Tangled Desires (Wattle Creek #3)

13

She’s So Mean - Matchbox Twenty Rain - Sleep Token

I walk through the front door of Isla and Xavier’s place, juggling a plastic bag of peach-flavoured lollies. Xav’s text was weird, but when your best mate asks you to grab something random for his wife, you just do it. Joe let me clock off early at 4:30, so here I am.

The house is warm, smells like food, and I can hear Callie’s little baby giggles coming from the living room. I head that way and freeze when I hear a conversation that makes me question what the hell is going on.

“It’s a virgin hole; you need to stretch it out,” someone says. The fuck?

“No way this thing’s popping in there. It’s fucking tiny,” another voice adds.

I stop dead in my tracks. No, but what the actual fuck? Rounding the corner, I spot Amelia, Liv, Isla, and Imogen, all sprawled out on the couches, completely absorbed in whatever weird shit they’re talking about. The TV’s playing some baby show, with a woman in a pink headband, while Callie watches from her walker. I clear my throat, and they all turn to look at me, except Imogen, who’s just staring, her jaw practically on the floor.

“Uh… am I interrupting something?”

My eyes drop to what they’re holding, and it all clicks. Crocs. They’re each holding different coloured Crocs, with packs of Jibbitz scattered across the coffee table. I raise an eyebrow, feeling a little betrayed.

“Did you guys get Jibbitz without me?”

Imogen’s head snaps up, eyes wide. “What the fuck? Where did you even come from?”

I give her a blank stare. “The front door?”

Amelia smiles, all innocent. “We didn’t even hear you come in.”

I shrug, trying not to laugh. “Well, that’s because you lot were too busy talking about virgin holes.”

Imogen’s unphased, of course, just rolling her eyes, but Amelia’s face goes bright red. I catch the way she shifts uncomfortably, trying to act like she didn’t just hear what I said. She’s got that sweet, quiet smile, and it makes me think about how perfect she and Brad are together. Always liked Amelia. She keeps him grounded. They’re annoyingly perfect for each other, actually.

“Where was my invite to this little Croc party, anyway?”

Liv jumps in, quick as always. “Do you even own Crocs?”

I gasp, throwing a hand dramatically over my chest. “Do you even know me? I’ve got two pairs.”

She raises an eyebrow, not convinced. “Yeah? For what, working on the ute?”

“Nah, I’ve got a black pair and a red pair that looks like Lightning McQueen. You know, coz I love cars.”

Before I can defend my love for the greatest cartoon race car of all time, Imogen cuts me off. “So, what are you doing here, anyway?”

I shrug. “Xav texted me. Told me to meet him here.”

Isla’s smirking, barely paying attention, while Imogen turns to her, all business. “Do you have any of those lollies? I’ve been craving them all day.”

I blink, realising I’m still holding the bag. I pull out a packet and wave it in front of her face. “I’ve got these.”

Imogen’s jaw drops, eyes glued to the lollies. “Wait… what the fuck? You bought those?”

“Uh, yeah?” I glance between them, confused. “Why?”

She’s up in a second, snatching the packet out of my hand. “I’ve been craving these all damn day. How did you know?”

She turns to Isla, suspicious. “Did you text him?”

Isla shakes her head, the smirk growing. “Nope. Why would I?”

And then it hits me. Xav must’ve told Isla, who told him, and he, being the sneaky bastard he is, passed it on to me. I clear my throat, trying to play it cool.

“They’re my favourite. Went to the shops after work, saw them on special, figured I’d grab a few bags.” Imogen doesn’t waste any time. She tears the packet open, pops a couple into her mouth, and moans—loudly. That sound hits me in all the wrong ways, or maybe the right ones. Hell. I shift, trying to ignore the heat rushing straight to my dick. Then, without warning, she throws her arms around me, pressing herself tight against my chest.

“Thank you!” I blink, stunned, but my hands move on instinct, resting on her lower back. The girls are watching, all confused except for Isla, who’s practically beaming. My eyes drop to Imogen’s denim shorts, and before I can stop myself, my hand slides lower, grabbing a handful of her ass. She shoves me away, her eyes narrowed, but not really pissed.

“Yeah, you can fuck off now.” I throw my hands up, laughing.

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself.”

Liv crosses her arms, giving me that knowing smirk. “Neither could she, apparently.” Imogen flips her off, and I just grin, leaning back on my heels.

Whatever this is, I’m in deep now.

It’s about nine when I finally plop myself down onto my couch, when my phone rings, Isla’s name lighting up the screen. It’s not unusual for her to call, but it’s still a bit late for a chat.

“What’s up?” I answer, smiling, but that smile is gone in seconds.

“Harrison, it’s Imogen. She’s not feeling too good. She’s been having back pain and nausea for hours.” Isla’s voice is soft, but laced with concern. “I’d go over, but Callie’s feeding, and I’m stuck here.” I straighten up, the room suddenly feeling too small. My chest tightens, like I’ve been sucker-punched.

“What do you mean? Is she okay?” Why didn’t she call me? I should’ve been there earlier. Fuck, I should’ve been checking in all day. This is why she needs to be here with me. Fuck.

“As if she’s going to call you. She won’t say it, but I think she’s in more pain than she’s letting on.”

A flash of frustration hits me, hot and sharp. Why wouldn’t she call me? My heart races. What if it’s worse than she’s saying? She could be in agony, toughing it out like she always does. God, she’s too damn stubborn. If anything happens to her—I’m already on my feet, keys in hand, not even thinking about a jacket.

One thing’s clear: I’m not sitting around. She’s not handling this alone. Not now. Not ever.

