Page 68 of Far From Sherwood Forest
He stops in front of me and gives me a small, shaky smile. “Hey.”
“Why am I here?”
“Right to it then,” he mutters, his smile vanishing. “Look, the first thing you need to know is that…” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “I had no idea this was going to happen. This is the last thing I ever expected.”
My patience is extra thin today, and this is only making it worse.
“Out with it, Robin,” I snap.
“A few of the Merry Men showed up earlier today.”
Well. That was the last thing I expected too, and I’m entirely uncertain how to feel about it.
I drop my arms to my sides. “Here?”
Robin nods and peers over his shoulder at the bunkhouse. “They’re inside with John. He’s telling them that you’re here too, explaining to them that you’re not…you know. TheSheriff.”
“Why tell them at all? Why tell me?”
His brows knit like he’s confused by the question. “Because you’ve never kept me in the dark with things that have to do with this. You’ve kept me informed even though you didn’t have to.”
“And what exactly isthis? Why are they here?”
He stares at me for a few seconds, his frown deepening. “To take me back apparently.”
I still may not know exactly how I feel about all of this, but I think I’m starting to.
Robin’s leaving?
There’s been an ache in my chest for a long time, one that comes and goes, and right now, it’s burning more painfully than it has in years. As much as I want to trust Robin to douse the flames, to make it stop hurting, I can’t. I can’t trust anyone.
“Fine,” I tell him, my voice stiff and unfeeling, shut off to any part of me thatdoesfeel. “Have a safe trip.”
I turn and open my door, but, of course, Robin stops me.
“That’s it? That’s all you have to fucking say?”
I’ve heard him when he’s angry. I’ve seen him hurt. However, I’m not prepared for the mix of it that’s wavering in his voice. I know that if I turn around, if I witness it with my own eyes, I may not be strong enough to stop it from breaking right past all of my defenses.
Not this time.
But I turn anyway.
His eyes are wet. His chin trembles. But his nostrils are flared, and his hands are balled into fists, like maybe he wants to punch me.
It all does exactly what I feared it would do. It makes me not want to leave. It makes me not want to lethimleave.
“Robin—”
“It’s fine, Henry.” Now his voice sounds like mine did a moment ago. Heartbreakingly indifferent. “You’ve made it quite clear you don’t give a shit about me.”
When he’s the one who turns to leave this time, I grab onto his arm and force him to face me again. I stare into his eyes, my chest heaving from the exertion it takes fighting between the urge to run and the desire to tell Robin the truth. To give him everything.
“I do.”
The scowl falls from his face but not the hurt. The hurt deepens and grows, curling outward like ivy stretching toward my crumbling walls.
I open my mouth to say something else—what, I have no fucking clue—when the door to the bunkhouse opens. I release Robin and take a step back as four men pile out of the building, John leading them. It’s obvious by the clothes the other three are wearing that they’re the Merry Men Robin mentioned.
