Tobias: Book One of the Cantrell Brothers Series

Chapter Thirty

“So full,” Thrane complained from his seat at the table, rubbing his extended stomach appreciatively.

Tobias patted his own heavy stomach, ignoring the very last piece of exquisitely baked turkey that was laying on his scratched plate. Different seasonings and herbs resided in the borders between his gums and teeth, refusing to be flushed away by the chocolate milk he was currently chugging.

The table was covered by huge pots filled with different foods specifically made for the celebration of Thanskgiving. Mashed potatoes with chives and butter, green beans, asparagus, different noodle casseroles and pastas, brown sugared gravy, and stuffing were the dishes covered the table. Everybody had already eaten their fill – well, almost everybody.

Jane was right next to him, picking lazily at her food, a depressed look full of half spirit in her eyes. He didn't blame her. They had eaten a light breakfast with just a bowl of cereal, and she had thrown it all up a few minutes later. It had been the same last night when he had coaxed her into eating at least one banana. Vomit. Everywhere.

It had been a long night the day before. His ribs and sides had hurt him, but that wasn't what had been exhausting. No, it had been waking Jane up every four hours to make sure she didn't slip into a coma. That had been the scariest night of his life, and he was still smarting from it. Tonight, however, was going to be much better. It was only the very first night that concerned the nurse.

“Same,” Trace whined, still continuing to mouth down turkey slice after turkey slice.

Tobias looked over to where Taivon was helping himself to his third serving of salad. The man was always on some sort of health kick or other, always making sure to keep a log of how many carbohydrates, fats, and proteins he consumed in one day. Shaking his head at the extreme ways of the extreme man, he saw his dad giving Jane a concerned look.

“Jane." He turned his attention towards her, delighted when she brought another piece of the golden meat to her mouth. “Is it going any better?”

“Yeah." She grinned, her eyes finally filled with that intelligence that was just her. “I think I'm actually-” She was cut off by the sound of the chair being pushed backwards as she stood up abruptly, clutching her stomach with pale hands.

He watched as she all but sprinted down the hallway and into the bathroom, sounds of hacking and coughing heard even through the thick, bathroom door. Walking over to that same door, he knocked to alert her and then entered the room, wrinkling his nose at the foul smell. Lying on the ground, Jane's face was entirely too pale as she flushed the remnants of her meal down the toilet, pressing her head into her shaking hands.

Pulling her long hair back from her sweaty face, he massaged her back gently, waiting until her breathing was finally normal to help pull her up to her feet. He hugged her tight to his chest then, continuing to stroke her silky hair with his own shaking hands.

“It'll be alright,” he consoled, bending down to look her in the eye.

She avoided his gaze immediately, angling her head down so that he wouldn't be able to see even a hint of her warm, brown eyes. Tilting her chin up with the pad of his index finger, he forced her to look at him, hating himself for being the cause of the tears behind her eyes.

“Just one more week." He kissed her nose, drawing a watery smile from her, “and you should be just fine, okay?”

“B-but,” she stammered, tears trailing liquid paths down her smooth cheeks, “we-e have t-to lea-ave today, and I ruined your-r Thanks-ksgiving!” she cried, burying her face in the crook of his shoulder.

Kissing the tears away, he explained, “No, no, of course you didn't. It was a wonderful Thanksgiving – better than most, in fact. And you know why?”