I sat on the edge of the bed and stared blankly at the wall for several minutes before I glumly pulled off one boot, then the other.
Something fluttered out of the second boot and landed near my foot.
It was a small, curled scrap of parchment, yellowed from being crammed out of sight for who knew how long. Instantly, I knew what it was and my heart seemed to shrink painfully in my chest.
It was one of Laurel’s notes. Slowly, I bent and picked it up, then smoothed it open. Her handwriting greeted me.
Surprise! How long did this one take you to find?
Can’t wait to see you again soon.
Love, Laurel
I read it once, then again and then a third time, though the words didn’t change.
She must have written that back when she still wanted to see me, back when she still slipped notes into my things for the pleasure of imagining me finding them later.
Love, Laurel
Those words struck deepest.
I pressed the paper flat beneath my thumb and tried to breathe through the ache opening inside my chest. I could picture her hiding it, her eyes bright with mischief. She had probably been proud of herself for slipping it so deep into my boot, knowing that I’d miss it for weeks.
I had been patient. I had given her distance because James told me to. I had told myself that if I stayed loyal to the mission, if I proved I had not joined only for her, if I waited long enough, perhaps she would come back when she was ready. But waiting had done nothing except expand that excruciating, crushing ache inside of me.
I was tired of pretending I could endure this calmly. I was tired of letting pride, fear, and my past stand between us and our potential happiness without even trying to figure things out. If Laurel truly wanted nothing more to do with me, then I would have to accept it. I couldn’t force her to forgive me. I wouldn’t beg her to love a man she no longer trusted.
But I could still fight. I could apologize for the things I had said and the things I had done. I could show her that I was still here, still trying, still choosing the mission and the Merry Men and the better life she had once made me believe was possible.
I folded the note carefully and held it in my fist.
I had to see her again.
I felt like I would burst otherwise.
The time for waiting patiently was over.
I was ready to fight for her.
LAUREL
“They’re coming!” Teresa’s shrill voice split the air. “Everyone’s coming!”
I froze.
Everyone? They weren’t supposed to send everyone. The horn had barely sounded. The usual strategy was to send one or two runners to scout the area first, then save the stronger players to block the exits once they found me. That was the strategy I’d planned for. Apparently, Little John had either learned my strategy or else had decided that after three years of losing to me, strategy was less important than overwhelming force.
“Go, Laurel, go,” Peter urged in a whisper, scanning the foliage surrounding the chapel.
Several people burst into the clearing all at once.
Dalton and Peter sprang into action, but there were too many for them to hold back. Teresa couldn’t help physically, and there were five on Little John’s team. My intended exit was blocked. I couldn’t retreat because this was the starting line. I was hidden behind several shrubs, but it was a meager hiding place and wouldn’t serve me for long.
I was cornered.
Blast.
I couldn’t lose. Being caught within a few minutes of the horn would be beyond humiliating.
