Tangled Desires (Wattle Creek #3)

41

1 month later – November

F our weeks in, and we’re still finding our rhythm.

Harrison took the first month off work, which was a godsend. Neither of us knew what we were doing—newborns don’t exactly come with instructions. I finally convinced him to head back this week, though part of me wants him here every second. We celebrated Harrison’s birthday on October twenty-second, after Joseph was born. It was simple but perfect, with our whole family gathered around.

Bradley’s birthday came next—same family vibes but different energy. His work friends showed up, and I got to catch up with Teddy and Sebastian. Sebastian’s found a babysitter, which is good for him. There’s definitely some weird tension between him and Olivia, but hey, that’s none of my business.

Oh, and then Callie’s first birthday rolled around. God, October and November are the months of birthdays around here. It feels like every other week there’s a celebration, but I wouldn’t change a thing.

Back to motherhood, you ask? Breastfeeding? Fucking hell. People warned me it would hurt, but no one mentioned the brutal reality—especially those first few weeks. My poor nipples have been through hell, and there were nights I’d sit up crying, cursing under my breath. At least Joseph’s latching well now, which is the only thing keeping me from throwing in the towel. No mastitis yet, so I’ll take that as a win. If he needs me to endure some pain, fine. He’s worth it.

As for downstairs... I’m too nervous to even look after the birth. The only updates I get are from Harrison, who swears everything is “still perfect.” Sweet, but not convincing.

God, I miss sex. I miss us . Even a proper makeout feels like a miracle, with a newborn glued to me twenty-four-seven. It’s like Joseph knows when we’re about to do anything remotely intimate and decides to cry, like clockwork.

But for now, it’s just the two of us—Joseph and me. Joseph Steven Price .

Choosing that name felt right. My dad and Harrison’s? Those two shaped us, molded us into who we are. We owe them everything, and now they’ve got this little guy to carry on the name. He’s in a little rocker while I’m checking my phone, scrolling through the group chat that’s been blowing up non-stop.

The Housewives of Wattle Creek is becoming way too accurate.

Isla: You good, babe? How’s J today?

Amelia: Has he smiled yet? I hear the first little smile makes all the sleepless nights worth it.

Liv: I miss his cute little face, send pics when you can, of course. How’s breastfeeding going, Immy?

Me: Baby J and I are doing okay. For now.

Isla: Sending strength, Mumma. Breastfeeding sucks at first. I swear, Callie tried to gnaw mine off.

Me: Well, baby’s fed, nipples are still intact. I’m marginally functional. No one’s cried in the last hour. Winning?

Isla: Hell yeah, that’s winning!

Olivia: You’re doing amazing. And remember, we’re here for everything. Literally everything!

I smile, glancing over at Joseph, who’s scrunched up like a little old man, peacefully asleep for now. There’s beauty in the chaos, I guess. Even on the days I’m wiped out, the girls checking in helps, reminding me I’m not alone in the insanity. A text from Harrison pops up.

Baby daddy: Hi Mama.

Baby daddy: Miss you, Immy-girl. How’s our boy?

Don’t you dare judge me for the name, okay? It used to be Bane of my Existence , and then I changed to just Harrison , and now this. Harrison forced me to change it, said it had to match my name on his: Baby Mumma. Then he went on and on about how he wanted to change it to Wifey , and that’s another story for another day.

Me: I’m good. Covered in vomit. I still haven’t changed from this morning, but J’s asleep.

I hear the message ding, and Harrison’s reply makes me chuckle.

Baby Daddy: I bet you still look fucking sexy, even with vomit on you.

I laugh, shaking my head. Always the charmer, even when I’m a total mess. I snap a quick photo of myself, makeup smeared and hair wild, Joseph peacefully asleep in the background.

Me: Here you go. Still sexy?

Baby Daddy: Yeah, 100%. I’d still fuck you!

Baby Daddy: Shit. Now I’m getting a hard on thinking about fucking…

Me: Then get your ass home soon, and I’ll take care of that for you.

Joseph’s finally asleep, his little face peaceful after hours of screaming. I still smell faintly like baby vomit, but at least the symphony of farts earlier had me laughing instead of crying. Poor kid—gas is no joke. I hear the front door open, and Harrison steps in, sweaty from work, looking like a goddamn sight for sore eyes. I’m on him, pressing my lips to his, shutting him up with a kiss. He growls into my mouth, his hands gripping my hips as I tug him forward.

“Couch. Now,” I murmur against his lips. I straddle his lap, my hands diving into his hair as I grind against him.

“Fuck, I missed you, Immy,” he groans.

“Missed you, too,” I whisper, already sliding off his lap to kneel between his legs.

“Wait.” His voice is rough. “I’m sweaty. Let me—”

“I don’t care,” I cut him off. “I need you now.” My fingers fumble with his belt, tugging at his zipper. “Just use those baby wipes.”

