Page 12 of Zeppelin (Satan’s Angels MC #9)

Zeppelin

W hat the fuck is this?

I’ve mentally prepared myself, trying to come to terms with Ginny living in that old house on her family’s property like a mountain man or a survivalist, but seeing it in person is something else.

Her dad and brother spent the past two weeks working hard cleaning the house until it was spotless.

They did what basic repairs they had time for, and it’s been filled with antique and thrifted furniture.

I know this because Ginny’s kept me updated, texting me daily, it might have just been the odd sentence, but I could just tell how every word was written with feeling and drenched in excitement.

She sent me two photos of the house, taken from the road. She said she has photos of the inside, but she wanted it to be a surprise.

There’s normally a bunch of club stuff going on during the weekends, but this one is pretty quiet.

Ginny asked if I’d like to come out and see the place.

I might have answered a bit too quickly, because whether I want to admit it or not, it’s been on my mind.

Well… Ginny’s been on my mind. I tell myself that it’s just because I owe it to Jack to watch over her.

But I know that’s a pile of shit, because the longer I spend in her company, the more I see her as someone I want in my future, and not as an obligation to my dead brother.

The guys at the garage have noticed that I’m distracted at work, making stupid ass mistakes here and there. At the club, they’ve made jokes about me going quiet. No one’s been mean. They get it. I’m not the same person now that my brother is gone.

Point is, it’s evident .

Ginny drove us over here in her Tacoma. Jamming my massive body into the tiny truck was so unpleasant that I wished I would have just followed her on my bike.

It didn’t have anything to do with the way her honey vanilla scent filled up the cab, or how she chatted so comfortably and sweetly, prattling on so fast that her words all ran together because she’s so excited.

The second we reached the house, she was tumbling out of the truck, racing up the sagging porch and throwing up the front door.

I followed, taking in the peeling white paint, the sagging wraparound porch that’s fallen off completely on the far side, but is obviously still safe enough or her dad and brother would have no doubt torn it off.

The windows are obviously single pane glass.

I notice them, probably because Ginny pointed out that she’s going to order all new ones.

A few cords run from the side window out to a small lopsided shed twenty feet away. There’s a lock on the door, and I imagine she has a generator in there for now.

The shingles are patchy, the yard is more weeds than grass, close cropped with some kind of brush cutting beast because a regular mower probably wouldn’t be able to power through it.

The trees surrounding the yard have grown in on it. They could use a trimming and half of them have ominous dead branches hanging at odd angles.

I can handle the cellar that Ginny shows me, even the cold hole thing in the ground, the ancient fridge that is going to be generator powered when she moves here for good, until she can get solar and appliances to match.

I can even get behind the wood cookstove that heats the house and was used for all the cooking.

But what the hell is that thing sticking out of the wall right by the white farmhouse sink?

Electricity and running water are usually considered standard when moving into a new place, and I suppose it’s better than having to go to a damn river, but I point to the red metal contraption by the sink. ”What the fuck is that?”

“It’s a hand pump,” she explains. “Because there’s no running water.”

“Propane,” I blurt.

“What?”

“You could get a big tank. Get it filled. Get a gas stove. Heat the house with a high-efficiency furnace. Run the lights off solar.”

She has her hair in a messy bun on top of her head. She pulls the elastic and runs her fingers through the thick, lush strands after they’ve tumbled down, sighing like she’s been waiting to do that all day long.

“That’s a wonderful end goal,” she muses, careful not to be dismissive.

“I have a set budget, and getting running water, a power pole, or doing the whole house in propane isn’t in it right now.

Aside from the markets, I’ve been thinking that I’d like to teach online.

Maybe. It would be hard with a baby, but my mom could help out with childcare. ”

I want to tell her that if she wants to teach online having reliable electricity is probably a given. And the thought of raising a kid here might be romantic but why make things harder for herself? But I bite my tongue, why should I shit all over her dreams, or tell her that she doesn’t have this?

Fuck that. I’ve got to say something.

“I could get you a perfectly good house in Hart.”

She takes that in the spirit it was intended.

Not condescending or mean, but just me trying to help.

