Page 12 of Zeppelin
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, butwhatever.
I can’t seem to stop.
Chapter 4
Zeppelin
There’s a slight chance that this might have been a miscalculation. I’m big, but most people would say that I’m not the brightest bulb and all that nonsense fuckery.
I can haul, stack, dig, hoe, and whatever other hard and heavy duties are required when it comes to a garden, but as for the plants, theory, and growing the damn things, I don’t have a clue.
I’m thinking about it all now as I’m nearing the end of the almost three hour drive from Hart to Ginny’s family farm. I borrowed Raiden’s old truck and the thing is a hardcore piece of shit in all the wrong ways. I’m parched, I forgot to bring a drink, and the piece-of-shit truck has no AC other than rolling down the window. If that’s not bad enough my head is pounding from giving my brain a constant workout since I left Ginny’s place the other day. I know it’s the brain that’s the emotional center of the body, but that spot is fucked up too.
Since Jack died, I’ve felt emotions I didn’t even know I had. I’ve been a mess in every way.
The bond I had with Jack went beyond love. We always had each other, since that first moment of conception. I didn’t have to learn how to do any of the stuff we did together. But this? Thinking about a baby coming, about being an uncle, about my brother not being around to see his child. In the space of a fewshort days my life changed beyond recognition and I’m having to relearn who I am without my literal other half.
I can talk to my club brothers about stuff, but this? I didn’t even know where to begin. Instead I found myself listening to fucking podcasts about grief.
Jack would have laughed if I told him I was listening to that shit, but he probably would have clapped me on the back and told me he was proud after he finished busting a lung about it. He might have even asked me some questions and listened, even if he didn’t believe a word. Jack was just like that. Weirdly open minded.
I turn off the gravel road, down Ginny’s driveway. Raiden’s truck isn’t nearly as loud as my bike, but Ginny must have been watching out for me. Maybe they have security that gives them notifications from different points on the farmyard. With this much machinery around- the other half of the yard is full of sprayers, combines, and other machines that I have no clue about, as well as tons of trucks—it would make sense.
Ginny’s in an old white t-shirt and a pair of brown cargo pants tucked into the same rubber boots she wore last time. Her hair is tied up in a bun that I don’t think was made to be intentionally messy, but more than a few strands of have escaped from every angle. Her forehead glistens with sweat, she’s flushed a pretty pink, there are streaks of dirt on her face, and her hands and arms are black.
She’s beautiful.
And instantly I hate myself for thinking that. Even though she insisted that things with Jack were casual, it just feels wrong.
“We’ve been at it since five this morning,” she explains, giving me a smile as I climb out of the truck that warms spots inside of me that went cold since I was a kid and haven’t even begun to thaw.
Shit.I know that kind of thinking is dangerous. Ginny’s beautiful in every way a person can be, but I can’t go there. Even if I have to punch my stirring cock into submission, it would be a small price to pay.
“I just came back to the house to refill our water bottles.” She holds up the two dangling from her fingers by their caps. “I’ll get another for you.”
My sticky throat rejoices. “Can I help you?”
“Nah. Just wait here.”
She disappears through the man door of the garage. I wait, entirely useless, for the few minutes she’s gone. She’s back, carrying a third bottle the same way.
As soon as she passes it to me, I twist the cap off and drain at least half. She watches me, trying not to smile, but all she mentions is the garden. “If you want to follow me back, we could definitely use the help. Dad tilled the whole thing last night, and it’s more like a crop than a garden.”
“You’re not pissed I showed up?”
“Maybe I would have been at five this morning before we started, but it’s noon and I’m already exhausted.” She notes my immediate frown. “Not like that. I’m fine. Just regular tired. Everything is okay.”
She doesn’t want around for a response. She probably doesn’t have time for a chat. I offered to help, and thinkingabout her outworking my ass makes me half ashamed and half aroused.
Fucking quit.
The caveman center of my brain responsible for desire isn’t going to go down quietly. It’s gone from seeing Ginny as completely off limits, to noticing far more than it should, in a very short time span.
The yard is massive. I have no idea how many acres it would be, but there’s a big barn behind the house, and a giant pasture that has cows and goats grazing in separate areas. The garden is a short walk across from there, with the farm buildings way off to the right.
Fuck me, was Ginny ever right about the garden. I can’t imagine this thing taking a day to plant. More likeweeks. How do two people manage the upkeep of something like this?
