Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(88)

“Me too,” said Cain, choking back tears.

Scott reached in his pocket and held out the keys to his official AVFD SUV. “I’ll get a ride with one of the guys. You go set with Ginger a spell. Won’t be easy.”

“I don’t . . . I don’t know how to tell her . . . ”

Cain swallowed over the lump in his throat. He had no idea what to say, no idea what to tell her, how to look into the eyes of someone he’d known his entire life and say the words, Woodman’s gone. He could barely think them, let alone say them.

He cleared his throat, using his thumb and forefinger to rub his burning eyes, feeling helpless and horrified and sick with grief.

Scott put his hand on Cain’s shoulder. “The words’ll come.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, staring down at the ground. “Thanks, Scott.”

Without looking back, he strode away, toward Scott’s truck, and let the tears fall freely as he drove from Laurel Ridge Farm to Woodman’s house, where he assumed he’d find Ginger. As he was driving, his mother called, her own voice thick with tears.

“Cain, it can’t be true!”

“Momma,” he sobbed. “I didn’t get there in time.”

“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Cain. The doctor at the hospital had to give Sophie a sedative. Howard just called. I’ll be there tonight. Jim’s drivin’ me down. We’ll be at Sophie’s. Come and meet me over there in an hour or so.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I got somethin’ to do first.”

“Cain . . . don’t go drinkin’.”

“No, Momma,” he said. “Nothin’ like that. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you over at Aunt Sophie’s later.” Before she could say anything else, he hung up the phone, wiping his eyes and concentrating on the road.

His body ached, but his heart, oh God, his heart felt like someone had taken a club and smashed the shit out of it. It felt battered and raw, bloody and broken. His lungs were still congested too, but he had no interest in seeing a doctor. He’d be okay in a few days.

Turning down Main Street, he held the steering wheel with an iron grip at a red light.

What the f*ck are you goin’ to say? How are you goin’ to tell her this?

“Fuck!” he yelled, his eyes burning with more unshed tears. “Fuck, f*ck, f*ck!” he screamed, banging his hands on the wheel and sobbing like a baby.

The car behind him beeped its horn, and Cain bellowed, “Fuck you!” before stepping on the gas and driving the rest of the way to Woodman’s place. He’d seen the little house on Main Street earlier today, on his way to the BBQ—the BBQ where Woodman had been laughing about stupid stories from the Navy, excitedly confiding that he was cleared for duty. Alive. So f*cking alive, and now . . .

He stopped in front of his cousin’s house and cut the engine, using the backs of his hands to wipe away the wetness on his cheeks. He didn’t bother looking in the mirror. He was covered in ash and soot. His eyes would be bloodshot, his face streaked with tears. She’d know. She’d know, almost at once, that something was very, very wrong.

“Fuck,” he whispered, opening the car door and stepping onto the curb. He slammed the door behind him and opened the little white picket gate, thinking, Woodman sure keeps this place neat. Then thinking, kept. And another sharp wave of sorrow took his breath away.

Suddenly the front door opened, and Ginger stood in the doorway, a smile on her face. “Woodman, you’re back alrea—wait.” Her eyes dropped to his filthy gear, her expression very troubled but not quite frightened when she met his eyes again. “Cain?”

It hurt like f*ck, but he held her gaze as he walked toward her, his feet heavy, booted in cement made of such heavy f*cking sorrow, he had no idea how he kept moving forward.

“Princess,” he said softly.

“Cain?” she asked, a wild edge creeping into her voice as her eyes widened.

“Oh God, Gin,” he sobbed as he reached the porch. He climbed the first step and stood before her.

She gasped, her hand fluttering up to rest over her heart. “C-Cain? What happened?”

“I’m so f*ckin’ sorry, darlin’.”

“For what? For what?” she asked, her voice ratcheting up with panic. “What? What, Cain?” she asked, shrieking a little now. Her breathing became choppy and shallow, her chest jerking with every breath. “What happened?”

Cain shook his head and felt his face collapse as the tears started to fall. “I was too late.”

She lurched at him, nailing his chest with her fists, and he fell backward onto the walkway, grabbing for her arms and pulling her with him.

“NO!” she wailed, beating his chest. “NO! NO! NO!”

He pulled her against him. Hard enough to trap her hands. “He got caught under a beam. Couldn’t . . . couldn’t get him out in time.”

“Nooooo!” she sobbed, keening as she uncurled her fists to cover her face. “No no no no. This isn’t happening. No.” Then, suddenly, she wiped away the tears, lifted her chin, and looked up at Cain, her face determined. “He’s goin’ to be okay. There are such good doctors here, Cain. He’s goin’ to be fine. I know it. We’re just goin’ to drive over to the hospital and—”