I stand outside Imogen’s front door, the cold night air biting at my skin. I pull my phone out without a second thought and shoot her a quick text.

Me: You awake?

Imogen: Maybe.

I snort out a laugh, shaking my head. She’s such a pain.

Me: Okay, well, open the front door. I’m outside.

Imogen: Wtf? Why?

Me: Because I felt like company. Hurry up, Immy. It’s freezing out here.

There’s a long pause. Longer than I expect. I’m about to shoot off another text when I hear the door creak open. She’s standing there—arms crossed tight over her chest, scowl in place, eyes red like she’s been crying. Shit. Her face is pale, like she’s been hit by a bus.

“What are you really doing here?” she grumbles, staring at me like I’ve just ruined her night.

I take a good look at her—she’s stiff, like every move is painful. Her eyes are tired, like she hasn’t been sleeping, and damn it, I know what that means. I’ve got that gut feeling. She’s definitely not feeling well.

“I had a hunch,” I say, trying to keep my voice casual, though my heart’s already doing its thing. “Spider senses tingling… no, wait, dad senses tingling. You’re not okay.” A small smile flickers on her face, just for a second, before it vanishes like it never existed.

“I’m fine,” she snaps, shifting on her feet, but the way she’s holding herself tells a different story.

“Yeah, and I’m the king of England,” I shoot back. “Inside. Now.”

“What? No, you need—” she starts to argue, but I cut her off before she can finish.

“I’m not going anywhere, Midge. Walk.” I pause, squaring my shoulders. “I’m not taking no for an answer.” She groans loud enough to rattle the windows, frustration practically growling out of her. I can’t help the smirk that slides onto my face. It’s terrible, I know.

But when it’s her, it’s like something flips in me. She turns, and I follow her inside. I keep my eyes on her, watching the way she’s clutching her back with each step like it’s going to give out on her any second. Up the stairs, she leads me to her room. It’s... different. Calm. Too damn calm. The walls are a soft blue, the space neat and tidy—nothing like the whirlwind of energy I’m used to from her. A lamp in the corner casts a warm light over the room, and there, on the bed, is an ice pack and a hot compress, waiting like some kind of unspoken plea for relief. Her pillows are propped up, evidence that she’s been trying to make herself comfortable.

I drop onto the bed, watching her walk around in front of me. Jesus, she’s burning up. I can feel the heat radiating off her, and it hits me hard. Seeing her in so much discomfort makes my chest tighten. “You’re in pain,” I say, and she gives me that stubborn look like I’m some kind of idiot. “Let me rub your back, please.”

“I don’t need you to—” she starts, but then my hand’s on the small of her back, pressing softly but just enough to find the knots buried in her muscles. Her breath hitches. She doesn’t say anything at first, but she’s not pushing me away, either.

“Just breathe. Relax,” I murmur, shifting her pillows and setting the ice pack aside. I ease her down onto her side, one hand keeping steady on her back while the other moves slowly, carefully, in circles. She exhales sharply, but her body softens under my touch.

A groan slips from her lips, sounding like half relief, half discomfort—like I’ve hit the right spot that has been begging for attention. “God, that hurts,” she murmurs softly, but there is strain in her voice.

“Tell me where it hurts,” I say, my hands firm on her.

“There. Just keep… doing what you’re doing,” she breathes out, her voice cracking from the pain. I don’t stop, working that spot until she’s bent forward, crying out.

“Oh, shit!”

Panic shoots through me like a bolt. I sit up, pulling her closer, every part of me on edge. “Hey, hey—are you okay?”

Her breath shudders out. “It’s my lower back… my tailbone. Feels like someone’s been stomping on it all day.” Her words tear through me. I can’t stand seeing her in pain. She’s crying now, and my heart feels like it stops. I wipe her tears, my thumb grazing her cheek, and she doesn’t pull away. I keep rubbing, slow and steady, as her sniffling fades. Her breath hitches, her eyes fluttering like sleep’s taking over. But that single tear still rolls down her cheek, and I can’t let it slide.

“Are you still sore?” I ask, but she shakes her head.

“This is stupid,” she mutters.

I deadpan, trying to lighten the mood. “What, me rubbing your back? Yeah, real stupid.”

“No. Me crying.” Her voice cracks. “I don’t even know why I’m crying.”

“It’s just your body doing its thing. Pain messes with you, makes everything feel worse than it is.”

“I don’t feel normal,” she whispers.

“Normal?” I scoff. “You’re not just normal, Midge. You’re perfect. You’re growing a human inside of you. That’s pretty fucking special to me.” She’s silent, and in that silence, I hear everything.

I keep rubbing, feeling the tension in her body ease with each slow, steady circle. Her breathing evens out, and soon she’s turned onto her side, curled up. I don’t stop, not even when she’s close to sleep. I can’t bring myself to pull away. As I watch her, the soft light from the lamp casting gentle shadows, something hits me—something I wasn’t ready for.

She’s beautiful. Like, the kind of beauty that stops time for a second. The soft glow on her blonde hair, the way it falls around her shoulders like silk—like she’s made of light. Her long lashes flutter, and her lips part slightly as she breathes evenly.

She’s vulnerable, and it hits me harder than I expected. Despite my obsession with her, I never wanted to care, but now I can’t look away. She’s perfect at this moment, and it stings.

This isn’t a big deal, right? She’s made that clear. But damn, the way she looks right now—how can I ignore it? I want to let myself fall asleep beside her, but I can’t. Not with the nightmares I’m carrying. It’s not until after midnight that I finally get up, reluctantly pulling myself away from her. My feet move like they’re on autopilot, but in the back of my mind, all I can think about is the cold, lonely bed waiting for me back home.