Page 61 of Far From Sherwood Forest

“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’sguilt.

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—”

“Youhad 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 andunscrew 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.