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

“It’s just the theory of what plants grow together best. We’re just going to do the same thing we did last year, for the most part. I didn’t draw up a chart, but I can tell you where to make the rows. I’ll come behind you and put the seeds in.”

I watch as her mom cuts a potato in half and slaps the cut end down on the soil. She doesn’t dig a hole. She spaces them out, moving quickly and efficiently, placing one every foot and a half or so.

“Most people make mounds for their potatoes too, but we’ve done the straw method for years. You make sure the potato touches the dirt and then heap a ton of straw over it..”

“How do the potatoes work? Do you not need soil?”

“It keeps it from drying out, we use manure too,” she adds.

“I guess I was thinking you’d plant seeds, or something.” Ugh. Showing my ignorance. But if I’m helping out, I probably need to know what the fuck I’m doing.

She starts to laugh again but stops herself.

“Sorry. Mom always told us that the quickest way to discourage someone from learning is to make them feel bad about wanting to do it in the first place. That half potato will send down roots and send up shoots. It can make anywhere from ten to twenty big potatoes so halving them is cost effective. It’s quite a good harvest, and you can pretty much grow them anywhere. We have ten different varieties.”

“Like white and red?”

“Yeah. And other varieties, we switch it around sometimes. Last year people got really excited about the purple potatoes.”

“I can see how that would be fun,” I admit, finding her enthusiasm catching.

“We start most things from seeds in the greenhouse, but the beans, carrots, onions, and lettuce—all of that we just do from seed.”

She walks over and instructs me how to hoe the mounds, and then the rows.

What spacing to use. She measures with the hoe because she doesn’t have a tape out here.

It’s amazing what she knows. I guess it would be like her coming into the garage and not having a clue about a vehicle.

I’d have to explain everything. I could easily do that from memory.

I’m good with my hands. In that regard, my brain has always worked just fine, or even better than most. Give me a problem on paper or a paragraph from a book and I’m lost.

***

I’ve been hoeing and shit for a few hours now and it’s surprisingly hot out here, with the sun beating down in a cloudless sky.

When the rain cleared off, it cleared off fast. Ginny wasn’t kidding about the bugs.

The flies buzz around me, and the mosquitoes swarm and bite, even with the spray.

A few times, I even swat away ticks crawling up my arms and shake a few out of my hair.

Fucking things are beyond disgusting. Ginny works like she doesn’t even mind the bugs, planting seeds in the rows I hoe, and working them into the soil on the mounds.

After that, she gets me to help her carry all the trays of plants from the small greenhouse right behind the house. There’s a wall of trees bordering the backyard, so I missed it the first time. It’s tucked away, with just enough sun so the plants can thrive, but enough shade not to scorch them.

We’re setting the last tray down on the edge of the garden when her mom finishes up all the straw mounds on her side of the garden. The woman worked like a machine, planting a damn acre of potatoes and spreading bales alone.

“Time got away from me. I better get in and start on dinner.”

“Sounds good. We’re making good time out here.”

“You’re making incredible time.”

I can’t help the dose of pride that swells in my chest at her look of satisfaction.

It’s motherly too, and maybe that’s what does it.

The only woman I had in my life was my mother, and I can barely call her that.

After her, there was no one. I had some female teachers who were nice enough, but most of them were young. Not motherly at all.

Ginny’s mom looks at me with warmth and affection.

With tenderness and care. She’s the kind of woman who’d be a natural nurturer and I know that without ever having felt that for myself.

Our mother treated us like we were little better than animals or objects.

I know it was the drugs. We had it bad, but still not as bad as some do, and I know that too.

At least none of her boyfriends knocked us around or tried to touch us.

We never got hooked on the shit she was on.

We went hungry, we were alone together when we were sick.

We figured things out ourselves and didn’t know what real love felt like, but that was as bad as it got.

Our childhood was cruel, but it didn’t break us the way it could have if just one or two things had gone differently.

I try not to let her see the hunger that stirs in me.

I’m shocked as hell. Once again, my eyes are open to a reality I never saw coming.

I didn’t know I was missing this until it got set right in front of me.

I guess, minus Jack, it’s clear that a lot of things are missing in my life.

A lot of shit that even a brotherhood like the club can’t fill, and right now, I don’t have the strength of the will to block it out.

That slow trickle of warmth going on in my chest scalds like a bad burn.

“Thank you again for coming out here, Zeppelin. We really appreciate your time and your help.”

“Oh. It’s- it’s nice to be out here. I’ve never gardened before.

” I survey all our work so I don’t have to look her in the eyes.

If I did, she’d see everything, just like Ginny does in her uncanny way, but worse, because she’s older and wiser, with a mother’s heart and soul.

“It’s more relaxing than I would think. I’m starting to understand what Ginny’s saying about it.

It seems awful in theory, but it’s not so bad. ”

“Leaving Seattle was a hard decision for us, but I’m glad we did it. Every single day, I find another new thing to be thankful for. Today, it’s you.”

I’m starting to fully understand why some people are scared of love and kindness. In the past, I soaked it up when it was offered, more times than not. If I’m not careful, these people are going to see what it looks like for a grown man to break down out of nowhere.

I don’t even know what that looks like.

I don’t want to know.

I’m not sure what’s going on except that I feel like someone’s cut me in half and scooped me out like a grapefruit, exposing all my insides, scouring along the edges to clean up the rest of the pulp.

