Zeppelin (Satan's Angels MC, Book 9), page 4
Before I know what I’m doing, my hand smooths over my stomach. This baby is already so loved, and by more than just me. I drop it quickly, aware that my mom could be watching us right now.
I want as many people in my baby’s life as possible, loving them, teaching them, helping them throughout the years. Zeppelin getting excited about this, eager, concerned, showing a whole lot more emotion in two brief conversations than I’ve seen from him ever—that’s not nothing.
It’s a lot of something.
“I…” he holds out a hand, but quickly drops it, ramming it into the pocket of his jeans. I notice now that they cling to him because they’re wet, outlining the muscles of his hard thighs. “I’m sorry I just showed up here. It’s a twat move, I’ll give you that. Last night, I was just thinking about- about Jack.” He looks over my shoulder, but quickly turns his eyes up to the sky. I don’t think he’s searching for his brother there, he just doesn’t know where to look. “Me and Jack. That’s what I was thinking. It’s fucking weird that I won’t be able to say that again. There’s a cut off point. Jack will never do anything with me again. He’s not a person anymore. He’s nothing. Just a name. A set of memories. There was a fuckton of bad, but there was good too. I want his child to know that. I want them to know the best of him. Not just photos. You can’t get a sense of a person that way.”
How can I stand here and not be affected by this man’s obvious pain and misery, but also by his determination? All those hollow places in me fill with the force of his emotion, the extra huskiness in his voice that he can do nothing about, that thick swallow at the end of it all and how his eyes graze the ground before returning to mine.
“Zeppelin. I- I’m so sorry for what’s happening right now. For your pain, for all this change that no one should have to live through. The world is often hard and cruel. Jack deserved so many more years and you should have had that with him.”
If this man was a part of my family or even a friend, I would hug him. I’d enfold him in tenderness and let it seep from me to him. It physically hurts even more that I can’t do that. I don’t want to invade his personal space. It’s infinitely harder just to stand here and do nothing for him. I rarely feel this helpless, and I hate it.
“I still haven’t told my family. Obviously. I just mentioned that.” I glance over my shoulder, but my mom isn’t spying on us from the kitchen. Not that I thought she’d invade my privacy that way, but I’m edgy. “I’m not sure how to explain why you showed up here.”
“You can tell them what I told you. That wasn’t just a bunch of lip service nonsense. Jack would have wanted me to look after you.”
“They know that I don’t need that, Zeppelin. Not to be mean. They just know me. They know that I’m strong.”
He thumps his chest, startling me at first, but only because the movement is so fast for someone so big. “I need it.” His voice breaks and his face creases. I sway back and forth, wrapping my arms around myself like the wind could blow me away when I realize just how dangerously close to losing control he is. “I need it, Ginny.” He shakes himself, clawing his way back from the breaking point. “I don’t think you’re as hard hearted as you pretend to be. I think you’re sweet and nice, like your sister.”
“My sister would have told your brother to go to hell and would rather have nut punched him than anything. She forced herself to be nice.”
He grunts, but at least the fine lines at the corners of his eyes deepen a little. Grave had that way of smiling without smiling. He’d kind of snort when he was amused and secretly wanted to laugh. “She loves you. She’s older. She wants to defend you. That’s admirable. I don’t blame her one bit.” He lapses into silence. I’m not sure what to say either. “You’re down a person for gardening, aren’t you? If your dad and brother are busy and Bronte’s in Hart, won’t you need someone to help out?”
“It will just take us a few extra days. It’s not a big deal.”
“You have to do all that bending and planting. It’s hard on a body.”
“I’m a hard worker. It’s not going to hurt the baby to do the things I was doing before. I’ll still watch it, but we’re good. Really.”
“I’d like to come back if you’d let me.”
