Page 11 of Zeppelin (Satan’s Angels MC #9)

If Zeppelin shut everything out until he couldn’t anymore, maybe he’s not the only one. I know that I’m constantly ignoring and shutting down how he makes me feel. It’s different than anything else anyone has ever done to me, and different can be scary.

He’s looking at me unlike anyone else.

I don’t even know how to explain it.

I just know that it’s true.

His eyes are so much like Jack’s, but Jack never studied me this intensely .

Jack never offered to be by my side, and honestly, I doubt he would have considered it for a second even once he knew about the baby.

I didn’t want that either. He might have offered what support he could, but he wouldn’t have come out here.

He wouldn’t have helped plant a garden or sat through dinner with my family lending me silent support.

He wouldn’t have spent the night, and he wouldn’t have stood out here in the pouring rain just because he needed a single breath that hurt less than the previous one.

Jack would never have broken down. People say that with men, they’re often brutally honest. What you see is what you get.

It’s uncomplicated. For Jack, that was mostly true.

For Zeppelin?

I’m not sure it is.

And that leaves me breathless, grasping for lines and boundaries so I can slap them up to keep myself from slipping past them. Rules will keep me at bay. They’ll keep things from getting messy and prevent me from wanting to be closer than I should be.

I release Zeppelin’s beard and step back, stuffing my hands in my pockets.

I ball them into fists, shuddering at the icy clench.

“Uh, morning. You do realize that you’re outside in the pouring rain and it’s freaking cold out here?

Please tell me this was a planned thing and not some sleepwalking travesty. ”

He rolls his shoulders back, raises his hands and slicks them through his hair, dislodging a shower of raindrops. “I’m soaked.” He blinks, bewildered.

It’s the first time I’ve ever seen his hair anything less than perfect. It’s mussed and messy, and maybe because he’s drenched, he appears younger. “You are.”

I bend to pick up the quilt he dislodged. I wrap it around his shoulders again, smoothing my hands up his arms because I can’t help myself.

“Come inside. You need a hot shower and something to eat. It’ll be a miracle if you don’t get some kind of sickness from this.”

He coughs, clearing his throat roughly, swallowing painfully. Not because he’s proving me right, but because he doesn’t know what to say. Or, because he does and he doesn’t know how to get it out.

“Shit was so much easier when I didn’t feel much of anything,” he spits out like the words have a bitter taste. “I don’t know, Ginny, I just couldn’t breathe in there. I’ve been thinking. Missing. Aching. I want it to stop. If it doesn’t stop, I’m going to go insane.”

I tip myself awkwardly into a hug, wrapping my arms as far as they go around his shoulders.

The blanket is between us, and my raincoat, but I can feel the way his wet clothes squish down until there’s no give against hard muscle.

My breasts slam against his chest and a familiar ache that I don’t want to think about surges through my thighs.

My stomach flutters, my skin warms, and my breath shallows out.

“I know it must feel like that. All the thoughts, the pain, that crushed in sensation like your ribs are going to burst your lungs. You want it to go away and it just won’t. You can’t make it stop. It’s the worst.”

“Have you ever felt that?” He stands like a pillar of stone, his skin so icy that no warmth jumps the gap between us.

“Sort of. As a kid. When my grandpa died. I didn’t have fully formed emotions, though, and I had no idea what death truly was.

You can only explain it so far to a child.

I think you might have a lifetime of buried hurt coming to the surface.

I don’t know how to deal with that other than to talk to someone you trust, or a professional.

I’m not a guy, so it’s different for me, but I imagine if I had that feeling, I’d want to go punch something, or workout hard.

Run until I can’t breathe. Then maybe have a heart to heart with somebody wise.

Tyrant, maybe? I don’t really know anyone from the club that well, but I’ve heard Bronte say enough times that he’s the kind of man anyone would gladly follow straight to the dark. ”

“Physical pain is a good substitute,” he agrees woodenly, like his jaw is so stiff and cold it isn’t working properly. “Crow owns a tattoo shop. I might go get some work done.”

Jack didn’t have many tattoos and if Zeppelin has any, they’re not on his arms, hands, or neck—the only visible places I’ve seen.

“I know it’s not very comforting, but my mom told us all after my grandpa died that pain is just love that feels different. It hurts so much inside because you can’t get the love out anymore. It’s hard to process.”

“My processor was defunct to begin with.”

At last, it’s an attempt at humor. “Well, you never know when that stuff is going to come back online.”

I gather the blanket around him tightly and turn, tugging him along with me. I wouldn’t be able to move him if he didn’t want to come, but I’m getting anxious to get him warmed up.

“If you’re looking for a physical outlet, you could always take your frustrations out on a very large garden, or I don’t know… maybe do some jobs here. I believe there’s an abandoned property that needs to be fixed up.”

He snorts. It’s a sound of derision, but also grudging respect, not a wheeze because he’s caught pneumonia out here. “You’re quite confident you’re getting that house.”

“Yes.” There’s no other response. I know the condition of it. I know how much work my dad’s poured into it over the years. I know what a treasure it is for my family. “When we’re ready to do the work, will you come out and help? I mean, if you have the time?”

I don’t turn and examine his face. By charging toward the house, pulling him along by the blanket wrapped around him like a sling, I can hide my own hope. I’ve never found it very hard to remain unattached and neutral in the past. I knew what I wanted.

Maybe it’s the opposite because I know what I don’t want and what I can’t have.

Maybe it’s the freaking crazy hormones that are starting to truly be all over the place. They’re turning me into a sappy, sucky, needy mess.

“Do you want me to be there?”

I full stop so fast that the blanket goes slack and Zeppelin’s hand slams into the small of my back. As quick as his flat palm hits, his fingers curl around my hip to keep me from pitching forward.

My pulse goes wild at my neck, echoing my pinging heart.

“I’d truly appreciate all the help I can get.” It’s a very non-committal response, but I think that’s what we both need.

It’s a yes without getting too deep. We’re not ready to go there.

“I’ll find the time.”

It sounds like an oath, like we’re going there anyway.

I never take the easy way out, but I need to bow out and evade. “Before we talk about any of that, you need a hot shower, strong coffee, and a change of clothes. I’m sure Gabe has something I can find you until I get yours washed and dried.”

“Can I order up a double serving of bacon and eggs while I’m at it?”

I smile far wider than I should. There’s no way my chest should feel this light. It does, though. It really does. “Of course. They’re fresh eggs and it’s our own bacon, so it’ll probably be like nothing you’ve ever tasted.”