Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(67)

Cain huffed as he pulled on some fresh boxers. No, the f*cking timing was not f*cking ideal, but if Ginger wanted him and he wanted Ginger, there had to be a way to make that happen, right? He could lay his cards on the table, get Ginger to forgive him for the hurtful things he’d said today, and then they could talk to Woodman about everything together. They could explain everything, couldn’t they? Put it in a way that would soften the blow, but still help him understand?

Pulling on some jeans, he tried the words.

“Josiah, we need to . . . um, no.” He tried again. “Josiah, here’s the thing: I know how you feel about Ginger, but I feel the same. No. I feel . . . f*ck, I feel like I . . . fuuuuck!” he yelled, zipping and buttoning his pants. He ran a hand through his wet hair. “Okay. Woodman, we need to talk to you . . . No. Fuck. Okay . . . Woodman, we need to be honest with you about something.” He looked at himself in the mirror, nodding. “That’s good. That’s good. Um, we need to be honest with you about something, and we know you’re not going to like it, but we . . . we, uh, what? We need you to hear us out . . . Yeah. Okay . . . We need to be honest with you, and we know you’re not going to like it, but we need you to hear us out.”

He nodded at his reflection again, practicing a small speech as the words came to him one by one. I can’t help it . . . I wish I could . . . I love her too . . . And finally, when he had all the words he needed, he threw on a clean, white buttoned-down shirt, slipped his feet into sneakers and hurried out the door.

First he had to make things right with Ginger.

***

Walking up the driveway to the McHuids’ manor, he noticed his aunt and uncle’s car parked in front of the house and wondered if Woodman had come with them. For a moment he rethought his decision to speak to Ginger, especially since he wasn’t exactly welcome at Miz Magnolia’s supper table, but he cast his eyes at Ginger’s cottage and decided it couldn’t hurt to check and see if she was home.

Bypassing the main house, he took the path that wound around the side of the porch and led to the cottage, and was relieved to note that the lights were on. He knocked on the door lightly, then stepped back, looking through the window, hoping to see her face as she approached to let him in. As he stood waiting, he thought about what he was going to say to her. Yeah, she’d still be hurt and probably spitting mad so it would sure take a lot of sweetness, but—he grinned to himself as he remembered the feeling of her lips beneath his earlier today—Cain was good at making up. And they still had Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday to make up for lost time. Anxious to see her, he stepped forward and knocked a little harder, but the door must have been shut hastily, because it wasn’t latched and swung open.

He took a step into her kitchen, listening for signs of life. “Ginger?”

There was no answer, but just as he turned to leave, he heard something. A clunk, like a small piece of furniture falling over above his head, and he turned back around.

“Ginger?” he called again, but still no answer.

Damn it, he didn’t want to intrude on her, but he didn’t want to waste any more time either. He needed a chance to make things right with her and convince her to go with him to break the news to Woodman. Surely, if they all sat down together they could figure this out, right? Right.

Heading quietly up the stairs, he walked down the upstairs hall, his sneakers muted by the plush carpet Ginger’s gran must have chosen. He stopped and listened for a moment, then, hearing a noise from the room to the left at the top of the stairs, he turned and paused before the door.

I know you love me, Cain. I can see it. I can feel it. I know it’s true.

It was true.

It was true, and no amount of pretending it wasn’t would make it go away. And he deserved the chance to love her if that’s what she wanted. Because Lord knew he wanted it too.

Raising his hand to push her bedroom door open, he froze as he heard a man’s voice—his cousin’s voice on the very brink of sleep—groan, “Gin, I love you.”

What? What the f*ck was Woodman doing in Ginger’s bedroom?

He leaned closer to the door and listened for her voice, but didn’t hear it—didn’t hear anything.

Without knocking, he pushed the door open soundlessly.

It took his eyes a minute to adjust to the half-light of dusk, of dreams and nightmares, of everything he wished he could unsee and unknow.

They were both naked, tangled together in her bed, their bodies pale and relaxed. Woodman was on his back, and she was on her side, next to him, nestled in his arms. Her hair lay across his chest in a softly curled mess of gold. One of her arms was buried beneath her, but the other lay flat on his chest, covered by his, their fingers intertwined like lovers.

Cain’s lungs slowly drained of oxygen until his head swam, and he backed up into the hallway, grasping at the chair-rail molding with clawlike fingers, trying to stay upright.

“Fuck,” he whispered with the last breath in his body, his eyes burning, his head dizzy. I have to get out of here. He made his way to the stairs and half slid, half stumbled down the carpeted stairs, lurching through the small kitchen and toward the open door.

This is the last time you will ever reject and humiliate me. I promise you. The last time.

Had she known? Had she known, even then, that when she walked away from Cain, she’d walk directly into his cousin’s arms and offer herself to him instead?