Page 62 of Far From Sherwood Forest
As his coughing starts to let up, his eyes meet mine, and I can see the surprise within their depths. I feel it too, but if I bring attention to it, then I’d have to explain what the hell it is I’m doing.
And I don’t fucking know.
Bringing the bottle to his lips, I tip it as he starts to drink, his eyes fluttering closed. He’s burning up, his skin scorching my palm. As he swallows down the water, my thumb ends up against the side of his face, subconsciously brushing the five o’clock shadow along his jaw.
His eyes open, and my thumb continues its gentle caress for a few seconds before I force myself to let go of him. I pull the bottle away, screw the lid back on, and return it to the nightstand.
“Thank you,” he whispers. Then he clears his throat. “What were you saying?”
I glance down at my lap again, wondering how much to tell him.
“She was the one to find me after I spent the first couple of years here alone. She helped me figure out a way to integrate into society. Got me a job. Pretended to be my friend. Turns out it was all bullshit.”
When I look back up, Robin’s brows are drawn so tight he looks like he’s in even more pain now.
“So, she brought you, me, and John here, left for two years, and then came back to help you. Three years later, she sends a magical bear to attack us. What the hell is that all about?”
“I have no fucking idea. I won’t pretend to understand a witch’s reasons.”
“Not a witch,” he says, his expression turning pensive. “A spirit.”
“Excuse me?”
He takes a breath, coughs, and clears his throat again. “The Spirit of Sherwood Forest. There was a legend about her that all the children heard. I always wanted to believe she was real. I wanted to believe in magic. It looks like, in some twisted way, I got what I wanted.”
“Looks like it,” I say, unable to hide the bitterness in my voice.
“Henry.”
He raises his hand, reaching out to me, and then drops it.
Fuck. Why does that make me sad?
“I’m sorry about your friend,” he says with a frown. “I know I left you before, and I’m sorry about that too. But I’m here now. If you need me.”
Something thick and uncomfortable clogs my throat.
I have to fucking get out of here before I do something stupid like admit that that’s exactly what I need.
I go to stand, but when Robin brings his hand up again, he lays it on my arm this time, keeping me in place as I stare down at it. I’m wearing a jacket, but it’s as if I can still feel his bare touch through the fabric.
“Maybe when I’m not a walking biohazard anymore,” he says, smiling now, “we could spend some more time together. If you’d want to.”
Swallowing that heavy weight in my throat, I look up. “I know I said it before, but it’s not going to happen again. Not this time.”
He nods and takes his hand back. His smile trembles as he fights to keep it on his face. “Because you still hate me or because I’m a guy?”
Neither.
I had sex with a man, and I’m okay with that. I’m done punishing myself for things others might call a sin. I’ve punished myself enough.
At least, I thought I had. But now I’m punishing myself more for placing my trust in the wrong person. No, I don’t think I hate Robin Hood anymore, especially not now that I have someone else to blame. But how can I trust anyone again?
“Let’s say both.”
This time, his smile falters, sinking into something sadder.
Wanting to leave the lie behind, the one that leaves a sour taste in my mouth, I rise to my feet and turn to leave.
