Page 30 of Tangled Desires

Joe’s deep in conversation with Michael now, the two of them hunched together like they’re planning a bank heist. Mum’s still flitting around, cheerful, throwing in comments like she’s the glue holding it all together. And yeah, good on her. Fresh start, happy vibes, yada yada. Except there’s this little itch at the back of my head, a whisper of,Where the fuck was this energy when we were kids?I blink away the thoughts before they piss me off something fierce. Joe’s talking about some shiny new Jeep we had in the other day—Michael’s practically drooling over it.

A Jeep.Of courseit’s a Jeep.

Don’t get me wrong, they’re fine if you’re into flashy toys that break down every five minutes. Good for business, sure. Keeps the shop busy. But owning one? That’s signing up for a lifetime of “fix me” lights and overpriced parts. Michael’s rambling about the latest tech, eyes lit up. Me? I’ll take an old-school muscle car any day—something with real guts. Fixing those new models is like operating on a bloody laptop. No thanks. I hide a smirk behind a quick swig of water Mum just set in front of me.

He’s grinning like it’s Christmas, which is ironic. We haven’t done Christmas properly in years—no tree, no lights, just awkward silences. Every year, the same excuses: “Got plans,” “Working late.” Anything to dodge the mess.

“So, what’s with the formal dinner?” Subtleties have never been my strong suit.

Joe doesn’t even flinch. “Can’t we all sit down and have a meal? Thought it might be nice for you boys to share dinner with your mum and me.”

“Yeah, right.” The words are out before I can stop them, sharp enough to slice through the steak. Nice? Us? Sitting down like some Brady Bunch fantasy? Sure. Joe sets the steak down, finally taking a seat next to Mum. The table’s set—steak, potatoes, salad—all laid out like they’ve been planning this. My stomach tightens, a knot forming.

I glance at Michael, who gives me a small nod. Right. No backing out now. I clear my throat, forcing the words out. “I’m going to be a dad.”

Mum freezes, wine glass halfway to her lips. “What?” Her voice is a sharp whisper, like she’s unsure she heard right.

Joe raises a brow. “Say that again.”

I exhale through my nose, bracing myself. “I’m. Going. To. Be. A. Dad.” The words feel heavier the second time, like they’re anchoring me in place.

“Are you serious, Harrison?”

“No, I’m joking,” I snap, more bite in my voice than intended. Her wide-eyed stare softens, but only slightly.

“Well, shit.” Joe shakes his head. “Didn’t see that coming.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck. My thoughts are a mess—Imogen, the baby, being in the same room as Mum.

“So... who’s the girl?” Joe asks, folding his arms.

Mum’s eyes narrow. “I didn’t even know you were seeing someone seriously.”

“We’re not exactly serious.”

Michael snorts. “They’re not anything.” I shoot him a glare, but he just grins, the smug prick.

Joe chuckles. “Is it that blonde girl the boys at work keep teasing you about?”

Michael, ever the helpful brother, jumps in. “That’s the one. Her name’s Imogen.”

“Thanks, mate.” My jaw clenches.

Mum’s brows knit. “Imogen? Who’s that?”

“She’s just... a friend,” I mumble, arms crossing tighter. Sure. If by “friend” you mean the girl I can’t stop thinking about, who flipped my whole world upside down, and oh yeah—she’s carrying my kid.

“Do we know her? What’s her surname?” Mum questions. I don’t answer. Not going there.

“Hold on, so she’s just a friend?” Joe tilts his head. “She’s having your kid, Harrison. Surely there’s more to it.”

“Wish I could say there was.”

Mum sighs, setting down her fork. “So, how is that going to work, Harrison? Does she even know about… you know, your situation?”

“What situation?”

“Well, with everything that’s happened—”