Page 87 of Far From Sherwood Forest
Alan opens his mouth next. “Or a—”
“Alright, that’s enough,” I snap, scowling at each of them.
Leaning toward Robin, Alan drops his voice but not enough to keep me from hearing him. He grins, but he still sounds sincerely curious. “Him though? Really?”
Robin’s eyes find mine, and there’s a soft sparkle in them that has me feeling a little more calm. “I guess I like him a little bit.”
They all seem to accept that as a good enough answer and move around the fire to grab beers from the case we broughtbefore sitting in the chairs that form a circle around the pit. John gives Robin a smile and a friendly pat on the back before he looks at me. He gives me a nod of his head, which I return. It feels like a bigger gesture than it appears from the outside.
After that, things settle along with some of the resentment and unease I was feeling before. Robin takes the seat next to me, which helps too.
As we drink and the sky grows darker, I hardly keep track of where the conversations go. Tuck notices the hickey on Robin’s neck, and they all proceed to tease him. It seems to be harmless and good-natured. If Robin looked any more uncomfortable than what the beautiful flushing of his cheeks is doing to him, then I’d probably be knocking their teeth out.
Alright, so I definitely don’t have civilthoughtsbeing around these guys, but at least I’m pretending well enough.
We’ve all had a few beers by the time Alan picks up the guitar, thanking Robin for it. The instrument is a bit different than the gittern he’s probably used to, but it’s not completely foreign. He’s able to pick it up pretty quickly.
The melody starts slow, a steady strumming as Alan picks at the strings, his fingers moving with an easy rhythm. The music weaves through the crackle of burning wood as sparks shoot up like stars. Tuck hums along, but the tune is clearly familiar to all of them.
I peer over at Robin, his face lit by the glow of the fire. His eyes are a little glassy, and there’s a wistful smile on his face as he watches his friend play. It shouldn’t make my chest ache with jealousy. It shouldn’t make me afraid that he’ll choose staying with these men in Sherwood Forest over returning here with me.
But it does.
I don’t drink often because when I do, it’s more difficult to drive the train of my thoughts.
And as I finish my fourth beer, I start to feel like I don’tbelong here, with Robin and these men who feel more like his family, his brothers, than they do his friends.
When Alan wraps up his song, I lean over toward Robin before he can begin the next. “Mind if I use the restroom inside?”
He turns his smile on me, and it’salmostwarm enough to shake those thoughts from my head. “Of course not. It’s easy to find.”
I’m at least not drunk enough to stumble as I head away from the light of the fire and into the shadows of the bunkhouse. But instead of going inside, I walk right past the steps of the porch. I’m not sure where I’m going. I just need a short walk to clear the buzzing in my head.
I thought I was over this, but it turns out I need the night to swallow me for a few minutes so no one sees how alone I still feel.
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 knowwhyhe 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.”
