Page 34 of Far From Sherwood Forest (Far From #3)

Henry’s been gone quite a bit longer than it should take to use the restroom. Maybe I shouldn’t have let him go off alone, but between the beer and the music and the company, I was feeling good, like nothing could go wrong. Now I’m getting a little worried.

The guys are all busy joking around while Alan plays something a little more upbeat. I don’t announce that I’m leaving, and they hardly notice as I get up and walk off.

I check the bunkhouse first, opening the front door and peering inside.

All the lights are off, and the bathroom door is open.

Something heavy settles in my gut as I grab one of John’s coats off the rack just inside the door and slip it on.

I don’t know how far I’ll have to travel from the heat of the campfire, and the late night is starting to chill the air.

Shutting the door, I check Henry’s truck next. He’s not in there, so I cut across the field toward the stables. I don’t know why he would’ve come this way, but I’m not sure where else to search for him.

My boots crunch over grass and dirt, the noise louder now as the music fades in the background. When I reach the stables, I pause outside the door, noticing the faint flicker of light leaking through the cracks in the wood.

I push open the door, the hinges creaking, and the scent of hay and leather hits me. The stable is small, just one row of stalls on the left and hay in bales and piles stacked along the right wall. It’s quiet inside except for the shifting of hooves and the occasional snort.

Then I see him.

Henry stands outside of Marley’s stall, her head peeking over the gate as his hand rests on her muzzle. The horse leans into his touch, calm and content.

He looks…different somehow. Softer. There’s not as much tension in his shoulders as there usually is, and there’s something almost reverent in the way he strokes the side of Marley’s face.

I let the door shut gently behind me, and he finally turns his head.

“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice quiet, like I don’t want to scare off the moment.

“Sorry,” he mutters as he drops his arm and shifts on his feet. “I didn’t mean to be gone so long. You didn’t have to come looking for me. Didn’t want to take you away from your friends.”

“Henry, stop.”

I take a few steps forward but resist the urge to close the rest of the distance between us because I at least know him well enough by now to recognize when he’s feeling vulnerable, or close to feeling vulnerable. And to understand that he doesn’t like feeling that way.

“Look, I know you have an aversion to talking about things, but you know you can, right? Talk to me, I mean.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks as he turns back to Marley. “It’s hard to talk sometimes. I spent so long without having anyone around who could talk back.”

“Is that why you came out here?” I ask, smiling as my gaze moves between him and Marley. “To talk to the horses?”

I’m relieved when that seems to pull a grin from him. “I guess so.”

He reaches up to start stroking Marley’s muzzle again, and I stay quiet, being patient and giving him time. It eventually pays off.

“I was never close to any of the horses me and my family had back in Nottingham,” he starts as he stares into Marley’s eyes while he pets her.

“I never got attached. They were just horses, nothing more. It was the same with the horse that came here with me. At least…until she was all I had. She was old when we arrived, and she died after a couple of years. Isolde. That was her name.” He swallows thickly, and his voice cracks on his next words. “I fucking miss her.”

My heart breaks for him. My eyes sting, but I don’t want to cry. I don’t want him to see tears and translate them as pity.

“It must have been awful to lose her. I’m so sorry.”

He sucks in a breath through his nose. “I’ve been an anhedonic bastard for most of my fucking life. Spending time with Isolde in those two years was the first time I think I ever truly enjoyed something.”

“Henry—”

“Don’t, Robin.” He drops his hand once more and turns his body to face me. “I don’t need more apologies. I’m to blame as much as anyone.”

“What does that mean?”

His gaze flicks to the floor between us. The temptation to go to him is stronger than ever, but he’s finally talking to me. It’s like he’s a wild animal, and one wrong move could spook him.

“I was terrified of facing this world on my own. My own cowardice is why I spent those two years alone, why I should’ve only blamed myself this whole time.”

“I would’ve been scared too. I was still scared anyway.” It’s easy enough to admit because it’s the truth. I have no idea what I would’ve done without John. There’s a good chance I would’ve ended up just like Henry. “I don’t think that’s anything to be ashamed of.”

“Shame.” He scoffs, a self-deprecating laugh, and shakes his head. “I have plenty to be ashamed of.”

“Tell me we’re not one of them.” It comes out as more of a desperate plea than I intend. “Because I’d really like to touch you right now.”

He stares at me as though he has to think about it, which makes me sad until he answers.

“Surprisingly, that’s the thing I’m least ashamed of. I guess I already bled all of that religious trauma out of me.”

Something nasty twists my insides until they’re in painful knots.

Please be wrong.

I ask the same question I did before, but the words come out heavier this time. “What does that mean?”

His shoulders slump, and his eyes seem to droop like he’s tired. Like his soul itself is exhausted. I think what he does next is because he’s so worn down by keeping parts of himself hidden, by carrying the weight of it all alone.

