Page 12 of Far From Sherwood Forest
“You’re obviously not sorry since you’re still a little thief.”
It’s his turn to go quiet, but it doesn’t last more than a few seconds. When he speaks, he sounds only slightly surprised. “You’ve been watching me.”
It’s not a question, so I don’t respond.
The ringing of a phone interrupts whatever he was about to say next—because he was undoubtedly about to keep prattling on. He takes his cell out of the front pocket of his jeans, and the screen lights up with John’s name.
“Don’t answer it.”
He hesitates, his thumb hovering above the middle of the screen. Eventually, he rejects the call and shoves the phone back in his pocket, slumping back against his seat.
Turning into the entrance of the park, I drive down one of the side roads. Robin has mercifully kept his mouth shut since realizing he can’t get out of this by lying or pushing my buttons. I can feel his apprehension filling the cab, but I relish in it as much as the silence.
I head deeper into the park, the road all the way back here turning rough until I drive off of it completely and into the grass of an empty campsite. With it being the middle of fall, the park isn’t as busy as it normally is.
Putting the truck in park, I kill the engine. “Get out.”
I don’t wait for him before I open my door and walk to the back of the truck. Removing my jacket, I toss it into the bed. A nighttime chill has swept through the air, but I’m about to barely feel it.
After grabbing what I had stashed in the bed of the truck, I walk around to the other side, passing Robin who’s still standing in front of the passenger door.
“What’s that for?” he asks, his voice hitching slightly at the end.
Despite his unease, he follows me into the clearing. The only light here comes from the full moon that’s already high in the sky, dousing the whole area in a silvery white.
Just like that night we arrived in this world.
Pushing that thought out of my mind, I turn around and toss the bow and quiver with exactly three arrows in it onto the ground between us. It’s an older hunting bow that I found left behind at the last park I worked at, not one of those wooden one-piece bows that Robin’s used to. Or, at least,wasused to.
“Pick it up,” I tell him.
His eyes narrow. “Why?”
I remove my gun from its holster and hold it at my side. “Because I’d prefer not to shoot an unarmed man.”
“Well, in that case…” He grins and folds his arms across his chest. “I’m good.”
“I said I’dprefernot to.” Raising my gun, I aim it right at him. “Not that I wouldn’t.”
His grin falls as he drops his arms to his sides. “Have you spent all this time hating me? Holding onto the past? Because that sounds miserable.”
You have no idea.
I almost want to ask him ifhe’sbeen able to let go of it all so easily, but I didn’t come all the way out here to have a fucking conversation.
My grip tightens around the gun, my finger itching at the trigger. “Pick it up,” I repeat, my jaw clenched.
“Or we could talk through our shit instead.”
Taking a step forward, I raise my weapon, pointing it at his head. “We didn’t come here to fuckingtalk.”
“Fine.” He holds his hands out in front of him as he finally moves to pick up the bow and arrows. “Fine, Henry.” He throws the quiver onto his back and holds the bow at his side. “Now what?”
“Now, you’re going to fucking run.” I lower my gun and turn to the side, gesturing to the dark line of trees. “One last chase, Robin.”
“Are you sure about that? Those jeans look unnecessarily tight.”
“I could just shoot you right here then?”
