Page 24 of Far From Sherwood Forest (Far From #3)

Moving forward, I grab the back of the chair and hurl it behind me where it topples over and crashes onto the floor.

As I approach Ivy, she takes small steps back.

With how fucking furious I am, any normal person should be terrified right now.

But even though she’s moving away from me, she doesn’t look afraid.

In fact, it looks like this is exactly what she wanted.

And that only ramps up my rage even more.

I take a few more long, quick strides toward her until she’s forced to press her back against the wall. I slam my hand against it beside her head, not touching her. If I did right now, I’d probably snap her damn neck.

“Fucking tell me,” I snarl in her face.

She doesn’t even flinch, instead giving me a smile that’s somewhere between playful and sympathetic. “You already know, Henry.”

My next words come out low and grinding. “I want to fucking hear it.”

But I don’t get to. Just then, a breeze blows into the room through the office door. It’s out of place since I never heard the front door of the building open. And, yet…it’s familiar.

I stumble back with the recognition that comes with it. The realization.

That was my answer.

“You.”

Her smile widens. It’s not cruel, but it feels like it is anyway. “Me.”

Before I can do anything—not that I know what to do—the wind picks up, so strong that papers fly off my desk and my eyes sting. I turn away from it, and my brief distraction gives Ivy enough time to slip quickly and gracefully out of the room. The moment she’s out the door, the wind dies.

I rush forward, stepping into the hallway and turning left and right. But, of course, there’s no sign of her.

“Fuck!”

Going back into my office, I slam the door shut behind me.

Marching to the desk, I sweep everything off of it that the wind didn’t.

My mug hits the wall and shatters, coffee and bits of ceramic raining down onto the floor.

My laptop is next, flipping midair and slamming into the wall with a hollow, cracking thud.

Plastic and metal split on impact, and the screen fractures.

Keys pop free, and pieces scatter across the carpet.

It feels like a reflection of myself.

Breathing heavily, I bend down and stare at the broken computer.

Her own brand of magic…

I’ve been a fucking idiot.

Once again, I’m all alone. The one person I thought was a friend—or at least something akin to a friend—betrayed me. I was stupid. I thought because she helped me, I could trust her. She saved me, but it turns out it was her fault I needed saving in the first place.

I’ll never trust anyone again.

Which is why I’m currently on my way to the ranch where Robin lives. I don’t know what exactly my plan is, but maybe I can force Robin to give me answers since Ivy clearly isn’t going to be any help anymore.

Except I barely make it through the gate when I’m stopped by John. It looks like he was repairing part of the fence at the entrance, and the moment he spots me, he comes to block my path, standing in front of my truck and glaring at me through the windshield.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he shouts loud enough for me to hear him inside the cab.

I roll down my window and lean out of it. “I need to see Robin. It’s important.”

John moves around and stands by my door, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “You can’t see him today.”

“Why not?”

“You just can’t.”

Opening my door and forcing John to take a step back, I hop out and stand directly in front of him. He’s a big guy—a little bigger than me, and that’s saying something—but we’re about the same height. So I’m able to meet him head on, a battle of hostile scowls.

“Listen, Little John , I’m getting really fucking tired of all the goddamn secrets. Why can’t I see Robin?”

His glare hardens at the old nickname. “Other than the fact you’re you ?” He sighs heavily. “He’s sick.”

An uncomfortable weight settles behind my ribs. “Sick how?”

“Cold. Flu. Ebola. Who knows,” he says with a shrug.

My eyes narrow. “That’s a joke, right?”

He snorts. “Yes, that’s a joke. But he really is sick. Flu, most likely. It, uh…It happens pretty often.”

I swallow hard. “How often?”

“Three or four times a year maybe. He’s been in the hospital a few times with pneumonia. It can get pretty bad.”

“He wasn’t like that back… there , was he?”

John shakes his head, frowning. “No. It’s something to do with this world, I think. Or this time , whatever. Coming here from there was like a shock to his immune system. It wasn’t built for this place.”

“Why aren’t we like that then?”

“I have no idea. He drew the short straw?” His frown deepens as he peers back to the bunkhouse in the distance. “I’d take his place if I could.”

One nasty emotion twists at my insides for two different reasons.

Jealousy that they both have each other while I have no one.

