Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(123)

“Gin?” he said as they drove away from Wolfram’s Motorcycles. “Tell me why it’s complicated.”

“Where do I even start?”

He shrugged. “Wherever you want.”

“You’re Woodman’s cousin.”

“Yes, I am.”

“It looks bad for me to be datin’ you a few months after he died.” She sighed, turning away from him. “He only died in October. It’s January. And if you and I start datin’, it’ll look like I didn’t really love Woodman.”

“Of course you loved him.”

When five seconds of silence had passed, Cain looked over at Ginger.

She was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyebrows furrowed, as she stared down at her lap.

“Of course you loved him,” he repeated slowly, staring at her profile.

Her jaw was granite, but she blinked several times.

He pulled over, cutting the engine and turning to look at her.

“Tell me you loved him, Gin,” he murmured.

“Not like I was supposed to,” she finally whispered.

“What does that mean?”

She turned to face him, her eyes swimming, her lips tilted down. “I loved Woodman. He was my best friend, but I . . . I was never . . .” She took a deep breath and held it as she finished, “I was never in love with Woodman.”

I was never in love with Woodman.

Cain stared at her, letting the words sink in, letting their full meaning unravel. “Wait, what? What do you mean?”

She swallowed, looking away from him, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I loved him like a friend. I wasn’t in love with him. Ever.”

“You were goin’ to marry him.”

She nodded, a small jerking movement. “I tried to love him like he wanted me to. God, I swear I tried. I wanted to. I wanted to love him just as much as he loved me.” Her voice was hushed and low as the tears cascaded down her cheeks. “But I couldn’t.”

His eyes, unfocused as he stared straight ahead, closed slowly.

“Why not?”

He knew. He knew why. He knew because the same feelings that had survived in her broken heart had also survived in his.

“There was always s-someone else in my heart,” she said, her voice breaking.

He clenched his eyes shut tighter as the implications of her words took root in his head. My God, is it possible she’s still in love with me? Please.

“And I couldn’t let that someone go,” she sobbed softly. “I wanted to hate him. Christ, I wanted to hate him so badly, and part of me did for a long while. But I couldn’t get him out of my heart no matter how hard I tried.”

“Princess . . .,” Cain whispered into the darkness, opening his eyes and facing her. “Ginger.”

“I know you didn’t want me, Cain. I know you didn’t love me like I loved you, but I—”

“I did, Ginger,” he said. “I did want you. I did love you. I just—”

“What?” she gasped, her eyes wide, her mouth gaping open. “What are you talkin’ about? You called me a bitch. You told me to go. You left that night. You—”

“I didn’t leave. I mean,” he gulped. “I did eventually, but not at first—”

“What are you—”

“First I came to tell you that I was wrong.” He winced, his own eyes burning from the terrible and still-vivid memory. “I went to your place to tell you that I didn’t mean what I’d said at the old barn. That I loved you just as much as you loved me. That I had for years. That I was only pushin’ you away because Woodman loved you so much and I didn’t want to hurt him after everythin’ he’d been through. But I loved you, Gin. I did. I swear to God, it’s true. I came after you later that evenin’.” He paused, staring at her stricken face. “Your door was unlocked. When I knocked, it opened. I walked into your house, I climbed up the stairs, down the hall, and—”

“No!” she screamed, putting her hands over her ears. “No! No, no, no!” She stared at him, her eyes wild, tears coursing down her face as her breath came and went in jagged spurts punctuated by broken whimpers. “Stop it! Stop talkin’! Please, stop . . .”

She slid her hands to her face, covering her eyes as she wept—long, hard sobs that racked her body and made her seat tremble. And it was f*cking unbearable for him to watch.

Cain lifted the bolster between them, unbuckled her seat belt, put his hands under her arms, and lifted her from her seat onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her as she buried her face in his neck and cried with long, wrenching sobs of sorrow, of anguish, of lost chances and terrible revelations.

He closed his burning eyes, pressing soft kisses to her hair.

“You’re wrong,” he murmured. “It isn’t complicated, darlin’. It isn’t complicated anymore.”

She took a ragged breath. “You saw. You saw me with him.”

Cain clenched his jaw before pressing another kiss to her head. “Yes, I did.”

“That’s why you left a week early three years ago?”

“Yes.”

“That’s why you hated me so much . . . at the . . . the BBQ.”

“Yes.”