Page 145 of The Last Hope
I run a hand at the back of my neck. Hot all of a sudden. I know why she’s been getting nosebleeds, and I’ve been sitting with this information since I met her. Telling her hasn’t been possible. It’s connected to too many other secrets that the admirals wanted to be kept.
But I can’t just sit by and watch her get more nosebleeds. Not when I know she’d calm down with the answer.
I have that power, and I’m allowing a human to suffer. Something I promised I’d never stand beside and let happen.
I can’t do this anymore.
I can’t.
Lord… help me.
“Franny,” I say louder, restraining tears, my eyes stinging harshly.
She turns her attention to me, holding the bloodied rag to her nose.
I lose every ounce of resolve when her fiery gaze meets mine.She’s going to hate me.A silent tear falls down my cheek. “I’m sorry.”
She replies back, but the rag muffles her voice.
“She said,what do you have to be sorry about?” Mykal tells me, close enough to hear her clearer. Seven pairs of eyes lie on me like I’m under the hottest spotlight.
I sniff and rub at my cheek.Get it together.
There’s no going back after this.
I take a tighter breath. “I know why you get nosebleeds,” I say. “I’ve always known.” I flip the cigar tin open and closed, my fingers trembling. “It’s hereditary. Your birth dad had the same benign condition.” I smile painfully at a memory. “He always used to carry a handkerchief in his pocket… just in case. And every day he’d change it to a different pattern. When I was a kid, I used to try and grab them from him, to see what the pattern of the day was. Polka-dot. Chevron. Banana-print.” I shut up, not knowing why it’s all coming out like this. It’s like opening a dam, and I can’t shut it closed. “I’m sorry.”
My throat swells like a thousand bees stung my esophagus. I shift uncomfortably on the dresser. The quiet strains the air.
Franny removes the rag from her nose, the bleeding stopped. Confusion laces her eyes. “Why are you talking about him like you know him well?” she asks. “Is he still alive? Was he on theLucretziathis whole time? What about my birth mom?” She fights her own tears.
“Just give me a second.” I can’t look in her eyes. Again, I focus on the cigar tin. Open and close.
Open and close.
Click.
Click.
Tear droplets ping the tin. I need something to drown thispain. I need the scotch. I need the mission. I needanythingelse. But I have nothing but the truth. And it’s time.
It’s time.
“He’s dead,” I say abruptly. “He died.” I raise my head, owing it to Franny to meet her gaze to deliver the rest of this news. “I knew him well…” I choke on a sob. “He raised me.”
“No.” Franny shakes her head, connecting the pieces.
I wipe the tear streaks beneath my eyes. “Admiral Voss was your birth father,” I tell her. Then I look to Court. “Admiral Hull was your birth mother.” Finally, Mykal. “Admiral Moura—”
“Stop,” Mykal growls.
Court is in silent, grave contemplation.
“It must make more sense.” I breathe. “Why they’d give their lives for you. You three weren’t just strangers to them.”
Franny narrows her reddened eyes at me. “You saidlook away.”
“What?” I frown, not following.
