Page 38 of Zeppelin (Satan’s Angels MC #9)

Ginny

I ’ve actually had an ultrasound before. When I was sixteen, I kept having really bad pains. Not period cramps or anything, but just wicked pains in my abdomen. It turned out that nothing was wrong. No kidney stones, no infection. Everything was fine. The doctor basically thought it was stress.

I know for a fact that when I was sixteen, I wasn’t as nervous about getting any tests done as I am now.

I’ve tried to keep my sweating hands, the small trembles, and my deep breathing that I’ve been doing to myself, especially since we were shown into this room.

Zeppelin either isn’t worried about not looking like he’s going to shit himself, or he’s got the worst poker face.

He’s nervous. Visibly. He’s paler than normal and sweat keeps beading on his hairline even though he brushes it away repeatedly.

He was nervous when he arrived at the house this morning on his bike.

He didn’t wear his club vest this time. Just a regular leather jacket with a gray t-shirt, dark jeans that look new, and his biker boots.

He swapped out his helmet for a ballcap and sunglasses.

I drove us here, and it was distracting as fuck having him sit next to me, looking entirely edible.

He shed the hat and glasses when we walked into the clinic.

His sunglasses hang from his t-shirt, one arm tucked in, and he’s worrying the bill of his hat at the moment, bending it back and forth. He’s going to wreck it completely at this point. He’ll put it back on and it will be all wonky.

“Zeppelin? Are you okay? You look like you’re going to throw up.” I shouldn’t talk about puking. I’m lying on the examination bench, trying not to wet myself or gag after drinking all that water that you have to down. My own nerves are battling with it, turning my stomach into a storm tossed sea.

His eyes shoot up from the hat. His hands release it and he drops it to the floor. He seems frozen, making no effort to swoop it up. “I have no idea.”

“Yeah.” Honesty bomb time. “Me too.”

Neither of us want to voice our worst fears. What if something is wrong? What if they see something on the scan that isn’t really wrong, but isn’t right? What if there’s no heartbeat? Oh God, what if there’s no heartbeat?

I’m saved from gagging and spontaneously bursting into tears when the tech walks into the room. She’s young, dark haired, wearing a set of purple scrubs and a big smile.

“Hello! I’m Maggie. I’m going to be doing your scan today.” She glances down at the file in her hand. “Ginnifer?”

Most people actually say Jennifer, thinking my parents just got creative with the spelling, but she gets it right. My throat works hard to stuff down all the water threatening to gurgle back up. “That’s right. I go by Ginny, though, if that’s okay?”

“Sure!”

Maggie is so perky that it’s hard not to like her. I’m lulled into a false sense of confidence. If there’s something wrong, there’s zero this woman can do about it, but she’s so warm that I almost believe that she could put everything to rights.

She’s very efficient, explaining how the equipment works. When she gets out the goo she’s going to squirt onto my belly, she glances over at Zeppelin, then back to me. “You’ll have to lift your shirt up. Are you okay with doing that?”

“I’m fine with that.”

“I just wanted to make sure. Sometimes people have a support person here, but they’re not okay with that person seeing them that way.”

She’s basically asking if Zeppelin is the baby’s father.

Sort of? Maybe? Either way, it sets off a small, probably irrational sense of panic inside of me.

Will they try and kick him out? “He’s my partner,” I state firmly, leaving zero room for doubt.

I don’t have to pretend to be honest. I just can be, because that’s the truth.

He’s my friend. He’s my partner in this. We’re going to be coparents of sorts.

I admitted that I have feelings for him. I told him a few weeks ago that I didn’t know what that was, but I’d try and figure it out.

We haven’t seen each other between the market and this scan. After getting back to Hart from the club’s ride, everyone was busy. Zeppelin works at the garage as a mechanic, and the list of backed up appointments was so long that he’s been working a lot of overtime and weekends to get it done.

We’ve texted, though. We called each other a few times.

He told me how much he wished he could get out to the house to help me with my porch and the windows, but I told him not to worry about it.

They’d all get done eventually. It’s not on him.

My dad and brother can help me out soon.

They have a small window of downtime, if it can be called that.

I glance over at Zeppelin’s face as I pull up my shirt and get prepped for the scan.

He no longer appears nervous. The hat is still forgotten, but for an entirely different reason. He’s not looking at Maggie or any of the equipment. He’s staring right at me, lost in a look of wonder and bewilderment.

