Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(21)

“Cuz!” exclaimed Cain, his face denting from his goddamn dimples as he pulled Woodman into an enthusiastic embrace. “Hardly ever see your face here! What the f*ck you up to, son?”

Cain smelled of cigarettes and beer, and his over-cheerful demeanor suggested he’d already had a few beers in the twenty minutes he’d been there.

Woodman, who’d remained stiff throughout Cain’s warm greeting, pushed his cousin away, willing himself to control his rage. “We need to talk.”

Cain leaned back slightly, his eyes scanning Woodman’s face. “We do?”

“Yeah. Not here.”

“Here’ll do for me,” said Cain slowly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Ain’t you noticed I got company?”

Woodman shot a quick look at Gina and Nicole, whom he recognized as seniors at Apple Valley High. “Ladies, would you excuse me and Cain?”

“Excuse you?” asked Nicole flirtatiously. “Honey, we’d rather you stay. We’d like to show you both a good time the night before you head off to war.”

“We’re not going to war,” said Woodman, working to keep the edge out of his voice.

“Boot camp. Whatever,” said Gina, shrugging as she licked her red-painted lips. “It’s so hot that y’all are headin’ off to defend America. Hashtag DoubleDubHeroes.”

Woodman rolled his eyes and turned back to Cain. “I need to talk to you. Now.”

Cain scoffed, raising a brown beer bottle to his lips and chugging it slowly, his eyes on Woodman’s the whole time. Woodman knew what his cousin was doing: he was trying to figure out why Woodman wanted to talk. He knew from experience that if his momma wanted him home, Woodman would have just said so by now. Why does he need to talk to me? Woodman could practically hear the question humming in the air between them.

Finally Cain lowered the bottle, his eyes widening as he nodded almost imperceptibly. “You saw. With the princess.”

Woodman flinched, his nostrils flaring as he clenched his teeth and swallowed. He felt his fingers curl into fists by his sides, and he willed them to be still, though they longed to fly from his sides of their own accord.

“I did,” he bit out.

“Didn’t mean nothin’,” said Cain, looking down at the ground, a hint of pink coloring his freshly shaven cheeks. “Forget it.”

“Can’t.”

“Try, Josiah.” He looked up at his cousin and shrugged. “It just . . . happened. Didn’t mean a f*ckin’ thing.” When his cousin didn’t answer, his eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Get over it.”

“What’d you promise her, Cain?” asked Woodman, his voice a low, focused growl.

They had attracted a small crowd. In addition to Gina and Nicole, who were still standing across from them, in fascinated silence, two or three other kids had quieted down to see what was going on between the Dub Twins.

Cain tilted his beer up again, finishing the last of it. “None of your f*ckin’ business, cuz.”

Woodman moved fast as lightning, his reflexes faster on account of his sobriety. His fist slammed into his cousin’s cheek, as good as a sucker punch and twice as hard. Cain’s neck whipped back, the empty beer bottle falling from his hand and smashing onto the narrow concrete walkway under their feet. A few chips of glass slipped into the water, splashing before gurgling into the greenish murk.

It took Cain a few seconds to recover, but he swung at Woodman, missing him with one fist, but connecting to his ribs with the other, and Woodman groaned from the impact.

“Fuck you, Cain!” he yelled, wrangling the back of Cain’s neck with his elbow, his other fist smashing into Cain’s nose with a furious undercut. “What . . . did you . . . f*ckin’ . . . promise her?”

Cain reached forward and grabbed his cousin’s legs in a giant bear hug, pulling Woodman off balance, and they both fell to the ground, Cain landing on top of his cousin and straddling him with strong thighs that had seen a decade of manual labor on McHuid Farm.

“Stop f*ckin’ hittin’ me, Woodman!”

Woodman struggled under his cousin, but when Cain took him down, he’d pinned his cousin’s arms against his sides and a piece of broken glass was gouging into his arm.

“Admit it!” yelled Woodman, fury making him writhe beneath Cain to no avail. “Admit that you promised to take her tonight!”

Cain swiped at his nose, which was bleeding, though it didn’t appear to be broken. “If I let you up, don’t you f*ckin’ hit me, Josiah. I f*ckin’ mean it. You hit me, I’ll hit back. And harder. You hear?” Woodman nodded once. “I’ll let you up, and we’ll go talk.”

Cain gave him one last meaningful look, then rolled off him, springing to his feet and offering his cousin a hand from a safe distance. Woodman ignored it, standing up and pushing through the assembled crowd like a bull, up the stairs and into the upper level of the peristyle. He stalked down the long rectangular alleyway flanked with mossy, once-elegant columns until he came to the end, then he took a few more steps into the tall grass and stood with his back to the building, silently fuming, waiting for Cain to join him.

A moment later, he felt a hand on his shoulder and shrugged it away, turning to face his cousin.

“You knew,” he whispered, unable to keep the deep hurt out of his voice. “You f*ckin’ knew how I feel about her. How could you f*ckin’ make a move on her? On her?”