Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(40)
Ginger had always been a part of his plan—the best part of his plan—especially because it was so easy to love her. She was beautiful, strong, and sassy—the perfect lady one minute, an unexpected minx the next. Woodman had adored her forever, and the most painful anguish of his life was that she loved him back, but not in the way he wanted.
He’d been hopeful on the night of her homecoming dance that they were turning a corner. She’d been so hurt by Cain. She was so angry with him. Woodman knew her long-held feelings for Cain were in turmoil, possibly even in jeopardy, and taking advantage of that elemental change, he’d kissed her. And for him, it had been a game changer, a life changer: that she would give him permission to kiss her meant that, whether he was first or second in her heart, he had a chance. And he’d live for that chance until he became her only choice.
And all things considered? His odds hadn’t looked so bad before the accident. She wrote to him faithfully—funny, colorful anecdotes from home that kept him connected to Apple Valley and, more importantly, to her. And she always signed her letters Love, Ginger. He’d taken leave several times to go home, and though he was always glad to see his parents, his real purpose in visiting was to see her. Over time, she asked about Cain less and less, until she didn’t ask about him at all anymore. Woodman knew how badly Cain had hurt her by kissing her and standing her up for the homecoming dance. Cain had broken her heart, and Woodman had been there to cushion the blow.
Instead of losing intimacy with Ginger during his three years in the military, between letters and visits home, he felt closer to her than ever. And that chance to win her, to be her choice, suddenly seemed stronger than ever. In his mind, he imagined he’d finish his four years and return home, seguing to the active Reserves and getting a job at the local fire department. She’d be finishing college at that point, which would give them just enough time to become reacquainted before he popped the question. And hopefully, by then, her childhood infatuation with Cain would be over, and Woodman would be—finally, finally, finally—Ginger McHuid’s first and forever choice.
It was a good and solid plan . . . until a forklift crushed his foot, changing the course of his entire life.
Now, instead of returning home as a hearty and healthy choice for the rest of her life, he was returning as a twenty-one-year-old retiree, an invalid, a young man with an old man’s gait, who would likely be plagued by pain and physical problems for the rest of his life. If he were a horse, he’d have already been shot.
“Almost home now,” said Cain, who was sitting beside him, driving Woodman home to what felt like an uncertain fate—especially where Ginger was concerned. “You awake?”
He’d been awake for a while, musing about his life, trying to keep his fears at bay. “I’m awake.”
“Well, cheer up, son!” said Cain. “Your momma’s about to fuss all over you!”
Woodman tilted his neck to the side and gave Cain a dry look. “All things equal, I’d just as soon be back in barracks with you.”
Cain matched Woodman’s look, rolling his eyes. “With a bunch of smelly, sweaty squids? Bite your tongue, Woodman.”
“I can’t f*ckin’ walk, Cain. No better than a goddamn toddler.”
Without warning, on a dark road about a mile outside of town, Cain pulled the car over abruptly, yanked up the emergency brake, and turned to face him.
“Shut. The Fuck. Up.”
“You don’t get it. You don’t—”
“You’re the best man I know, Josiah.”
Woodman inhaled sharply. Cain was one of the only people in Woodman’s life who used his given name, and when he did—in instances such as this—it lent a raw closeness to the exchange.
No, he thought. You are.
But he squelched the notion as quickly as he always did, turning to look at his cousin, desperately needing the pep talk he was about to get.
“And I do. I do f*ckin’ get it. Part of your life is over.” Cain snapped his fingers. “In the blink of an eye, it was gone. But Josiah? You are the same man who tore his ACL and was still voted co-captain of the goddamn football team! I was never even voted captain of my own jerkin’ off squad.”
“Oh, really?” asked Woodman. “You lost that one?”
Cain’s face shifted from serious to cocky. “Tied it up with Mary-Louise Walker.”
In spite of himself, Woodman chuckled, but his laughter tapered off as he stared out the window at the cheerful lights of his hometown in the valley below.
“I was so close,” he said softly, almost more to himself than to Cain. I was so close to having her, and now . . .
“What? To havin’ it all?” asked Cain, slapping Woodman on the thigh of his good leg. “Believe me, Josiah. You’re still goin’ to have it all. You’re the golden boy, son. The best man. If there is anyone on the face of the earth whose life I could safely predict would turn out a success, no matter what, it would be yours. So chin up, huh? You’re goin’ home. A whole new life is just beginnin’! And it’s goin’ to be great. I just know it!”
Woodman nodded gratefully at his cousin, and Cain released the emergency brake and pulled back onto the road.
The golden boy with a shattered leg.
The second—best man who still longed for the elusive hand of the princess.