Good lord, he’s not going to give up. There’s clearly something wrong with me, because with every time he protests that he should be here, my resolve softens. “Come on. You’d have to take time off work for that. I live hours away from you. That’s not even practical.” Ugh, what are those tiny seeds of warmth sprouting in my chest? I have plenty of kindness in my life. I have far more blessings than I can begin to count. I don’t need him to do this for me, and kindness isn’t a surprise like it is to those who haven’t known it.
I want to give him a list of twenty other reasons why it’s a terrible idea, but the door cracks open and my mom steps out. Swathed in her bright pink raincoat and matching rubber boots, she comes bearing a massive smile and her invitation face.
I sigh inwardly. Above all, Mom believes in hospitality. No guest leaves without drinking their fill of hot or cold tea and eating their weight in baked goods.
“Hello, Decay.”
I cringe and brace, but I’m the only one. “Zeppelin, ma’am. That’s my real name and I’m thinking about going back to it for a while.”
Mom never gets flustered, so what the heck is the slight pink on her cheeks? Jeez, it’s the ma’am thing. She hates it, but Zep makes it sound flirty. Almost borderline dirty.
Great. My whole face is at least ten thousand degrees.
I shake my head subtly. I expect Zeppelin to just ignore me and take my mom up on her offer, stay for hours, make everything extremely awkward, and then somehow let it slip what’s really going on.
I’m ninety-eight point eight percent sure that before, he wouldn’t have hesitated to be as loud as he possibly could be in every way, including when he was quiet.
Zeppelin doesn’t even look at me for cues. He shakes his head, giving my mom a genuine smile that makes my insides shiver as it transforms his whole face. At the same time, a bolt of pain lances my side, rippling all the way up through my chest. I never saw Grave smile like that.
“I was just riding past on my way back to Hart and wanted to stop in. Ginny’s been nice enough to text me when I needed someone who just got it. I just wanted to talk for a minute, but I have to get going. I understand you’re busy too, and I don’t want to make things more difficult for you and eat up a bunch of your time.”
It’s a sort of innocent bending of the truth. Mom is absolutely charmed. Even I’m not immune. Until Zeppelin opens his big freaking mouth again.
“Could you use some muscle putting your garden in? Ginny was telling me about how you do a massive one to sell produce at the markets eventually.”
“Sure, if you’re offering!” Mom’s so excited about it. I wish I could melt into the ground and remain there for the next few weeks, until it’s time to have the next awkward conversation with my family about the whole, surprise, you’re going to be grandparents thing. “We wouldn’t turn down help,” Mom goes on. “That’s very kind.” She gives the bike a sidelong look. I don’t know if she’s ever been sold on them. “It’s a long ride from Hart for you. It’s not all that safe or pleasant on gravel. Do you have a vehicle?”
“A cage? I don’t, but I could borrow one.”
“A cage?”
“Sorry. That’s what most bikers call a car or truck. Anyway, I don’t mind the ride and I’m used to bad roads. As for the garden, I’m used to hard work. My job is mostly heavy lifting, and I still hit the gym on top of it.”
That explains a lot. “You’re just brimming with testosterone,” I mutter under my breath.
Mom either doesn’t hear me or doesn’t acknowledge my bad manners. “We’ll probably be planting on Monday, but if it’s raining heavily, we’ll go for the next day. Ginny could text you. If you’re coming all this way, you should stay the night and let us cook for you. That’s only right.”
“I’m sure Zeppelin can’t take more than one day off of work—”
He cuts off my half formed protest. “Work’s flexible. If I need some time, the guys will understand right now.”
He’s not milking his brother’s death as an excuse to just piss off and leave others in a bind. He might want it to appear like that, but I know he wouldn’t do that. Maybe that’s presumptive. Maybe it’s a gut feeling. Zeppelin isn’t Grave, but I know Grave valued his job and club more than anything. He liked playing up the asshole act, but never alone those lines.
“I’m so sorry about your brother.” Mom’s eyes glisten with tears. “You probably don’t need to hear that. It’s salt in fresh wounds, constantly being reminded of it, I’m sure.”
