Page 6 of Far From Sherwood Forest
She gave me a choice that day. She could either call the authorities and have me arrested for trespassing, or I could tell her why I was there. My life already felt over, so I told her everything. Thetruth. All of it.
And…shebelievedme.
Not only that, but she was ecstatic and giddy and proceeded to ramble about meeting a time traveler.
Something about her put me at ease that day.
I hate when I get in these moods and have the urge to call her. I’ve never been dependent on anyone, but when she did her stupid computer magic to get me an identity and a job, I let her. I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, and I was more than ready to leave that damn cabin.
I also might’ve been hoping that integrating into societywould have led me to Robin.
Obviously, it didn’t.
I hate him so fucking much.
After five years, it’s so much more than everything that happened between us back in Sherwood Forest. There’s still all of that, sure. He was the most obnoxious thief and loathsome outlaw I had ever dealt with. Running around like he could get away with absolutely anything. Winning the girl—the one I had loved too, the one who chosehim. Killing my men and murdering my cousin.
And then he had to go and ruin my life even more.
My stomach grumbles like it’s matching my bad mood. I look down at the protein bar on my desk, knowing I should probably eat while I have the time. I doubt I could stomach it right now, though.
Instead, I decide I’ll take it with me and try to eat it on the drive over to the visitor’s center. For now, I need a little more time to decompress before dealing with annoying campers who thinktheycan get away with absolutely anything too.
The phone on my desk rings, and I consider ignoring it.
I’m on break, dammit.
I pick it up, and, before she can say anything, I tell the receptionist, “Five minutes.”
Hanging up, I grab one of the magazines off my desk. I don’t really care what it is I do for the next five minutes. I just need to dosomething. Something to distract myself, to ground myself before I spiral.
I refuse to call Ivy and rely on the one person who’s able to make me believe there might just be a reason for things.
Flipping open the park and recreations magazine, I look through the pictures, not caring about the articles. I’m not completely incapable of finding enjoyment in things. I like that I can see other parts of this country, of this entire world, from thecomfort of wherever I’m sitting on my ass.
There’s a four-page spread on a park one state over in Colorado, most of the photos taken during spring when the flowers were blooming, brilliant blue waters flowing through the streams and waterfalls. Snowcapped mountains peek over rolling, green hills. I think it’s even more beautiful than here.
A couple pictures show groups of children and adults on wildlife tours, all starry-eyed and beaming smiles as a man points at a red-tailed hawk perched in a tree.
I go to turn the page and then freeze.
A chill rises at the back of my neck before snaking down my spine.
I lay the page back down so fast that it nearly rips.
My eyes land once more on the picture with the hawk. The man pointing at it wears jeans, boots, and a green button-up park shirt. The sun highlights his tanned skin, brightens his jade green eyes. His dirty blond hair is a little wild, shorter than I remember.
It’s Robin.
My heart beats a little faster, my breaths coming in short, hot puffs. My feet fall from the desk, boots landing on the floor with a resounding thud.
Holy fucking shit.
He doesn’t look much different, maybe a little more tan. Even with some slightly sharper lines of his jaw and cheekbones, he still radiates youth. He’d be in his late twenties now, about ten years younger than me.
I don’t have to think long about my next course of action.
Without letting go of the magazine, I fish my cell phone from my pocket. I pull up the contact for Ivy and put it on speaker as the call connects.
