Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(42)

He rested his fingers in her palm before taking the pill and swallowing it down. “Happy now?”

“Yes,” she said, standing up and kissing his forehead again. “I’m happy now.”

She didn’t look happy one bit, but when her sweet lips brushed against his forehead in a chaste kiss that she’d give a brother or a baby, he closed his eyes and let himself bask in her touch. And to his surprise, his heart, which still clung to much higher hopes, despite everything, couldn’t fathom giving up on her.

***

Even though things hadn’t gone the way he wanted with Ginger last night, he still felt much better in the morning. He’d taken another Vicodin at three o’clock in the morning and slept until almost nine, when he took another. With the pain better managed, he still felt like shit, but not quite as bad as yesterday.

Not quite as bad physically, at least.

His heart, however, was feeling a little battered.

After Ginger’s initial hello, she hadn’t exactly welcomed him home with kisses and softness and excitement, and while he was champing at the bit to start officially dating, she was far more concerned about his pain meds. Maybe it was time, even long past time, to lay all his cards on the table. He was home. She was home. He wanted to be with her. It was time to say it.

When Cain arrived later that morning to check in on him, he was sitting on the porch, his mood still middling foul.

“How you doin’?” asked Cain, taking the free seat beside his cousin. “Good to be home?”

Woodman shrugged, reaching for a glass of the sweet tea his mother had brought them. “It’s good to see my folks. But I hate the way they look at me.”

“They’re just worried, son. Give them some time to adjust.”

“Yeah, I know,” he muttered, setting his glass down. “Want to know the worst of it?”

“Tell me.”

“I liked bein’ a damage controlman, Cain. I liked puttin’ out fires. I liked feelin’ like a . . . a danged superhero. I would’ve done it forever. I would’ve stayed in for the four years like we promised, then come home and gotten a job workin’ at the FD. No college, no need. Just a pension from Uncle Sam and a job right here, fightin’ fires and savin’ people. Maybe I would’ve even made assistant chief after a few years. With Ginger by my side, it would’ve been a good life. A real good life.”

“You can still have that life.”

“How?” Woodman lashed out, his frustration mounting. “How do I have that life when I can’t even—f*ck! I can’t even walk around on my own goddamned feet? I can’t save people from fires, Cain. I can’t be a firefighter no more! I can’t . . . I can’t . . .”

“You can still contribute!” yelled Cain, looking furious. “Stop bein’ so goddamned hopeless, Josiah! You can still go down to the fire department. You can, f*ck, I don’t know, answer the f*ckin’ phones! Share what you learned in the service! Have dinner waitin’ when the guys come back from calls! Hell, you’re still useful!”

“Everythin’ okay out here?” asked his momma, sticking her head through the doorway and wringing her hands as she looked back and forth between the cousins, finally resting disapproving eyes on Cain. “Maybe your cousin’s tirin’ you out, honey?”

“Nah,” said Woodman, shaking his head, his shoulders slumping. “It’s not Cain. It’s me, Momma.”

“Why, you’re just . . .” She stepped onto the patio, gesturing uselessly to his foot before looking at his face with glassy eyes.

“He’s just recoverin’,” said Cain smoothly.

“Recoverin’! That’s all. Why, you’ll be up on your . . .” Realizing what she was about to say, his mother gasped, pressing her hand to her chest.

“Up on your own two feet in no time,” finished Cain with confidence. “Know why? ’Cause you’re the toughest sumbitch I know.”

“Oh my,” said his mother, fanning her face at Cain’s use of profanity.

“Don’t cuss in front of my momma, Cain. Where were you born? In a barn?”

“Nah,” he said, winking at his cousin “But I’m livin’ in one!”

Woodman rolled his eyes, but his chest shook with laughter, and even his mother giggled softly before kissing the top of his head and returning to the house. Once she was safely out of earshot, Woodman leaned forward. “She fusses over me too goddamned much. Makes me feel like an invalid.”

“She’s your momma. Smile and say thank you.”

“Yeah. I guess.” He paused, changing gears and watching Cain carefully for a reaction. “Saw Ginger last night. She stopped by on her way home from work.”

“Oh, yeah? Where’s she workin’?”

“Silver Springs. You know, where they put her gran.”

Cain nodded. “Sure.”

“She’s gorgeous, Cain,” said Woodman, holding the rim of the glass between his lips, his gaze riveted on Cain’s face. Surely, if he’d seen her by now, Woodman would see some spark of recognition in his cousin’s eyes. “She’s, well, she’s everythin’ a man could want.”

“That right?”

“Just seein’ her made me, well, it made me want to, I don’t know . . . Maybe it made me want to stop feelin’ sorry for myself and figure out what comes next.”