“I appreciate that thought, but I want to be near my family. My parents. Anything I need, I can just drive there.” She folds her hands over her chest. Her face is glowing and her smile is a sacred, private, incredible thing.

I’m fucking hypnotized standing here watching her.

“This is my heritage. It’s important to me to be here.

It’s important to my family, even if they’re still sort of against the idea.

I’ll be over at theirs most of the time anyway.

This is more just a place for me and my baby to sleep. ”

“I’m just…” I blow out a frustrated breath. It’s the kind of thing that screams I’m worried, even if I have no right to be, and I wish I could change your mind even if it’s not my place, and yours is very clearly set.

Ginny takes a step closer. For just a second, I think she’s going to pick up my hand, and my heart rockets straight into my ribs like a line drive coming back at the pitcher.

“This place is sturdy and safe. There are no health hazards here. Complete sanitation and modernity is only ten minutes down the road. People survived like this and lived like this for generations.”

“They did, but out of necessity only.”

“I appreciate that you’re worried about me. If I find it’s not working out, I’ll go back to my parents’ house. I’m not so stubborn that I would risk my child’s health or my own health for a single second. I can admit defeat, and I can see sense. But right now, I’d like to try.”

How can I argue with that?

I’m not here to talk her out of this. I’m here because I promised that I’d start on the new porch. Her dad and brother brought over all the materials a few days ago. She sent me a photo of the pile out back. The new windows will be arriving in a week or so, and I’ll install those for her too.

Do I know anything about building a porch or construction in general? Not really, but I did help renovate Atlas and Willa’s antique store, and I’ve moved furniture around in more than a few houses over the years for my club brothers and their old ladies.

“You said you had some drawings for the porch you wanted to show me?” It’s admitting defeat. I know that. But the smile that starts out so slow and spreads across Ginny’s face makes defeat feel like I’ve just come in first place in a marathon I’ve been training years for.

What the fuck is happening to me?

Not that I want to keep playing whatever role I’d fallen into before.

It wasn’t me. It limited me in every way.

I was fine with that before, but I’m not anymore.

I don’t want to be one dimensional. I don’t want to act like I’m an idiot when I know I’m not.

I want to make changes that will benefit my life and everyone around me.

Not just for Ginny or for the baby, but for me too.

I used to think there was no best version of me, but I’m not subscribing to that shit anymore.

No excuses. Isn’t that what it’s all about?

“I have some designs that I printed out. I’m not sure how it works, but I tried to make it to scale and find something that works with the house in the first place. I didn’t go all extravagant. I knew that wasn’t practical. Should I get them?”

She’s suddenly shy. It’s absolutely adorable.

I have to look away before I’m flying at half-mast here.

“Sure. We can take a look. Hopefully I can do it justice, but I make no promises. There’s a reason I’m a mechanic and not a carpenter.”

She scoffs. “Christ, Zep. I think you could do anything, really.”

That hangs in the kitchen between us. Her easy confidence and clear affection in her words. The shortened version of my name, spoken with ease and familiarity and something that feels a whole lot more than just friendship.

I cough, the sound clearly fake and half embarrassed. “I’m not going to start up with rocket science anytime soon, but it’s not that bad, learning new shit.”

“Okay. Hold on. I have the drawings upstairs in my room.” She turns away from the kitchen, walking back through the small living room. The stairs are wood, and her footsteps echo up them and then scrape overhead.

I expect a brief reprieve from the heat filling me to the point of drowning, but it never comes.

My dick isn’t behaving. My chest isn’t behaving.

My brain is muddled from Ginny’s closeness, from her scent, from all her softness and beauty and the way she relaxes around me and lets down her guard as though I’ve somehow earned the right to her trust.

That makes me fully hard in an instant. It’s not just what Ginny looks like.

Not her soft curves, her ready smile, her sun bronzed skin, her gorgeous eyes, all that long ashy hair, her almost ethereal beauty.

It’s that she’s a good person and earning a spot in her life shouldn’t be easy.

A person’s trust is a sacred thing. I don’t feel like I’ve earned it.

She hasn’t made me feel as though I need to.