Page 89 of Far From Sherwood Forest
“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 havehadto.
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 whenhe’sthe 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,thatmakes 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. Ican’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 thanfalling 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.