I can’t put it in proper terms or find the words.

Voicing that shit isn’t my strong point.

Not only do I not understand it, Jack and I basically felt each other’s pain and happiness, so there was no need to put voice to it.

“Do you need some water?” Ginny’s already noticed there’s something wrong with me. “You’re probably getting sun stroke out here, doing all this work. We haven’t even stopped for a proper break. I’ll go get your water. Just hold on.”

She follows her mom to the edge of the garden and grabs the water bottles. They say something to each other before her mom waves at me and I wave back woodenly.

Ginny’s not wrong about the water. I drain the rest of it gratefully, dumping it down my throat like I’m shot gunning a beer.

She starts chatting away between sipping her water like a lady.

“I have an English degree. I did it in half the time. I basically worked my ass off to finish, then I came back here to figure out what I wanted to do with it. Bronte got pregnant unexpectedly, so that was a little bit distracting for us, in a good way. I was always involved with the farmer’s markets that we did, but I really got into it when Bronte had a newborn and then a toddler who needed a lot of time and attention. ”

I’ve realized that she talks fast when she’s nervous. She hides it well, but she knows that there’s something wrong with me.

“You get all that stuff from books. I never saw the draw.” It makes sense, why she’s so smart. She must read all the time.

“I think you just haven’t found something you want to read yet.”

“I barely can, you know.”

She frowns. “Are you dyslexic?”

“No, just stupid.”

“Stop it.” She smacks my arm lightly, but her tough lingers like an injury. “But anyway, not being able to read isn’t an excuse anymore. There are plenty of audiobooks. They offer lots of them for free, on streaming services, or from the library. Anyone can access them.”

“Is reading a requirement?”

“For what?”

“Everything.” I don’t want to tell her that I’ve been listening to even more podcasts. “I guess I don’t like to discuss that stuff because I don’t like people talking down to me.”

She sucks air in through her teeth. “I don’t think that’s what true education is.

I’m truly sorry that’s been your experience.

I know of a few great books that have really helped me.

I have them on audiobook because I used to listen while I drove.

I can send them to you if you want. If you don’t like them, that’s fine. ”

“Are they on inner peace and shit?” I do what I do best when it comes to getting too real, too raw, too exposed. I fall back on asshole training.

She’s not the least bit bothered. I finally realize what it is about her and Jack that actually aligned. Ginny looks soft and pretty, but she’s more than farmgirl tough. She’s got a dry sense of humor and she likes being challenged.

“Some,” she admits. “But not the way you’re thinking. You might be pleasantly surprised.”

“I need to work on myself? That’s your hot take?”

Out of nowhere, she breaks me. “You’re a better man than you know, Zeppelin.

” She goes from sort of joking around to straight up unfiltered sincerity.

“I think the front you put on is a protection mechanism against the world. Some people have to grow a thick skin and a hard spine because life has taught them that’s the only way to survive. ”

She’s right. Every stage of my life might as well have been a stage with a collection of costumes and masks.

They crumble and fall away and I can’t grab the tattered pieces and shove them back into place fast enough.

My gut lurches sickeningly as a wave of pain hits me hard enough to topple me to my knees.

It’s more painful than I thought it would be to fall apart.

I’m a thousand pounds of splintered wood and glass, my body and mind a wasteland, all of it bared to this woman to see.

It’s not pretty. Ginny’s gaping at me and it’s not until I take in her startled expression that I realize my cheeks are wet.

She’s a good woman and she’s brave. She gets over herself and gives me what I didn’t even know I needed.

She drops the water bottle and stalks forward.

I turn at the last second, but that doesn’t stop her from wrapping her arms around me from behind.

Her chest presses against my back. She can barely get her arms all the way around me, but when her hands clasp, they lace together firmly.

I’m all trembling, sickening, aching tension.

I’m vibrating, pulsing apart, muscles tearing at the seams.

“I see you, Zeppelin. You’re worthy of love.

You’re worthy of giving yourself a chance.

” Her chest expands with a deep, steadying inhale.

“I was thinking about telling my parents about the baby this week, but maybe tonight at dinner is better. You’d be here.

I’d- I’d like you to be. I didn’t realize that until right now, but I think we both need that.

I’m going to tell them, and I’ll ask them about the old farmhouse I want to renovate.

If my dad says I can have it and you want to be involved with renovating, you’re welcome.

You’re welcome out here too… any time you’d like.

I’m so sorry if I made it seem like that wasn’t the case.

I’ve been so insensitive, wrapped up in my own issues,” she trails off once she runs out of breath.

“Sorry,” she whispers, resting her cheek against my shoulder blade. The hurt truckles from the wound that just tore itself open in my chest, down into my limbs, bursting in my bloodstream. “Ugh. I’m talking too much. I do that when I don’t know what else to do. Are you going to be alright?”

Her closeness is a blow in itself. Kindness can be a brand. I need to pull away. I ache to stay. I never fully knew how many scars I’ve been carrying around underneath the masks, the walls, the armor.

I close my eyes against all of it. The sun, the sting, the saltwater leaking from the corners and drying pinched on my cheeks, the clashing storm raging inside of me that I’m so powerless to quiet.

“I want to be,” I grind out before stepping away and putting the proper distance between us. I smear my hands over my face, probably creating a living dirt monster.

It hurts less once Ginny isn’t so close.

It hurts a thousand times more.

I want to be. This time, I mean it.