“Yeah.” Zeppelin studies the ground as if the gravel just turned into precious gemstones. “It’s going to hurt for a long time, but I like talking about him. It makes it seem a little bit less like he’s gone forever if I can remember that he was here to begin with.”
That’s very eloquent.
Strikingly articulate.
It hits me in all my soft spots yet again.
“Well, Zeppelin, you’re certainly welcome whenever you’d like. Thank you again for the offer, but there’s no pressure if you can’t get time off.”
Mom heads back inside. I give her a I’ll be back in right away look over my shoulder that she turns at the garage door to see.
When she’s back inside, I clear my throat. I want to be annoyed, but the guilt over being anything but friendly to this man is eating me up. It’s far more than that. It’s not right that he should bear the brunt of it. He’s just trying to be nice. None of this is his fault. Even if he shows up at my house after I tell him I need time and invites himself back after I told him no.
“I know you’re thinking that I’m a manipulative asshole with slightly stalkerish tendencies who can’t take no for an answer and doesn’t know the meaning of boundaries or space. It’s true. I’m sorry. It’s just I’m so fucking untethered, I’m two seconds away from spiraling. None of that is your fault or your problem, but thinking about you and the baby… it helps. That’s all I know. I shouldn’t be using you as a crutch. I get that. You’re too nice to tell me to fuck off. I get that too. I’m sorry.”
“You can’t be sorry and know you’re doing all those wrong things.” I want to be pissed about it, but I can’t muster up the proper sentiment.
“I know that too. If you truly don’t want me to come, I’ll say I can’t get time off work.”
“Don’t make me the bad guy.”
He walks over to his bike and snatches his helmet off the handlebars. He puts it on and pulls his bandana up over his mouth.
“Flip me off,” he tells me. “It’ll make both of us feel better.”
I want to do it. Angle my body away from the window so my mom can’t see me, and let that bird fly. I want to wave it loud and fucking proud, right in his face. I want to mean it.
There’s definitely something wrong with me that all I want to do is laugh at the thought of such a wild, enthusiastic gesture.
“Call me if you want,” Zeppelin grunts before snapping on his goggles and kicking the bike to life. The roar echoes through the peaceful farmyard, startling a cluster of birds from the nearest trees. I roll my eyes at how cliché that is. “If you don’t tell me not to come, I’ll be here Monday morning.”
“I don’t have your number.”
“I have Jack’s old phone.”
“I’m not texting Jack’s phone.” Out of everything, that seems the most wrong. And also just incredibly sad. He’s not calling his brother Grave anymore, and I’m finding it harder and harder to force myself to do it, even in my head.
“How’s your memory?”
“Unfortunately epic.”
He inclines his head, tilting it to the side at the last second in consideration and amusement. “Ignorance truly is sometimes bliss.” He does get it. He tells me his number, then tugs the bandana down to grin deviously at me. My stomach absolutely does not flip and trip over itself, causing a low key full body burn. “If you don’t flip me off, I’m going to be personally affronted. No garden help for you.”
I’m so relieved that he’s back to talking like his old self that I can’t help a little snort-laugh. I tuck my hand in front of my waist, where it’s fully blocked from any view of the house, and raise my middle finger.
“Ahh, that’s the spirit.” Zeppelin’s grin grows to the point of dramatic before he fixes his bandana back in place.
It’s nice to see him smile, for any reason.
Are you serious right now? Wow.
By the time he wheels his bike around and rides slowly away, careful on the gravel in a way I don’t think he would have been before, I know I’m grinning just as wide.
I shouldn’t be, but whatever.
I can’t seem to stop.
Chapter 4
Zeppelin
There’s a slight chance that this might have been a miscalculation. I’m big, but most people would say that I’m not the brightest bulb and all that nonsense fuckery.
