Page 7 of Zeppelin (Satan’s Angels MC #9)

“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.