Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(89)

“Ginger!” he yelled, shaking her by the shoulders until she stopped talking. “He’s already gone! He’s gone, darlin’.”

She froze, staring up at him for a moment, her face contorted in disbelief and anguish. Her eyes fluttered, then rolled back in her head as her body swayed, then fell limp and heavy against his chest.

“Princess,” he whimpered, the pain in his heart doubling as he watched hers break.

As gently as he could, he lifted her into his arms and carried her inside.





Chapter 22


Ginger



My eyes burn, she thought, blinking them tentatively as the early-morning light flooded her room. And my head hurts.

Sliding one hand over the sheets, she felt for Woodman, but he wasn’t there.

And the sheets were cold.

She opened one eye and looked at his pillow, plump and full.

And then—like an avalanche of horror—her memories from last night returned. Cain. Cain had come to tell her— “No!” she screamed, sitting bolt upright in her bed.

“What?” yelled Cain, from the chair in the corner of her bedroom. He jerked into a sitting position, rubbed his eyes, and looked around the room, on high alert. He was still in the sooty, filthy clothes he was wearing last night, when he came to tell her the terrible, sickening news that Woodman had . . . that Woodman was . . .

“Woodman . . .,” she whispered, her eyes filling with more useless tears, her hands twisting the sheet in her hands.

Cain closed his eyes as if hearing his cousin’s name was almost too painful to bear. He clenched his jaw and leaned forward, raking his hands through the stubble of his hair.

“Oh God,” she said softly. “Oh my God. It’s not true.”

“I wish to Christ it wasn’t, but it is,” he said, his voice low and beaten.

The well of tears burst, streaking down her cheeks, wetting the sheet she still clutched in her hands.

“Cain,” she murmured, his name a supplication, a plea. Cain . . . help. Cain . . . hold me. Cain . . . fix this. Cain . . . take this pain away.

“I have to get goin’,” he said, covering his mouth as a coughing fit made him reach for the arm of the chair. Finally he stood up, pulled a phone from his back pocket, and ran his finger over the screen.

“You’re sick,” she said between sobs.

“I’ll be okay.” He squinted down at his phone, scrolling through messages and wincing at whatever he was reading. “I shouldn’t have fallen asleep. I have to go see my aunt . . .”

“Cain,” she said, looking up at him. Don’t go. The words sat on the tip of her tongue, drenched in sorrow, desperate for the comfort of his arms around her. Just for a little while. Just for a few minutes. They shared so many common memories, so much unique history. No one else on earth had loved Josiah Woodman like they did. No one else could share the sort of sorrow they could share with each other. And yet— “What?” His voice was soft and dull. He was looking down at her, his face unreadable. But their conversation at the BBQ yesterday came rushing back, and she reached for her comforter, pulling it closer. He deserves better than you.

“Thank you for stayin’.”

He took a breath, staring at her intently, like he was gathering himself to say something, but then he hefted himself from the chair and nodded. He flicked another glance to his phone before looking back up at her. “Wright Funeral Home. Today at three o’clock. You should be there.”

Funeral home.

“Oh my God,” she said, sobs rising up from within her as she leaned forward to rest her forehead on her hands.

She heard him move toward her, felt his palm land on her hair and rest there. “He loved you more than life, Gin. You made him happy.”

“W-Woodman,” she whispered, remembering his last words to her. I love you. And I’m sorry.

She’d never doubted his love for her. Never. Not once in her whole life.

But her heavy heart descended into perdition as she realized that, while he’d given her his whole heart, he’d never gotten more than a part of hers. He’d said that was okay. He’d always assured her that he would only take what she was willing to give. But Cain was right: he’d deserved more. He’d deserved better. And now he was gone.

Part of her blamed Cain because the reason she couldn’t give her whole heart to Woodman was that such a big portion of it—rejected though it had been—had always belonged to Cain. And maybe it didn’t make sense, but it made her feel angry toward Cain because, if he hadn’t played with her, led her on, and eventually broken her heart, maybe she would have eventually been able to give it to Woodman.

She shrugged Cain’s hand away, looking up at him with swimming eyes. “Please go.”

Cain lifted his hand slowly, his expression swiftly changing from soft to hurt to cold. He nodded, taking a step away from her bed and wiping his hand on his dirty yellow fireman pants. “See you at three.”

Ginger grabbed Woodman’s pillow, rolled into a tight ball, and clutched it tightly to her chest as she cried until, mercifully, she fell back to sleep.

***

A soft knock at her bedroom door made Ginger turn from the dressing table mirror as she fastened the double string of pearls around her neck. “Come in.”