Zeppelin (Satan's Angels MC, Book 9), page 16
Bronte’s like me. It takes a lot to make her embarrassed, but she does flush a little. “Can you think back on it then? Go over it in your head.”
I start right from the first racy texts and go over the way he got down on his knees and fucking shaved me. I truly let that happen. I’d let it happen again, if I was honest. It wasn’t just the act itself. It was the surrender. Zeppelin was one hundred percent into it. He didn’t seem like he had anything on his mind. He even lied to Tyrant and Raiden and put on a show of being his regular asshole self to the rest of the guys before we even got into his room. He did that for me, so that I could spend time with him at the clubhouse. Sure, he misses Jack. He’s probably still struggling with it, but he wasn’t in that moment. Not when we were together. There was this tangible thread of expectation and anticipation between us. Nothing could have stopped us from having each other.
Until it did.
Until I said… “Oh my god!” I gasp. Bronte startles beside me. “Oh. My. God.”
“What? Did you figure it out?” She waves her hands excitedly, like a poor chicken trying to take flight.
“I told him he should be careful. That what he said sounded dangerously close to attachment.” That sounds so bad. Why didn’t I get it right then? Why did it take me this long? Because, like the dirty talk, I didn’t mean it that way. “I was being playful. When you’ve come for a uh… casual interlude with someone after working each other up over text and you do something a little bit wild and it’s all very hot and epic, we were talking dirty because it was fun. I didn’t mean- I- didn’t think that he’d ever want… attachment. I thought that was firmly off the table for us.”
“Maybe he never thought he’d want it either, but things change. People change. Situations change. Lots of situationships have turned into relationships, sometimes before people even realize that it’s happening.” Bronte always chooses her words with care, but she’s borderline guarded. “It sounds like the time you’ve shared brought you both together very quickly.”
“As friends.”
“Ginny.”
“What? You know that that’s what I do. I refuse to be ashamed of it.”
“I’m not talking about shame.” She plants her hand on my knee and squeezes. Right. She’s the last person in the world who would ever shame anyone, let alone me. “Just because you’re used to that sort of arrangement, doesn’t mean that Zeppelin is. Or that you are anymore. What you did in the past isn’t always a good indicator of what you’re going to want in the present or in the future. You grow up. You change. Your wants and needs change.”
“He knows I’m not going to just shove him out of my life.” Is that why he shut down? Because he thought I just saw him as some casual fun and then I’d close ranks when that fun reached its expiry date? “He’s this baby’s uncle. He misses Jack so much and this baby is his. That ties us together. It’s important to both of us.”
“Uncle? It doesn’t sound like he wants to play an uncle role to me.”
“We had boundaries and lines, and we destroyed them. It’s confused. We haven’t even put a label on it. I didn’t think either of us wanted that enough to be hurt over it to the point of complete shutdown.”
“Does he know you’re not going to push him out? Decide against him being in your life once you’re finished with him?”
“I would never do that. Ever.”
“I know that, but does he? Just because he’s a man it doesn’t mean he doesn’t have feelings. People say guys just say what they think and feel and that might be true, but it doesn’t mean they don’t have complicated emotions that they don’t even know how to voice. It seems he might have been voicing his hurt pretty clearly, even in silence.”
“I apologized for hurting him.”
“Yes, but you didn’t know what you were apologizing for and maybe he didn’t know how to tell you without breaking down in some way. It’s hard for men to be seen as weak and vulnerable.”
We’ve done so much of that with each other already. In the angry moments, and in the quiet ones. In those painful moments where I found him in the garden, and in the wretched ones where he pulled me up from the floor and held me in his lap.
It sounds like the time you’ve shared together has brought you two together very quickly.
Bronte’s words are already haunting me.
“About apologizing,” Bronte ventures, dropping her voice as a warning that something is coming that I might not want to hear. “You can’t be honest with someone else until you’re honest with yourself.”
That’s a hard one to digest. “How can I be honest when I don’t even know what I want?” What if it’s just hormones going crazy? Do I want Zeppelin as a friend and as a lover? I guess so. Right now I do. Do I want it to be more? I don’t know. He doesn’t know. Neither of us know. That’s why it’s such a mess. It was never supposed to happen, and then it did, and it can’t unhappen. It’s not wrong, but it’s not right. I can’t get lulled into believing something based on emotions that can and will change at any time.
Feelings aren’t facts. If there’s one great truth in life, it’s that.
“You can both not know and still care,” Bronte says. “What if he said something flippant to you that really dug deep? Maybe into something you’re insecure about, or afraid of, or just something super inconsiderate and you just shut right down? Even if you were just friends, you could still have deep emotions.”
“Zeppelin isn’t—”
“What? Like that? Capable of that? Maybe not. But maybe. Maybe he didn’t even know he was.”
“Or maybe he’s just insulted that I made it seem like he was somehow beneath me or that I didn’t want part of him or that he was dirty or something silly.”
“Is that likely? Honestly?”
I grasp my mug harder, wrapping both hands around it and staring into the pale green surface. “He’s said some harsh things about himself. He’s used to making himself a joke of sorts. Saying he’s illiterate and stuff because he didn’t graduate. I don’t like when he does that. He’s not stupid. I think he knew that I’d never imply that.”