Jealousy that John is thinking about Robin in that way at all.

But despite where my thoughts were leading me in the forest the other day, Robin isn’t mine. I don’t have the right to be jealous for that reason.

Of course, that doesn’t stop me.

When that feeling leads me back to the rage I had on the way over here, I change the subject.

“Did Robin ever tell you about the bear?”

John’s brows pull together, and he shakes his head. “What bear?”

“Never mind.” Turning to my truck, I get back behind the wheel and shut the door. “I’m going to see Robin.”

Just as I shift into gear, John’s hand slams down on the window sill of my door.

“You should know something, Sheriff .”

Touché.

“When we first arrived in this place and I knocked you out, I was going to kill you. Robin stopped me. He’s the only reason I didn’t. So if you hurt him again, he won’t be able to stop me next time.”

An uncomfortable lump rises in my throat, but I manage to speak past it.

“Got it.”

Before he’s even let go of my truck, I peel off down the dirt drive, not the least bit sorry when my tires kick up dust all around him. I’m not sure how I feel about what he said. It’s just more confirmation that Robin’s always been a better man than I have.

At least I can consider John and I even now. I was going to kill him too, but Robin stopped me in his own way.

Parking outside the bunkhouse, I get out of the truck and walk up the steps. I don’t bother knocking before opening the door and stepping inside. When I spot Robin curled up in one of the small beds, his eyes closed, I shut the door behind me quietly.

Keeping my steps as light as possible, I approach the bed. The floorboards beneath me creak, and he stirs. Before he can even open his eyes, he coughs violently.

An unfamiliar feeling writhes around in my gut.

The nightstand next to his bed is covered with medicine bottles and used tissues. The collar of his shirt is damp with sweat. His coughing fit lasts a long time before he finally opens his eyes and they find mine.

“Hey,” he says, smiling despite his clearly miserable state.

It’s that fucking smile, that cursed sparkle in his eyes, that makes me realize what it is that’s gnawing away inside me.

It’s guilt .

Is this my fault? Is he sick because I made him run through the forest in the cold?

Robin must be able to tell that something’s off because he says, “Relax. I’m not dying.” He coughs again, but it still doesn’t wipe the smile from his lips. “Unless you’re here to finally finish me off?”

It’s a joke, but I don’t laugh.

“No.” I bend down to sit on the edge of his bed, and he scoots over to give me space. “I came to talk.”

The hope that crosses his face guts me further. “Okay.”

I look from him down to my lap as I consider how to start. I think I would’ve been starting much more aggressively if I found him in any other state but this.

Meeting his gaze again, I ask, “Did you tell anyone about the bear?”

The question is pointless, I know that. Ivy already confirmed who she is. But I guess there’s a part of me that hopes it’s not true, that Ivy didn’t really betray me. That Ivy isn’t the one who sent us here and ruined my life.

“No, I didn’t,” Robin says, and I can sense the truth in his voice. “I didn’t even tell John. I didn’t want to worry him.”

I nod, feeling that knife in my back finally bury in to the hilt.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because I know who was responsible for it. And for bringing us here.”

His eyes widen, and he starts to sit up. “What? You do? Who?”

“I had this friend—”

“ You had a friend?”

He starts to laugh, but it quickly turns into another coughing fit.

When it gets more violent, I reach over to his nightstand and pick up a bottle of water that’s half empty and unscrew the lid.

He takes it from me, but the coughs have his body jerking too badly for him to even attempt to bring the bottle to his mouth.

Taking it from him again, I place a hand under his neck and help him sit up more.

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.

“Henry?”

Like so many times before, he stops me. This time, I don’t fight it. I don’t consider ignoring him and walking away without hearing what he has to say. The way his voice trembles has me feeling an obligation to hear it.

I peer back at him over my shoulder.

“We could let it go.” His voice is small, hopeful. Desperate . “We could let it all go.”

It’s a plea. A plea for me to let it all go because we both know he already has. His eyes are glassy with more than just a fever, and as much as I once thought he looked beautiful when he cried, his tears are the last thing I want to see right now.

But I can’t give him hope where there is none.

“No, Robin. I can’t.”

He drops his head, and before I can see one of those unshed tears fall, I exit the bunkhouse, finally realizing something I should have a long time ago.

It’s my own fault I’m alone and always will be.