Page 43 of Zeppelin
I’ve never been stonewalled in my life.
I can see why people hate it so much.
I’m at a complete loss as to how to deal with this. What do I say past sincerely apologizing. How can I try and understand? How can I offer empathy if I don’t know what I’m supposed to empathize with? A note of panic claws up my throat like discordant music, jarring my insides and echoing in my brain until it’s foggy and sore. There might as well be a piece of smashed glass in my lungs. My breathing is harsh and raspy, coming out all over the place. It’s the only sound in the room.
“I’d like to say that you probably just need time and space, but I know that doesn’t always change everything. It’s not going to make the wrong things right. If I’m one of those wrong things, I sincerely apologize. It was never my intention to come here and insult you or hurt you. I was into this and really wanted to do it. I’m going to go because you clearly need to be by yourself. You’re not going to communicate with me, but I hope that you can talk to one of the guys here if you need it, to get whatever this is sorted out.
The urge to touch him somewhere, even just a brush of my fingertips against his arm or hand, is nearly overwhelming, but I walk past him and make it out the door, shutting it behind me quietly, without giving into the compulsion.
I’ve never done a walk of shame in my life. Shame is in the head. It’s in the stomach. It’s regret and acid chewing up your throat, your chest so tight that your breath is locked in collapsed lungs.
The hallway to the clubhouse’s backdoor where my truck is parked might as well be a thousand miles long. Each step, the acid gets stronger, until I’m sure that I’m going to throw up. Not from morning sickness, but from a different kind of sickness that I can’t even begin to explain. I know that nothing is okay, not since Jack died, but nothing is really not okay. It’s as not okay as not okay gets.
I need to be alone to sort this out, but after getting in my truck and being let through the compound’s gate by the same prospects who let me in, and driving around aimlessly for twenty minutes, alone isn’t a place I want to be.
Not in this truck, not in my head, and not in my heart.
I’m one of the most closed off open people there is. I can share anything and everything except the deepest parts of myself. All the truth except for the whispers I save for myself. If you give the shallow, that’s often enough, but tonight, I need a deep dive, and I need it with my big sister.
Chapter 11
Zeppelin
The door clicked shut behind her, and the silence came down like a goddamn hammer.
No voices in the hall. No music leaking through the walls. Just the sound of my own breathing, too loud, too ragged, and the thud of my heart like it was trying to break its way out of my chest.
She’d been right here. On my bed. In my shower. Trusting me with her body, letting me shave her, letting me taste her. She looked at me like I was worth something. Like I was more than the asshole who limps around pretending he’s whole. And then she said it.
You should be careful. That sounds dangerously close to attachment.
It wasn’t even an insult. She was joking, running her smart mouth like she always does. But it hit me square in the chest, right where the wound is still raw and gaping. Because the truth is, she’s already in there. She’s under my skin, in my head, tangled in my ribcage like barbed wire, and I don’t know how the fuck to rip her out without bleeding to death.
The worst part wasn’t her leaving. It was the look on her face before she walked out. Confusion first, then hurt. She wanted to understand, wanted me to explain, and I froze her out like a coward. Turned into a fucking statue while she stood there begging me with her eyes—to give her something. Anything.
I gave her nothing.
And now she thinks I don’t want her.
That’s the totally fucked-up part. I do want her. I want her in ways I didn’t know I could want anyone.But how do I admit that when she’s carrying my brother’s kid?
Jack.
Jesus. Just thinking his name rips something open inside me. He’s been gone weeks, but the wound’s still as fresh as if it was yesterday. My twin. My other half. The guy who knew me without me ever saying a word. And now I’m standing here, wanting the one woman who should be off-limits more than anyone on this earth.
It’s not even about sex anymore. If it was, I could keep it casual, keep it simple, the way she wants. But somewhere along the line, I crossed that line. Without even meaning to. Without realizing it until she saidattachmentand I felt my chest cave in because she was right.
I’m attached.
And it’s not casual.
Not for me.
When I was a kid, people used to ask if being a twin was like having a built-in best friend. The truth is, it was more like having a mirror. Whatever I was feeling, Jack was too, even if we didn’t say it out loud. We didn’t always get along—hell, we fought more than anyone—but there was never a doubt that he was mine and I was his.
Now he’s gone, and I keep reaching for that reflection and finding nothing but empty air. The silence of it kills me.
And Ginny… she’s the closest thing I’ve felt to that connection since Jack died. Not because she was my brother’s, just that whatever it was he saw in her, I do too. She doesn’t even know it, but when she looks at me with those sharp eyes, like she sees straight through the armor, it feels like being known again. Like being seen. And that terrifies me more than anything.