“So then it was the attachment thing.”
Shit. Now that Bronte’s convinced, she’s not going to let it go.
“He’s falling, Ginny. If you’re not, I think you need to take a step back before you hurt him or yourself or both of you get hurt. You need to reestablish some hard lines and make sure they’re not crossed again. Sexual gratification is great if it’s mutual, but if it leads to ruin and a mess of two lives with a third life between those two lives, it’s hard.” I open my mouth to defend myself, but she rests her hand on my knee, silencing me with a sympathetic expression. “I’m not trying to lecture you. You can do what you want. This is just what I think and I need to say it, because if I don’t, it’s going to bother me forever.”
I curl my fingers over hers, studying where they’re linked. Hers are painted a bright pink. I do a doubletake as soon as I notice.
“Do you know who Tarynn is? Crow’s wife?”
“Which one is Crow again?”
“He’s tall, likes to wear black, has black hair, super scary vibes, really quiet, but super nice if you get to know him?”
“So… like ninety percent of the guys?”
She laughs. “Okay, you’re right. Anyway, she owns a salon here. She convinced me to get my hair done and she just hired someone to do aesthetics there. She’s still kind of training and was wondering if she could practice a manicure on me for a discount. I didn’t really want it, but she was so sweet that I couldn’t say no.”
“Don’t you just want to pick it all off?”
Nothing’s changed since we were young. “Yup. I haven’t though, and it’s been six days. A new record.”
I look her hair over. We both have the same sandy hued, thick, wavy hair. I used to get mine cut all the time, but I haven’t in a while, and it’s grown out to being almost as long as hers. “What did you get done?”
“Just a trim. You know how I am when it comes to my hair.”
I do know. She hates anyone touching it.
We lapse into silence for a few minutes, listening to each other breathing. I know that I need to bring the conversation back around. Even if I didn’t, Bronte wouldn’t force me. She’d drop it and never bring it up again unless I did.
“I need to talk to him,” I blurt. I slide my mug onto the coffee table. The candle has burned down so far that the three wicks are swimming in a layer of molten wax.
“I think you might want to know what you’re feeling yourself before you attempt that conversation.”
“What if I don’t know? What if I don’t know for a good while?”
“If you truly don’t, then just be honest. Tell him that you don’t know where you’re at. You might want to say that you need to take some time until you do. Taking accountability is important. I think he’ll appreciate that, even if you have to give him an answer he doesn’t want to hear.”
“He’s working on the house. I mean, he was taking time to do the porch for me. If he quits, it’s fine. Dad and Gabe could eventually help me do it and anything else that needs to be done. The point isn’t the house. It’s that I’m going to be seeing him often.”
“The club’s going on a ride next week and when they get back, they’re having a huge club party.”
“What?” I try to pretend that I’m not hurt over not knowing a thing about this.
“They’re riding to the East Coast and staying for over a week, so by the time they’re back, it will be close to three weeks that they’re gone.
Three fucking weeks? What the hell?
“Do they do that often? Go for club rides?”
“I think they used to do it more before, for business reasons, and not the kind of business that was on the right side of the law, but that’s mostly not a thing anymore. They’re just going because it’s nice out and it’s time.”
Zeppelin doesn’t have to tell me everything. He doesn’t even have to tell me anything if he doesn’t want to, but I can’t believe he didn’t mention this even once. If he was just disappearing for a week, you’d think that would be vital information to give me to explain why he’s ghosting. Maybe he was going to.
Maybe.
“When are they leaving?”
“Not until Friday.”
“I have a few days to talk to him before he leaves, if I have myself sorted out.” Bronte nods. She bites down on the corner of her lip, just a little bit too hard. “Are you worried about Dom leaving?”
“Not worried exactly. They’re not doing anything illegal. There’s no risk other than the regular risk of being on the freeway with a bike, although they’re riding in a pack, so it’s probably a lot safer. Dom’s bike is a trike anyway, and he’s been doing so much physical therapy and has a lot more movement in his arm now, so I’m not worried about him getting tired or uncomfortable or being unable to ride or anything. I’ll just miss him.”
I’ll just miss him.
It’s more than understandable to see the forlorn wistfulness on Bronte’s face. She and Dom are epic. They’re in love. They’ve been in love for a decade. But me? What do I have to feel sad about? Why do I feel like that amount of time is a kick straight to the teeth?
I have to take a minute to catch my breath.
I could keep blaming pregnancy hormones or I could admit that maybe there’s the slightest part of me that gets excited to see Zeppelin. That there’s a small warmth that flickers to life in my chest whenever he’s near. I’ve somehow given him my trust and undiscovered parts of myself without even knowing it.
I clutch my hands tightly, but when that’s not enough, I part my legs and jam them between.
Three weeks.
Maybe it’s a good thing.
It would be time to think. Time to get my shit sorted and get my wayward, haywire emotions under control. I could decide what’s fact and what’s just nonsense. Maybe by the time Zeppelin gets back, I’ll be more than okay with putting hard stops and some very much needed life controls in place. Roadblocks. Do not cross or enter zones.