He huffs a laugh but grabs them, quickly swiping himself down while I yank his shorts and briefs out of the way. His cock springs free, hard and thick, the piercings catching the light. My whole body lights up with need, heat rushing through me. I waste no time. My lips wrap around him, taking him in slowly, savoring every groan that tumbles from his mouth. The cool metal of the piercings grazes my tongue, making me shiver. His hands sink into my hair, not guiding, just holding, as if he needs the anchor.

“Fuck, Immy… just like that,” he pants.

The praise fuels me, my movements becoming more deliberate, more teasing. I swirl my tongue around each piercing, drawing out those deep moans I live for. The salty taste of him, the way his thighs tense beneath my hands—it’s everything. His breathing gets ragged, his grip tightening.

“Gonna come,” he warns.

Good. That’s exactly what I want. I hum around him, the vibrations making him curse, and I don’t stop until he’s gasping my name, shuddering through his release. I pull back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, smirking up at him. In an instant, Harrison’s hands are on me, tugging me up for a messy, desperate kiss.

His tongue claims mine, rough and demanding. One hand slides under the waistband of my shorts, slipping into my underwear like he’s been thinking about it all day. Honestly, so have I.

His fingers find me instantly. “So fucking wet,” he growls against my mouth, nipping at my bottom lip. Then he pulls his hand out, sucking his fingers clean with a low hum.

“It’s what you do to me.” My voice is a breathy confession.

His eyes darken. “Such a greedy little cunt you have, huh?” Before I can respond, Harrison flips me onto my back, pinning me to the couch. I gasp as he yanks down my shorts and underwear in one smooth motion, leaving me bare and aching beneath him.

“I can’t fuck you just yet,” he murmurs, spreading my legs wider, “but I can still do this.”

His mouth descends, and I arch into him instantly, my hips pushing forward like I can’t get close enough. The first swipe of his tongue makes me whimper; the second has me clawing at the couch. He’s relentless—tongue flicking, sucking, devouring like I’m his last meal. My legs tremble, toes curling as he finds that perfect rhythm, building the pressure inside me so fast it’s dizzying.

“Oh, fuck—Harrison!”

I shatter in seconds, coming hard, thighs clenching around his head as he groans against me, drawing out every pulse, every shiver. When I finally come down, breathless and boneless, he looks up at me, smug as fuck. “Didn’t take long,” he chuckles, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

I laugh weakly. “Shut up. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Fucking oath I do, Immy-girl.” He leans up, kissing me slowly—tasting like me and him all at once.

Dinner at Dad’s place is, against all odds, actually going well. He’s got everyone here—Joe, Nancy, Michael—all under one roof. Dad laid down the law right from the start: “No drama tonight.” And by some miracle, that’s exactly what we’re getting. Harrison had warned him this might not be the best idea. Too much history, too many ways it could go wrong, despite them working through things. But here we are, and for once, it’s… calm.

Harrison sits next to me, hand resting on my thigh under the table, his touch steady, keeping me grounded. Michael’s even managed to get his mum laughing a few times—she’s really giving it her best. And that’s enough for me.

“So, Joe,” Dad says, cutting into his steak. “How’s the shop? Still slammed with repairs these days, right?”

“Yeah, bloody oath I am. Not that I’m complaining. Nothing like bringing an engine back to life.”

“Hear you on that. Picked up a new client—wanted the whole yard redone, drought-resistant and all. Got me thinking I’ll need a new tray soon, maybe even a suspension upgrade before next season. Been meaning to chat with you about it.”

Joe’s eyes light up. “Oh yeah? Stop by anytime. I’ve got a couple setups in mind that’d do the trick. Nothing like the right rig to make the job feel half as heavy. Plus, I’ve got my boys helping me. They’ll set you up. Soon enough, that shop’ll be theirs to run.”

Dad nods. “You’ve raised ‘em right, mate. Takes a good man to keep his boys on track.” He turns to me. “And how’s little Joseph doing?”

“He’s good,” I say, smiling. “Keeps us on our toes, and yeah, most nights he’s got me pacing the house, bouncing him back to sleep, but we’re getting a hang of it.”

“That’s my girl. Figured you’d handle it like a champ.”

“Sure—a sleep-deprived, zombie-level champ.”

Nancy clears her throat, leaning forward with a little hesitation. “Imogen, if it’s all right with you… I’d love to spend more time with Joseph, get to know him a bit. I’m part-time now, so I’ll be home most days.” Her voice is careful, and the look in her eyes almost holds its breath, like she’s waiting. Nancy’s really putting in the effort, making it clear she wants a place in Joseph’s life.

