally asks. “I don’t know how long I’ll be, and—”

“I’ll come,” I interrupt, unsure why, but the thought of being left here alone feels worse than whatever might happen while he’s gone. The way his face softens when I agree almost makes it worth it.

“Alright,” he murmurs, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Just no speeding, or I can’t guarantee I’ll keep my breakfast down.” I mutter as we walk to his car. I can’t help but notice the smile—it’s familiar, that cocky, playful side of him. Back to his usual self, I see. But there’s something different now. The air between us is charged, yes, but it’s softer, like there’s a shared understanding lingering between us that wasn’t there before.

“Sure thing, mama.”

I narrow my eyes on him.

“Alright, alright,” he laughs, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “No speeding, no running red lights. Happy?” Not entirely. I roll my eyes as I climb into the passenger seat.

Are all mechanics rev heads? Or is it just the Price brothers?

By the time we get back to Joe’s Auto Shop with the Camry, one of the boys has already dropped off the tow truck, making things easier. Now it’s just me, Harrison, and the quiet hum of the shop. I lean against a toolbox and watch as he pops the hood, sleeves rolled up, grease already smudging his forearms. He moves like he’s done this a thousand times before, each motion quick, confident. I don’t know why, but I’m drawn in, watching him work. Sure, I can handle basic car stuff—coolant, tyres, wiper fluid—but this? This is something else entirely.

“What’s with the sparks?” I ask, nodding toward the battery cables.

He glances up, grinning like I just asked the most brilliant question in the world. “That’s the charge kicking in. Normal stuff.” I edge closer.

“And the wires? How do you know which ones go where?”

“The red’s positive, black’s negative,” he says, like it’s obvious. I keep firing off questions, and he answers each one, patient and almost... happy? I can’t tell if it’s the car talk or the attention, but the cocky grin hasn’t left his face. I reach for a wrench, but before I can even lift it, Harrison steps in, plucking it from my hand.

“Nuh-uh. You just stand there and look pretty. I don’t need you straining yourself.”

I stare at him, my jaw practically unhinged. “Harrison, I’m pregnant, not a fucking invalid. I can still function, you know.”

He chuckles. “You’re fucking sexy as fuck when you’re mad, you know that?”

“Careful, Price,” I snap, snatching a clean rag from the bench beside us. “Keep talking like that and I’ll throw this spanner at your head.”

His laugh is low, warm, as he steps back and nods toward the open hood. “Alright, Immy-girl. Show me what you’ve got.”

Rolling my eyes, I step toward the car, but before I can touch anything, he’s right there, too close, his chest almost brushing my back. “No, no. Let me show you first.” Harrison’s hands are rough but steady, guiding mine to the battery cables, his touch firm but not overbearing.

He positions himself behind me, and I’m suddenly hyper-aware of every breath, every shift. His hips press lightly against me as he leans in, the unmistakable hardness of him making me freeze. “Are you serious? What part of changing a bloody battery is turning you on right now?”

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