Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(87)

A paramedic slid to the ground beside them and opened his field kit. He tried to put a new mask on Woodman, but Woodman groaned, “No,” and tilted his head away.

“Josiah,” sobbed Cain. “Please.” Then, “Where’s the f*ckin’ ambulance at?”

The paramedic pressed his stethoscope to Woodman’s neck. He winced at whatever he heard there and slowly pulled the instrument from his ears.

“Cain . . . be . . . good . . . t’her.”

Cain caressed the skin by the burned part of Woodman’s face tenderly, but his cousin didn’t even flinch. There was no physical reaction. No pain.

“Care . . . for her.” His lungs were barely moving up and down now, and every word sounded thinner. “Love . . . her.” His voice was thready and weak, each breath wheezing and ragged. “Promise.”

Tears ran down Cain’s face in streams as the wail of an ambulance got closer. The paramedic was on one knee beside Cain, motionless, and when Cain looked up at him, the other man blinked back tears before mouthing, “I’m sorry.”

“Aw, f*ck.” Cain sobbed softly, using the back of his hand to wipe his tears away.

“I don’t need to promise,” he said, leaning down to press his lips to Woodman’s forehead, his tears plopping onto his cousin’s face. He knew Woodman couldn’t see them, didn’t feel them. “You . . . you’re gonna be fine, Woodman.”

Woodman’s green eyes searched the darkness for a face he couldn’t see. A strangled sound crawled up from his throat, and black soot mixed with blood streamed out of the corner of his mouth.

“Pl-l-lease,” he murmured through the wetness.

“No!” Cain cried, clutching his cousin closer, leaning down to press his forehead to Woodman’s and willing every ounce of strength in his body into his cousin’s. Stay with me. Stay with me. Oh God, stay with me. “No! I ain’t promisin’ nothin’! Don’t you f*ckin’ leave me, Josiah! You’re goin’ home to Ginger. You’re gonna be—”

“P-promise,” said Woodman, his voice less than a whisper, his lungs failing as his deep green eyes swam with tears.

“Yes!” he wailed, pressing his cheek to Woodman’s, their tears mixing where their skin touched. “I f*ckin’ promise! Josiah, I promise.” He sobbed, clenching his eyes shut, his voice breaking. “I promise.”

And then, as if given permission to finally let go, whatever breath was left in Josiah Asher Woodman’s lungs escaped in a peaceful sigh, and he lay, limp and lost, in his cousin’s arms, sightless staring up at the sky.

Cain lurched up to a sitting position, and a gurgled scream rose from the depths of his being as he put his hands on Woodman’s shoulders and shook his cousin. “NO! FUCK, JOSIAH! No! No! Don’t you go. Don’t you leave me alone! No! You hang on. You f*ckin’ hang on. Josiah! Josiiiiiiiiah . . . ”

His cousin’s name became a wail, a sobbed lullaby, a lament, and a terrible plea for something—for someone—who was already gone.

***

Woodman’s body was placed in the back of the ambulance, and Cain stood in his bunker coat and pants, blinking in shock as he watched it drive away into the night. He watched until the red headlights were pinpoints in the darkness, until they finally disappeared.

Fred Atkins had called Aunt Sophie and Uncle Howard to meet Woodman at the hospital. He hadn’t told them that their son was dead. That was news, apparently, that they’d receive upon arrival at All Saints. Cain ran a hand through his hair as he fully recognized the nightmare they were about to walk into.

Fred and Scott had encouraged Cain to head to the hospital in the ambulance with Woodman to be with his grieving aunt and uncle, but there was someone else who needed to be told about what had happened, and she deserved to hear it directly from him, not from some well-meaning firefighter she’d known for the past couple of years. Whatever choices she’d made that Cain disdained, she had made Woodman happy. Telling Ginger fell to him.

He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Scott Hayes approaching.

“Cain,” he said softly, his face a mask of sorrow, “I’m so goddamned sorry.” Cain clenched his jaw to keep his tears at bay and nodded. “Fred asked if I’d stop by Ginger’s place and—”

“No,” said Cain. “I’ll tell her.”

“You sure?”

He nodded again. “Yeah. I, uh, I’ve known her forever. It should come from me.”

Scott’s eyes were heavy, and his face was covered in soot, a reminder that the last moments Cain had had with Woodman he owed, in part, to Scott’s bravery.

“You were the only one who followed me in,” said Cain. “Thanks for that. I owe you.”

“Maybe this ain’t the right time but . . . ” Scott shrugged. “I love my wife. I don’t kid myself that I was her first, but I love that woman. I know which ones treated her like shit and which ones didn’t. You never bragged about her, never talked dirty about her behind her back, never made her feel like trash. That meant a lot to her. And she means a lot to me. So you’re welcome, but you don’t owe me nothin’.” He paused, swiping at his eyes. “Huge f*ckin’ loss, your cousin. Wish I’d gotten there sooner.”