He looks like he’s drowning and coming up for air at the same time.

He’s studying me like there’s no one else in the world.

Like nothing else exists. My heart constricts.

I just claimed him, and he knows it’s mostly platonic, but has anyone ever done that for him?

His shoulders heave with one great breath and a soft smile stretches across his face.

I never used to see Jack smile. He’d sneer or leer or laugh about shit, but he never smiled. I used to think he saved them for private moments, but now I’m not even sure that he could. Whenever I saw Zeppelin, it was pretty much the same.

Until I got to see the real person he is under all layers of steel and brick.

He’s obviously moved, but it’s nothing compared to the next few minutes of tense silence while Maggie moves the wand over my belly, and then she turns the screen.

The second I see the scan, with the heart beating right there on the black and white image, I’m finished.

All the tears I’ve been holding back, all the worries I’ve stuffed down, all the joy I’ve been so cautious about feeling—all of it erupts. My vision doesn’t just blur. It’s like driving into a sudden storm where the rain pelts down so hard that you can’t see a thing.

“Sorry,” I gulp out brokenly when Maggie stuffs a few tissues into my hand.

“Don’t be sorry,” she responds sweetly. She’s so patient. “It’s an emotional time.” She clicks a few buttons and then excuses herself, saying she’ll be back in a few minutes. She just has to show the doctor the scans, which is standard, and she’ll be back.

The second she leaves the room, I realize it’s not just me who is bawling.

Zeppelin’s cheeks are wet as well. He surges out of the chair and drops to his knees right by me.

He takes my face in his hands and kisses my forehead.

My heart stops dead. This is single-handedly the most intimate experience of my life.

I reach for him, clutching his t-shirt before wiping away his tears.

“Wow,” he says. Just one word. It’s all he can get out.

I know.

I know .

We just saw the baby. This has never been more real. It’s never been more beautiful.

I swallow thickly and hiccup. I hiccup again, met with more than just a rising tide of emotion.

I’ve had to pee for at least ten minutes, but all that water sloshes around violently, fighting back.

I have zero warning before it erupts. I can’t throw up on Zeppelin and there’s no way I’m barfing all over the expensive equipment in here, so I try to face forward.

I succeed in puking all over my shirt and shorts, my bare legs, my freaking hands and arms.

It’s almost all water, but still.

I’m covered in my own vomit and that makes me retch harder, bringing up the remnants of breakfast, which isn’t all water.

Zeppelin is a fucking hero. He doesn’t say anything, just snatches a bunch of the towels up from the far side of the room and bends over me. He starts trying to wipe me down, but it’s everywhere .

I shut my eyes, trying to breathe against another wave of nausea. I’m crying different tears this time. I have never been so mortified. Or disgusted. Also? I didn’t bring a change of clothes.

“Hang on, sweetheart, okay? I’ll be right back.” Zeppelin grazes my forehead with a kiss even though I’m vile, sets the towels in a wad in my lap, and rushes out of the room.

I don’t for a second believe that he’s trying to escape.

He’s back in a few minutes with Maggie, who has a whole bunch of larger towels, one of those hospital puke basins that would have caught absolutely fuck all in that pukefest, and what appears to be a sheet.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell her immediately, because shit . I am.

“It’s okay, honey. It happens. We’ll get you cleaned up and you can get changed in the bathroom.

I’m sorry, I don’t have anything for you to change into, but you can wrap up in this sheet and we can get you into a private room and you can wait there while your partner goes to get you a change of clothes. ”

“We live hours away,” I respond stupidly. Numbly. She called Zeppelin my partner. She’s using my own words, but it still hits .

It hits hard that he called me sweetheart.

Anyone could use that term of endearment, but I’m almost sure it wasn’t said in passing or lightly.

“I can find a store close by, and I’ll get you something,” Zep responds immediately. He crouches down right beside me and strokes my soaked hair away from my face.

I give him a watery smile, and when I see the relief in his eyes, I want to bawl. I shouldn’t. That led to puking. “Okay. I’ll try and clean up here in the bathroom in the meantime.”

“The good news is that your scan looked great,” Maggie says. “Absolutely perfect. You’re ten weeks along. I can answer any other questions that you have.”

Of course I can’t think of anything.

If Zeppelin had some planned, he’s blanked too.