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My Robin Hood.
I tighten my hold around his body. “I think your father was a horrible, horrible man.”
His lips twitch. “I thought thatyouthought that my father was a wonderful, wonderful man.”
“I didn’t know the truth.”
“And now that you do,” he rumbles tightly, “I don’t need you to pity me.”
Tears sting my eyes then.
But somehow I blink them away. I swallow them down.
I can’t break down just now. I can’t start sobbing and crying when he’s talking to me, when he’s telling me things. I can’t make it about myself when this is about him.
About this broken and bruised boy.
Both on the inside and out.
That I don’t pity at all but am in awe of. For surviving all that. For survivingandgrowing up to be someone who is capable of caring about others. Who understands the meaning of friendship and loyalty and protection.
My broken, beautiful, wonderful Bandit.
“I don’t pity you,” I tell him, my fingers resuming the kneading of his muscles. “Not after the way I saw you fight out there.”
He pulls a face, which with his numerous bruises must be very painful but he doesn’t let it show. “That guy was a moron.”
“He was bigger than you.”
“He was a fucking idiot.”
“Who was beating up on you.”
“I was letting him.”
“Why?”
“Because I was supposed to lose.”
“You were… What?” I frown. “Supposedto?”
His chest moves again, on a big breath, and he grits his teeth.
As if he just remembered it himself. That he was supposed to lose.
What does that even mean?
“Yes,supposedto.” He mutters a curse and stares at me belligerently. “Which you completely blew for me, by the way. With all the screaming as if I was dying and your world was ending.”
“Youweredying,” I insist, upset. “He was strangling you.”
“I was making it look believable,Jesus. I was gonna tap out in a second.” He shakes his head before continuing, “You cost me ten fucking grand with your drama and pink girly tears.”
Ignoring his rude remarks, I inch closer to him, my frown thickening. “Wait a minute, is that why you were supposed to lose? Because you were gettingpaidfor it.”
His jaw tics. “Yes.”
“But that’s… Is that legal?”
