Page 12 of Far From Sherwood Forest (Far From #3)

I’ve been in this world for too long. I’ve been without Marian or any other warm body for even longer. That explains my response.

It was chemical, simple as that.

So what’s Henry’s excuse?

Is it the same? Are we both so damn touch starved that the moment our bodies connected, our minds shut off and our dicks tried calling the shots?

Yeah, that sounds pretty accurate.

Of course, I’m assuming that Henry hasn’t been with anyone in a while because that would explain what happened, but I could be wrong. However, considering how much he hates me, it’s a pretty good guess.

Then again, I suppose he could just be some fucked up deviant who got off on pinning me to the ground.

Maybe it’s both.

Whatever it was, I think it’s safe to say we can’t let that happen again. Even if there is a little voice in the back of my head telling me I really fucking liked it and would, in fact, love for it to happen again. And more.

Maybe we’re both fucked up deviants.

Except, I’m a little concerned Henry was about to have a fucking aneurism.

Could he feel my dick twitch? He seemed much more horrified than me, but still…that was embarrassing. The best thing for me to do right now is take a breath and collect myself.

I push myself off the forest floor and wipe as much of the dirt and leaves from my backside as I can.

There’s a constant dull ache in my feet and new, sharp pangs with every step I take.

I’d be surprised if they weren’t bleeding.

I probably should’ve thought of that. I had everything else planned out pretty well except for running barefoot through the damn woods.

It takes me nearly twenty minutes of hobbling through the forest—grabbing both bows on the way—before I finally make it back to where I left Henry’s truck.

I’m relieved to see what I recognize as Laura’s car, even more so to find the keys still in the ignition.

If Henry had been in his right mind, he probably would’ve taken them just to be a dick.

I grab my duffel bag I left stashed behind a tree and limp back to the car, sagging down into the driver’s seat, weighed down by exhaustion. I throw a shirt on and shove my feet into my boots, hissing and groaning. I don’t want to look at them yet.

Driving through the park, I squint against the setting sun and wonder how Henry’s doing.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

He kidnapped me and shot me twice, and I felt sorry for him. Now I’m concerned with his mental state after…whatever the hell that was?

I’ve always been pretty empathetic, but for him ?

I guess I really have let go of a lot over the past five years.

I wish I could say the same about Henry. Instead, he’s carrying even more .

Laura is standing outside with her cell pressed to her ear when I pull into the lot for the office. She does not look happy, her eyes narrowed and her mouth set in a thin line. When she sees me, she says something into her phone before hanging up and marching over.

“That fucking asshole couldn’t even bother to bring my car back!” she shouts as I climb out. “See if I ever do anything nice for him ever again.”

“That doesn’t include me, does it?” I ask with a sheepish smile.

She rolls her eyes. “Get in.”

There are no other cars around, so it’s pretty obvious I need a ride.

“That fucker sped by in his truck just as I came outside,” she says as she drives away from the office. “I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t wreck it.”

I grimace, unable to stop myself from feeling guilty. I mean, it’s not my fault his dick got hard, but maybe it’s a little my fault for taunting him so much. If he did get into an accident from driving recklessly, that sure would solve a lot of the issues currently going on in my life.

But…I hope he doesn’t.

When we’re nearing the visitor’s center, I see Spencer’s truck and let Laura know she can drop me off there. I get out, grab my bag, and thank her before she drives away.

“What the hell happened to you?” Spencer asks when he steps outside as I’m putting my bag in the bed of his truck.

“Do I look that bad?” I ask, peering down at myself.

“You’re in swim trunks and covered in dirt. Yeah, you look like shit.”

“Thanks.” I laugh and walk over to the passenger door. “Just took a swim and a hike.”

We both get into the cab, and he starts the engine. “That water must’ve been freezing.”

I shrug because it wasn’t that bad. But, yeah, the water was probably a bit colder than I should’ve been swimming in. If John finds out, he’s going to kick my ass.

“How’d Henry take you stealing his truck?”

Another laugh tries to work its way up my throat when I answer his question silently in my head.

He chased me down, and his dick got hard.

“I’m probably lucky to be alive,” I answer instead, and it’s most likely the truth.

Spencer laughs this time and nods like he believes it.

I’m grateful when he changes the subject to the wildlife tour we did this morning.

It wasn’t as exciting as some of the others we’ve done together since we’re so deep into fall, but we did see a beautifully vibrant violet-green swallow that I was instantly enamored by.

Spencer makes fun of me a little for how enthusiastic I got.

When we pull up to the ranch, I inwardly groan when I see the white and blue pickup outside the bunkhouse. I should’ve changed back into jeans. Hopefully with Spencer here, John won’t let me have it too bad.

“Do you think John checked on the horses when he got back?” Spencer asks as I open my door.

“He probably did.”

“I think I’ll go ahead and run to the stables real quick just in case.”

Shit.

I’d go with him, but my feet are killing me. I want nothing more than to get out of these boots and into the shower.

“Alright,” I tell him as I hop out.

As he drives off, I walk over to the small shed on the side of the building to store my duffel bag with the bows and arrows. John might be able to figure out I was swimming when I shouldn’t have been, but he doesn’t need to know I spent half the day purposefully provoking Henry.

When I get inside, John is coming out of the bathroom in flannel pajama pants and towel drying his hair. He looks up as I enter, a goofy smile on his face. I take that to mean he had a good time last night.

At least he’s in a good mood.

Except, as soon as his eyes drop to my trunks, his smile vanishes, replaced by a stern glare.

“Are you serious, Robin?”

“What?” I ask, plastering on my best innocent smile.

Of course, this is John. He doesn’t buy it.

“Please don’t tell me you went swimming out there.”

“Okay. I won’t.”

I go to move past him to head to the bathroom, but he stops me by grabbing onto my arm and speaks in that gruff voice of his. “Are you ever going to learn your lesson?”

“Not until I die, I guess,” I say, keeping the smile on my face.

His face falls into a frown. “That’s not funny.”

I sigh and pull my arm out of his grasp. “I’m sorry. You’re right. No more swimming until it warms up again. I promise.”

He shakes his head and walks away. I continue into the bathroom, feeling guilty again.

I don’t like making John worry, but I also hate that he expects me to live like I’m fucking fragile.

I mean, I suppose in one way I am. That doesn’t mean I’m going to put myself in a bubble and miss out on living life.

Sitting on the closed toilet seat, I carefully remove my boots, my feet painful and sticky. I get my first good look at them, and the sticky feeling makes sense. They’re not bleeding too badly, and the cuts that are there are just shallow scrapes.

At least John didn’t see my feet.

After I get a shower, John, Spencer, and I spend a couple hours out on the porch, drinking beer and enjoying the sunset. A pink-orange glow splashes over the ranch as my head starts feeling light and fuzzy.

Since leaving the park, I’ve had plenty of distractions to keep me from thinking too much about what happened there between me and Henry.

But once it’s lights out and I’m lying in my bed with John snoring close by, my nerves start crackling like static beneath my skin. My stomach twists itself into knots.

Next time I see Henry, he’ll probably cave my head in. He’ll blame me for it because he blames me for everything.

But what really has me nervous is that I have this unexplainable urge to see him anyway. To talk to him. I want us to figure our shit out. I want to help him. Everything he’s holding onto is slowly killing him, and I hate that it really is partly my fault.

What happened in the woods is still there, too. Surprisingly, I’m not freaking out about it.

It was a fluke.

I’m sure it won’t happen again.