Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(137)

“No,” she said firmly, sliding her hand away. “I can’t. What were you about to say?”

He reached for her hand and grabbed it, gently threading his fingers through hers and placing both over his heart. When he looked over at her, his eyes were glistening.

“I loved him,” he whispered.

“I know you did,” she said, squeezing his fingers. “I did too.”

“He was like a brother to me, Gin. You and Josiah were the only ones who . . . who saw something good in me.” He searched her eyes. “I would’ve done anythin’ for him. Time was, I pushed you away, even though I had feelings for you, because he was in love with you.”

She gasped lightly, nodding her head. “I know. I remember.”

It hurt to remember his words, but they were burned onto her memory: He wanted to f*ckin’ die! The thought of you—of comin’ home to you—was the only thing that kept him hangin’ on most days. You think I’d take that away from him? You think there’s any way in hell I’d hurt him like that? You think I’d let you hurt him like that?

“Remember your twelfth birthday?”

She nodded. “The year I didn’t jump.”

“While you were poutin’, Josiah told me he was goin’ to marry you someday. He asked if I had a problem with that . . . and I . . . I only saw you as a kid, Ginger. I said you were all his.”

“Like a pact?”

Cain shook his head. “Naw. Like one brother layin’ his claim to a girl and the other respectin’ it.”

“How long did this go on? This . . . claim?”

Cain sighed, looking away from her again. “Doesn’t matter. What’s important is that it gave me a good reason to stay away from you. You have to understand, Gin, for a long time I thought—no, I knew—he was better for you’n me. I didn’t fight him for you because I didn’t think I deserved you.”

“Even though I loved you.”

“And I loved you,” he said, his forehead creasing. He sighed, his eyes troubled. “Come here, now.”

He propped a pillow under his head and pulled her over to him so that she was lying across his chest with her head snug under his chin. He wrapped his arms around her, running his fingers up and down her back gently, soothingly.

“If I loved you less, Gin,” he said, his voice rumbling under her ear, “I might have taken you in the old barn that afternoon you offered yourself to me. If I loved you or Woodman any less’n I did, I might have made the worst mistake of my life.”

“A mistake? To be with me?” she asked, and she couldn’t deny it: his words hurt. Bad.

“To ruin the chance of this,” he said, raising his voice a touch. “Of now. Of you here with me, and all of forever out in front of us.” He cupped the back of her head lovingly, clutching her to him. “I wasn’t ready to be the man you needed. And I’m sorry for that, but I still had a little bit of growin’ up to do. And if I had taken you like you wanted me to, I would’ve destroyed my relationship with him and killed anythin’ good between you and me for good.”

His words made sense, but anger rose up within her. Anger at a dead man who’d stood between her and the boy she’d loved so desperately. “He knew how I felt . . . and he stood between us.”

“He knew I wasn’t good for you. Not then. Not yet.”

Her eyes filled with tears of frustration. “It wasn’t up to him to play God with my heart, Cain! I’m . . . I’m angry at him!”

“You shouldn’t be,” he said evenly. “Every choice, every roadblock, every day led to this day, and I wouldn’t trade this day for anythin’. So I’ll accept everythin’ that came before and ask for seconds . . . just to be with you.”

She sniffled softly, trying to recontextualize ten years of memories with this new information. But sifting through her memories, she couldn’t remember many times that Woodman had spoken against Cain or warned her away from him. He’d been mostly loyal to his cousin, defending and protecting Cain, even while defending and protecting her. What a fine line he’d had to walk. And maybe Cain was right—if Woodman hadn’t stood between them, laying an early claim to Ginger, they wouldn’t be wrapped in each other’s arms now. Maybe it had, in fact, all worked out the way it was supposed to.

But still, flaunting her newfound happiness with Cain? She couldn’t deny that it felt wrong somehow. Woodman had loved her, and she had made promises to him. She didn’t care so much what other people thought, but Woodman had worked so hard to keep her and Cain apart, it felt like dishonoring his memory for them to be together. It made her feel guilty.

“What were you goin’ to say before?” she asked. “What did Woodman want?”

Cain took a deep breath and released it slowly.

“He died in my arms, Gin.”

“Woodman? But I thought he died in that barn where the fir—”

“No,” said Cain, his voice low and strained. “When I pulled him out, he was still alive. He died in my arms.”

“No.” She leaned up on his chest, looking into his eyes. “Oh God, I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”

One of Cain’s hands left her back, and he braced it on his forehead, over his eyes, staring up at her, pain coming off him in waves.