There’s still something underneath it all, though—a weight, a hard knot of resentment that she’ll never fully erase for what she did to Harrison and Michael. For what she didn’t do. It’s there, buried deep inside me, and I can’t just ignore it. But Harrison’s moving forward, and if he’s willing to rebuild something with her, I have to at least try. For him. For our son.

Harrison’s hand squeezes my thigh, his silent nudge of support. “I’d appreciate that, Nancy. Thank you.” At that, we all dig in, passing plates and talking over each other in that easy way only family can. Then, in the lull, Michael taps his glass with a fork, smirking.

“All right, let’s all raise a glass—to family, aye?”

We all clink our glasses, a ragged, happy chorus of “Cheers” going around the table. For a brief second, everything is normal. No drama, no chaos, just us, just… family. And I’ll take it.

We’re mid-bite when the doorbell rings, and I get up, figuring it’s one of Dad’s neighbours needing a cup of sugar or some nonsense. But the second I open the door, I freeze.

“Hello, Imogen.” My mother’s voice is as sharp as I remember. It’s like time hasn’t touched her, at least not the way it should have. Ice-blonde hair, perfectly curled, leopard print dress, dripping in enough gold to outfit a jewellery store. And her eyes? That glinting entitlement—the look of someone who’s never heard the word no in her life.

I can barely find my voice. “What are you—Why are you here?”

She tries to push past me, but I block her, holding firm. She huffs, straightening herself like I’m the one inconveniencing her. “I’m here to see my grandchild,” she declares, chin lifted.

I don’t fucking think so. The disbelief quickly turns to anger. “And how, exactly, do you even know about him?”

“Cameron told me. Said he saw you.” Of course. The half-brother she still keeps in touch with, while I’m the daughter she tossed aside like yesterday’s news. My grip on the door tightens as I stare her down.

“And how do you know he wasn’t mistaken? Could’ve seen someone else.”

She scoffs, folding her arms. “He knew it was you. He saw your bump, Imogen. Stop wasting my time.”

“You’re wasting your own time,” I snap. “You need to leave.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Imogen. I have a right to see my grandson.”

I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “A right? You gave up any ‘rights’ when you walked out. You don’t get to waltz back in just because there’s a baby now. That’s not how it works. So, turn around and go back to whatever hole you crawled out of.”

Harrison steps up behind me. “Immy, who’s—” He freezes when he sees her, the resemblance enough to fill in the blanks.

“I’m her mother,” she announces. Mother. What a joke. She wouldn’t know the first thing about being one if it slapped her in the face. “I deserve to see my grandson. As his grandmother, I have rights.”

“Bullshit,” I snap. “You lost any rights the day you walked out on me seventeen years ago.”

“You can’t just show up here out of nowhere and act like you get a say in any of this,” Harrison says, his voice dangerously calm.

“Well, aren’t you the noble one?” she sneers, turning her gaze to him.

“Deborah?” Dad’s voice cuts through the tension. His face pales like he’s seen a ghost. “What are you doing here?” She is a fucking ghost. An unwelcome visitor.

“Just catching up,” she says breezily. “Still stuck in this dump, I see.”

“Of course, you’d say that.” Harrison’s hand slides around my waist, steadying me as I take a breath. I glare at her. “You’re not welcome. My son doesn’t need you. I don’t need you. So turn around, crawl back to whatever hellhole you came from, and stay there.”

My mother straightens. “I’ll go to court. Apply for grandparent rights.”

Dad lets out a low, incredulous laugh. “Good luck with that, Deborah.” He slams the door in her face.

The silence that follows is thick. My heart pounds, adrenaline burning through me. I let out a long, shaky breath, and it feels like a weight’s been lifted from my chest.

“Right, let’s get back to dinner,” Dad says too casually before turning to walk back inside.

“Geez, guess we all have some parental issues or something.” Michael raises his eyebrows, clearly amused. Harrison shoves him, but I can’t help but smile. Trust Michael to always have a joke or two lying around when it’s least expected.

Harrison wraps his arm around me as we walk. “You okay?”

I tilt my head back, giving him a smile, the kind that says I’m more than okay. “Yeah, fuck her. Knowing her, she won’t do shit. She’s not that bothered. She just likes to make a scene, that’s all.”

“I’m proud of you, sugar. You stood your ground.”

“If I don’t, she’ll think she can just walk all over me. Not today. Not ever.”

Harrison nods, and we settle back into the quiet rhythm of us, the table’s chatter fading into the background. The buzz in my chest lingers, but it’s softer now.

I catch Dad’s eye across the room. He winks, that familiar glint of his steady love shining through. Thank God for him—the man who raised me, taught me to stand tall, to fight for what matters, and to never take shit from anyone. It might not have been picture perfect to some, but it was in my eyes. My father gave me everything she never could.

And now, there’s Harrison, too. This family. Old and new. Thank God we’re all here, on the same side, keeping my mother’s poison out for good.