Page 106 of The Last Hope
Mykal grinds his molars, uncertain.
I’m about to make an excuse for him, but Kinden clamps a hand on my shoulder. “You’re both being obtuse. Clearly, he still likes you, and you still like him.”
If only it were that simple.“Just last month you thought he broke my heart,” I remind him, “and now you’re advocating a recoupling like it’s the only wise thing to do.” I don’t mention how he punched Mykal. Kinden has apologized profusely for their confrontation.
Not because of anything I said. I would’ve screamed until I lost my voice. Just to make him understand how much Mykal is not to blame.
How much I care for him.
How much I’d die for him.
How my life has no pure meaning without him.
Kinden squeezes my shoulder before letting go and whispering to me, “I was only focused on your heartbreak. I never saw his.” He picks up his pear juice. “Not until later that night.”
The night they fought.
The same night we learned we were lifebloods. My older brother wanted me to sleep in his barracks, and it hurt to leave Mykal. But we agreed to pull apart, so I willingly left.
I stormed ahead of Kinden, and I didn’t see my brother lingering behind. He heard Mykal crying through the door.
I sensed him. Feeling his heart ripping apart, while mine shatters, has been excruciating. To say the least.
The more Kinden fixates on our uncoupling, the less he or anyone else has suspected we have a strange bond. One day, I plan to tell him that Mykal is my lifeblood.
I could almost smile thinking about that moment, but it can’t come until we’re safe.
In the dining hall, Mykal decides to join our table after Kinden’s persistence. My older brother even slides over on the bench. Freeing a space so that Mykal can sit next to me.
He takes the spot beside Padgett.
Kinden glares but pushes the cigarettes to him. “You could’ve sat next to Court.”
“I like this seat better because Court’s not on it,” Mykal teases, his lopsided smile slowly fading as I tense.
He lowers his head.
I’m sorry.
He growls under his breath as soon as he senses my regret.
Franny massages her shoulder and tells me, “You have less than a day to master the art of slouching.”
Most Fast-Trackersslump.
I don’t loosen my shoulders, but I bow forward in a casual posture. I rest my cheek on my fist.
Everyone mentions how I appear exactly like a common Fast-Tracker, and it helps that I already have tattoos.
“You could’ve been an actor,” Franny muses.
Mykal nods. “He’s more than pretty enough.” He curses, our necks hot from his compliment.
“Have you coupled again?” Gem wonders.
“No,” we say together.
Standing, Mykal picks up his bowl. “I’ll be leaving.”
