Page 11 of Far From Sherwood Forest
But this time? It was shaky, lacking his usual bravado. Beneath it was fear.
And it was fuckingglorious.
After shoving him into the passenger seat of my black pickup, I quickly round the truck and get behind the wheel before he can change his mind and bolt. Robin is silent as I head through town, and I see him rub his palms over his jeans like maybe they’re sweaty. Now it’smyturn to grin.
He’s changed. I’m not used to him being quiet or showing signs of weakness.
But I think I like it.
It’s not until we cross the town line, the dim lights of thecity fading as I drive down the dark county road, that Robin finally opens his damn mouth. It’s not that I was expecting it to last long, but I was really enjoying letting him fester in the tense silence. I didn’t pick him up to have a conversation with him.
“Where are we going?”
“Shut up.”
“How’d you find me?”
My jaw clenches. “I said shut up.”
“So,” he says, and I can hear that fucking grin creeping back into his voice. “Do you already know how you’re going to kill me, or are you just gonna wing it?”
There’s the Robin Hood I know.
I finally reach the end of my fuse and punch him so hard in the jaw that his head snaps to the side, his temple smashing into the passenger window with an audible crack.
“Fuck!” he shouts, throwing his head back against the seat.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him reach up to tenderly touch his fingertips to his face, hissing as he checks for blood. It’s too dark for me to see if there’s any, but it doesn’t matter.
I’ll make him bleed plenty tonight.
“Still a dick, I see,” he mutters.
The mere sound of his voice grates on my nerves, but I’m at least a little satisfied to hear it strained as he wrestles through the pain.
“You’re really not going to shut the fuck up, are you?”
“You basically kidnapped me, Sheriff.” Despite just being punched in the face, he still sounds far too pleased with himself. “I figured chivalry was dead, but apparently abduction is alive and well.”
“Don’t call me that.”
No one has called me that in five years, and something about it rattles me in a way I don’t quite understand. I’m not a sheriff anymore, no, but it was once such a big part of who I was thatI think when I lost it, I lost more than just a title. The Sheriff of Nottingham is dead. I don’t know who I am anymore without him.
Robin laughs, and my hand flexes around the steering wheel as I barely resist the urge to punch him again for putting those fucking thoughts in my head.
“Right. You’re not a sheriff here. Let me guess. The shirt, the gun. Park ranger. Doesn’t exactly have the same ring to it, does it?”
I don’t respond this time because, clearly, he’s trying to feed off my thinning patience, seeing how far he can push me. If I let him, then I’ll make a mistake. That’s how it usually went. I’d let my anger and hatred get the best of me, make a mistake, and he’d get away. Over and over again.
I’m not making a mistake this time.
“Not much of a talker, are you? I bet you get all the girls, huh? I’ve heard they love the silent, brooding type.”
I grip the wheel even tighter but remain silent.
He sighs heavily. “Fine, Henry. What is it you really want? An apology? I’m sorry for everything that happened back there. But this is a whole new world, and we’ve both clearly changed. Why don’t we just let the past rest?”
He doesn’t even know the reason I hate him more than I ever did before.
