Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(81)

She finally exhaled and took another breath, bracing herself before lifting her eyes. His ice-blue eyes, which she’d known since her earliest days, which she still saw every night in her dreams, seized hers, searching them, unblinking. She heard the small gasp he made, felt the pressure of his fingers around her arms increase. But then he jerked his hands away from her like they were on fire and narrowed those cold eyes to slits.

“What do you want?” she asked, stepping away from him, back against the bathroom door.

“I thought we should get this over with.”

“Get what over with?”

“Let’s just say hello and agree to be civil,” he said, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “For Woodman’s sake.”

There were a million insults and put-downs winging through her fuzzy head, but the reality was that his words were well chosen, and they resonated. As far back as she could recall, Cain had never set out to purposely hurt Woodman. And Ginger knew, from the look in Cain’s eyes, that whatever affection he bore his cousin was as strong and solid as ever.

Civility for Woodman’s sake.

“Fine,” she said, putting her hands on her hips.

“Fine,” he answered with an edge in his voice, still standing before her with his arms crossed.

It was the very definition of a standoff, she thought—neither of them looking away, neither making a move to leave.

She reached for her arm and rubbed it meaningfully. “Don’t ever touch me again.”

“No problem,” he sneered, his mouth a thin slash of disgust.

The last time she’d seen him, he’d called her a “cock-teasin’ bitch,” and apparently his opinion of her hadn’t changed since. Still, his words felt like a slap and hurt just as much, but she lifted her chin and remained impassive, refusing to let him know he affected her at all.

“Great,” she said. “Hello, Cain. Goodbye, Cain. Civil enough for you?”

She edged around him and walked away, ignoring the trembling of her fingers and raging thunder of her heart.

“Ginger,” he said in a voice so low and lethal, it made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She stopped. But she didn’t turn around. “He deserves better than you.”

She flinched, cringing at the hateful tone he used. But her anger at him—seething and raw—rose up within her and she whipped around to face him.

“How dare you! What gives you the right to judge me? To . . . to even speak to me! Who do you think you are, coming back here and—”

“Who am I?” He covered the distance between them in two long strides, his eyes almost white with fury. “Last time I checked, you were pourin’ out your heart to me, offerin’ your * to me like a little slut, and then . . . then you—”

“You rejected me, Cain! You told me to f*ck off!”

He pointed his finger at her. “I never used those words. And I had my reaso—”

“I don’t care about your goddamned reasons! You made me feel like trash for bein’ honest, and I hate you for it, Ca—”

“Woman, are you pure crazy? You hate me? You were the one who left that barn and marched straight—”

Suddenly the lobby door opened, and they both turned to find Woodman just inside the firehouse, staring back and forth between them. Ginger had her hands on her hips, and Cain still had his index finger jabbed in her face.

“What the hell is goin’ on here?”

Ginger blinked rapidly, stepping away from Cain and staring down at the floor.

“Cain?” Woodman said.

He exhaled shakily but somehow managed to keep his voice level. “Nothin’, cuz. Just . . . catchin’ up.”

Ginger flicked a glance up at Cain, annoyed to find him mostly composed but for two bright spots of red in his cheeks.

“By yellin’ at each other?”

Ginger cleared her throat, her stomach rolling and head swimming. She needed to get out of here. Oh God, she needed some fresh air or water or . . . or . . .

Nope. It was too late. It was all just a little too much for her to handle.

Her stomach heaved, her mouth opened wide, and two partially digested, shotgunned beers ended up on the floor at their feet.





Chapter 20


Woodman



Woodman watched in shock as Ginger doubled over and threw up on the lobby floor. When she’d heaved three or four times, she righted herself, looked back and forth between the cousins with horror in her eyes, then ran through the double doors of the firehouse.

“Jesus!” cried Cain, staring at the enormous puddle of puke on the floor. “What the f*ck?”

Woodman turned on his cousin, shocked as f*ck inside but also feeling defensive on Ginger’s behalf. “She got sick. People do get sick, Cain.”

Cain scrunched up his nose at the smell. “Did she drink a whole f*ckin’ keg of beer? Since when does Princess Ginger drink so much?”

Woodman could smell it too and was wondering the same thing. “She was workin’ here all afternoon. Probably had a beer and forgot to eat.”

Looking down at the floor, Cain shook his head. “Sorry, cuz, but that’s more than one.”

“You know what?” Woodman started, about to lay into Cain, then shook his head and took a deep breath. “I gotta go after her. But what the hell were y’all fightin’ about? She just vomited on the floor, Cain.”