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 fuck 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?
He walked through the darkness like a drunkard, his feet slow and uncertain at first, then picking up momentum and balance until he was running down the driveway like the devil was at his heels. When he got to the barn, he walked into the tack room, grabbed his keys, then pulled the door shut behind him. His dog tags were around his neck. Anything else could be sent or replaced.
Heading out into the night, he straddled his bike, threw on his helmet, and turned the key, clenching his jaw and eyes shut for a moment as the engine thundered to life. The Ginger of his dreams, the sweetest, loveliest girl who ever lived—the princess of his broken heart—was just another fickle, fucking bitch.
Opening his cold, flinty eyes, he turned his bike toward the road and squeezed the throttle. He roared down the driveway, down the road, out of Apple Valley, out of Kentucky.
All that mattered was distance.
All that mattered was getting as far away from both of them as fucking possible.
PART FOUR
Three years later
Chapter 16
Ginger
“What do you think, Gran?” asked Ginger, holding the paint chips closer to the light. “Sandy Beach or Ray of Sun?”