I can haul, stack, dig, hoe, and whatever other hard and heavy duties are required when it comes to a garden, but as for the plants, theory, and growing the damn things, I don’t have a clue.
I’m thinking about it all now as I’m nearing the end of the almost three hour drive from Hart to Ginny’s family farm. I borrowed Raiden’s old truck and the thing is a hardcore piece of shit in all the wrong ways. I’m parched, I forgot to bring a drink, and the piece-of-shit truck has no AC other than rolling down the window. If that’s not bad enough my head is pounding from giving my brain a constant workout since I left Ginny’s place the other day. I know it’s the brain that’s the emotional center of the body, but that spot is fucked up too.
Since Jack died, I’ve felt emotions I didn’t even know I had. I’ve been a mess in every way.
The bond I had with Jack went beyond love. We always had each other, since that first moment of conception. I didn’t have to learn how to do any of the stuff we did together. But this? Thinking about a baby coming, about being an uncle, about my brother not being around to see his child. In the space of a few short days my life changed beyond recognition and I’m having to relearn who I am without my literal other half.
I can talk to my club brothers about stuff, but this? I didn’t even know where to begin. Instead I found myself listening to fucking podcasts about grief.
Jack would have laughed if I told him I was listening to that shit, but he probably would have clapped me on the back and told me he was proud after he finished busting a lung about it. He might have even asked me some questions and listened, even if he didn’t believe a word. Jack was just like that. Weirdly open minded.
I turn off the gravel road, down Ginny’s driveway. Raiden’s truck isn’t nearly as loud as my bike, but Ginny must have been watching out for me. Maybe they have security that gives them notifications from different points on the farmyard. With this much machinery around- the other half of the yard is full of sprayers, combines, and other machines that I have no clue about, as well as tons of trucks—it would make sense.
Ginny’s in an old white t-shirt and a pair of brown cargo pants tucked into the same rubber boots she wore last time. Her hair is tied up in a bun that I don’t think was made to be intentionally messy, but more than a few strands of have escaped from every angle. Her forehead glistens with sweat, she’s flushed a pretty pink, there are streaks of dirt on her face, and her hands and arms are black.
She’s beautiful.
And instantly I hate myself for thinking that. Even though she insisted that things with Jack were casual, it just feels wrong.
“We’ve been at it since five this morning,” she explains, giving me a smile as I climb out of the truck that warms spots inside of me that went cold since I was a kid and haven’t even begun to thaw.
Shit. I know that kind of thinking is dangerous. Ginny’s beautiful in every way a person can be, but I can’t go there. Even if I have to punch my stirring cock into submission, it would be a small price to pay.
“I just came back to the house to refill our water bottles.” She holds up the two dangling from her fingers by their caps. “I’ll get another for you.”
My sticky throat rejoices. “Can I help you?”
“Nah. Just wait here.”
She disappears through the man door of the garage. I wait, entirely useless, for the few minutes she’s gone. She’s back, carrying a third bottle the same way.
As soon as she passes it to me, I twist the cap off and drain at least half. She watches me, trying not to smile, but all she mentions is the garden. “If you want to follow me back, we could definitely use the help. Dad tilled the whole thing last night, and it’s more like a crop than a garden.”
“You’re not pissed I showed up?”
“Maybe I would have been at five this morning before we started, but it’s noon and I’m already exhausted.” She notes my immediate frown. “Not like that. I’m fine. Just regular tired. Everything is okay.”
She doesn’t want around for a response. She probably doesn’t have time for a chat. I offered to help, and thinking about her outworking my ass makes me half ashamed and half aroused.
Fucking quit.
The caveman center of my brain responsible for desire isn’t going to go down quietly. It’s gone from seeing Ginny as completely off limits, to noticing far more than it should, in a very short time span.
The yard is massive. I have no idea how many acres it would be, but there’s a big barn behind the house, and a giant pasture that has cows and goats grazing in separate areas. The garden is a short walk across from there, with the farm buildings way off to the right.