Slowly, he turns around. The muscles in his back ripple as he raises the hem of his shirt and lifts the whole thing up and over his head, letting it slip from his fingers onto the ground at his feet.

He stands there, his back to me as it shudders with a breath, exhaling like taking the shirt off released some of that weight.

As I stare at the map of whip marks on his back, I can’t stop the tears from coming anymore. One slips from the corner of my eye and slides down my cheek.

“You did that?” I ask, my voice small and shaky.

“I was going to do a lot worse. This was only a punishment for having darker thoughts.”

I swear my heart splits right open and spills its guts behind my ribs. I don’t want to ask what he means this time. I don’t know if I can bear to hear it. But I know I have to hear it.

“Tell me?”

He’s silent for nearly an entire minute. He doesn’t move, keeping his back to me. When he finally speaks, he does so slowly like each word takes effort. His voice is even deeper than usual, filled with unadulterated pain that I can feel deep in my bones.

“Ivy found me standing on a stool in the middle of that cabin with a rope tied to the highest beam and the other end wrapped around my neck.”

It takes every ounce of strength I possess to not crumble to my knees. More tears leak from my eyes and roll down my cheeks as a vise tightens around my chest.

I can’t fucking breathe.

I did that to him.

I’ve felt alone before, especially after my father’s death and then Marian’s. But to be literally and utterly alone for two years in a time and place I knew nothing about? I couldn’t imagine.

We all have things that are capable of breaking us, and Henry lived through his.

But he shouldn’t have had to.

I can hardly feel my legs, but I force them to move until I’m standing right behind him. Stopping myself from immediately reaching for him takes yet another burst of sheer will. I don’t know how I manage to summon words to my tongue, but I do. Barely.

“Can I touch you? Please?”

The movement of his head is so subtle that I almost miss it, but the moment I see the quick, jerky nod, I wrap my arms around him. I hold him tight like I’m afraid he might disappear at any second, pressing my face against his back.

His body convulses, and I’m not sure if it’s from the sob that escapes him or me.

He hangs his head as his hand comes up to grip my arm as though he thinks I might pull away too soon.

Never .

“I was weak,” he whispers with another sob.

I shake my head and try not to sound like this is destroying me when he’s the one hurting most. “You don’t always have to be strong, Henry. But the fact that you survived two years alone? If you ask me, that makes you pretty fucking strong.”

He starts trembling violently, and I hold him tighter like I can keep him from breaking into a million pieces. When he leans back against me, giving me some of his weight, I worry that, right now, neither one of us is strong enough to hold him up much longer.

“Come on,” I whisper, keeping my arms around him as I pull him with me over to the loose pile of hay by the other wall.

We manage to reach it before we both lose the battle against gravity and pain, crashing down in the bed of hay. Henry turns his body and practically crawls halfway into my lap as he buries his face in my chest and fists the front of my jacket.

I don’t let go of him. I can’t .

I abandoned him once before. I’ll never do it again.

While I’ve realized that that choice hurt him, I had no idea just how badly. I’ve hoped that he would talk to me, that he’d open up, but I never imagined it’d end up like this, with him curled against me, sobbing into my chest.

I don’t blame him for wanting to destroy me.

Falling into rage and revenge is sometimes easier than falling apart.

But, right now, he can fall apart, and I’ll be here to put him back together.

I let him cry as silent tears of my own fall down my face. The front of John’s coat becomes damp, but that’s the least of my worries. The thought that Henry could not be here? That there exists a reality where I’m not holding him? That fucking kills me.

So I hold him even tighter.

“I’m so sorry, Henry,” I tell him softly. “I’m so sorry for all of it.”

His hand grips my jacket until his knuckles turn white. After a few more minutes, his grip eases, but he still clings to me. I cling to him too.

“I’m sorry too, Robin.” His voice is raw as he lifts his head to look into my eyes. His nose is a little red, his eyes a little puffy, but the tears have dried on his cheeks. “I didn’t say it before, but I am sorry for killing your father.”

I wish he didn’t feel the need to apologize, not right now, not after all of this. But I think a part of me needed it.

“I’m sorry for killing your cousin,” I say since we seem to be trading apologies.

Henry tilts his head, his frown deepening and his eyes glistening with more tears that threaten to fall. “We really have hurt each other, haven’t we?”

I nod and take a breath that shudders between us. “We’re done, though, right?”

Sitting up a little more, he places his hand on the side of my neck, his gaze consuming me. “We’re done.”

He kisses me, and it’s the softest he’s ever touched me, more like a brush of lips.

Without pulling away, his mouth a breath from mine, his whispered words tremble against my lips. “Will you fuck me?”

I barely keep myself from jerking my head back, still feeling as though any sudden movements would spook him and ruin this. Instead, I move slowly, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I need you, Robin.”

“I’m yours, Henry.”

I’m not going to fuck him. I’m going to make goddamn love to him.