“Are you going to be okay?” I’m not trying to redirect from myself. I really want to know. Bronte’s looking more and more miserable as the minutes go on.
Her bottom lip wobbles.
“You and Ellie should come out to the farm! Stay in your old room. Come and see what I’m doing to the old house. I know you’ve been wanting so badly to find time to drive out and it’s not easy with a toddler, but we’d love it if you were there for a while. The time would go faster for sure.”
She nods, blinking rapidly, but smiling through it. Bronte’s good at that. No matter how hopeless things seemed for her, she’s always been able to force herself to see the good in it and keep moving forward. “I was thinking about coming. I was so overwhelmed trying to get Dom ready that I didn’t say anything to Mom. I didn’t want to get you guys all excited before I had a chance to make plans.”
“I’ll come for you, if you want. You can drive back with me, if you’re worried about Ellie getting upset on a longer drive.”
She nods, shuffling closer on the couch and leaning into me. “It’ll be good to come back home for a bit. You’re right. The time will pass way faster. I have my first doctor appointment. You can come with me, if you want.”
“Yes! I’ll absolutely come!”
“Just a doctor’s appointment. Not a scan yet. I’m going to have to get booked in for it, though.”
“Right. Yes. I want to make sure that you’re taking care of yourself right now.”
“I am. It’s just still so early. That’s all.”
“But you booked it?”
“I did.”
I was going to tell Zeppelin about that tonight. After. Lying together, not cuddling, but still touching, hot and sweaty and sated. Close. Just so, so close. Staring at the ceiling. I wanted to look over and watch his face.
His face. Not Jack’s. I already dealt with the guilt of that. It’s not that I wouldn’t be thinking about Jack. I always will. I’m having his child. He gave me this miracle. But it’s Zeppelin who is here. It’s Zeppelin who cares and worries and—
Fuck.
I sling my arm around her and we lean our heads close to each other. I close my eyes and just sit, inhaling my sister’s familiar honeysuckle scent.
Together, the time will go quickly. Not that I’m counting anything down. I’m fine alone. I’ve always been fine. I always will be. I love being single. I only need the support of my family to raise a child. Anything else—friends and acquaintances—are just a blessing. They’re a bonus. I don’t need to fall back on them.
I want Zeppelin in my life and in the baby’s life and I’ll always make sure he can be, but I don’t need him.
I just need to convince my aching body that that’s still true.
Chapter 13
Zeppelin
This part of the country is pretty. I suppose any part is beautiful enough when it’s just the ground beneath a man and the open sky, stars glistening overhead, a massive campfire roaring, plenty of tents dotting the background in a cluster, and the roar of good conversation had between men who have sworn an oath of brotherhood to one another.
Tyrant and Raiden thought ahead and rented out campgrounds along the way. After a day of hard riding, the last thing that we were going to do was pull into some motel or even a hotel. All those bikes gathered in one spot are like a siren’s call when it comes to trouble. We’re not the kind of club that needs that kind of attention.
This trip is about riding just because we love it. It’s about our bikes, the wind in our hair, the freedom of the open road, the sky endless above, behind, and ahead of us. It’s not about starting outlaw shit and getting into bar fights or picking up chicks along the way.
At this point, I think that we’re more of a boys’ club than a biker club as far as what most people think of when they think of one percenters, but that’s okay. That’s more than fucking okay by me.
I like this camping out, kumbaya shit.
It’s not like we’re doing s’mores, so we’re not too far gone yet.
Before we make a stop for the evening, there’s always a run into whatever grocery store is along the way. Beans, corn, steaks, potatoes—we usually feast like kings. We’ve stopped a few times, at small food stands if there are any, but if not, we cook for ourselves. We have more than enough room on the bikes between us for a few pots and pans to do the dinner making.
Our tents are mostly single person, and we have travel pillows and sleeping bags, maybe a small pad for the ground if we need it, but most of us are content with sleeping rough. Having a bike between your legs during the day and the solidity of the hard ground at night—that’s a religion I could get behind.
“You’re unnaturally quiet.” Carver drops down beside me.
I’m sitting on a stump that I found over in the firewood pile. It either escaped splitting or someone just pitched it there, but it was perfectly round and more than enough of a perching place for my ass to sit for a few hours in front of the campfire.
The other guys are gathered around, talking and laughing, regaling each other with all the previous rides, even though most of them were there. Odin likes to tell the story of how he lost his eye. The barfight recounting never gets old. A few of the older guys have some wild stories. After that dies down, it’s generally talk about our families and the club, Hart, the cabin in the mountains that the club owns, how our real estate purchases are doing that Tyrant invested into after the club’s lawyer and Bullet’s woman, Lynette, wanted to purchase in a bid to have the club’s business go from an illegal shitshow to a legal shitshow.
Not that I’d know.
That isn’t my area of expertise.
I’m not an officer. I’m not involved in decision making and I don’t get updates on all of the investments and all that shit the way Tyrant, Raiden, and the other officers do.
It’s not that I feel I don’t belong. I’m not sitting on the edge of the circle and not joining in because I’m purposely butt hurt about anything.
