Titus: Book Two of the Cantrell Brothers Series

Chapter Fifty

Squeezing his eyes shut, Titus took a deep breath. In and out, his lungs filled and then emptied. His whole body was starting to sweat, despite the cold that embraced him. It shook him, making him feel sick. His ears heard the crying screams, but thankfully, he could not see Dr. Milarson as she gave Ella her one month shots.

His little girl cried, and he almost cracked opened his eyelids but thought better of it. If he so much as looked at that needle, Titus knew he would be sick. Even now, as he sat in the colorfully painted and antiseptic smelling room, he could feel the contents of his stomach expand, putting a pressure in deep and making his head swim with nausea.

“It's okay, baby.” He heard Anna coo to their bawling daughter.

His eyes opened at the sound of Anna's soft voice, already scanning over the face that he hadn't spoken a word to in days. Like it always had been, tiny, almost invisible freckles dotted the bridge of her nose, right above the radiant smile she used to kiss away all of Ella's tears. It was radiant and white, transforming Anna's face from tired to absolutely stunning.

How he wished that smile would be directed at him. That he could actually work up the nerve to say something to his own wife. It had disappeared ever since he had walked out only a week ago, slamming the door in his wake. He would open his mouth, but nothing would come out, leaving him the only option to just close it immediately.

On the other hand, Anna didn't communicate with him much, either. They were alike in some ways, the communication aspect while they were fighting being one of those common traits. She still slept in the same bed with him, but he knew it was only for Ella's sake. She looked at him from time to time, but it was just a blank expression that Titus had no idea how to discern. Or how to fix.

He looked down at his hands, scoffing at how they could fix everything on the ranch without a problem. They were no use to him now. He used them to do his work, like always. He used them to play with Ella and hold her in her arms, but they didn't help him with the real problem. Only words could take care of that, and words were something that he still did not have.

After having researched hours on end for something along the lines of their case, he was too distracted to think about about something as menial as words. He had looked up a social security and lawyer but was still in the process of finding the right one. It would happen soon, but Titus just had to find the right person first, so he could be sure with what he would be getting into.

“Her next appointment will be about a month from now, on July twenty-fourth, if that works for you?” Dr. Milarson said, sending them both a kind-hearted smile.

Titus just nodded and followed the pediatrician, Anna, and a crying Ella to the main lobby. There, they scheduled Ella's two-month appointment before securely strapping her into the car seat and getting into the truck.

Anna sat behind him, right next to Ella in the back seat, her face still smiling at their fussy baby. She made no move to speak, and neither did he. Titus just turned the radio dial to a little higher volume. It was a soft, alternative station, the chords and scratchy vocals soon drowning Ella out. The music should have relaxed him, but it didn't. The pounding beat and rhythm only managed to tighten his hands on the steering wheel and his entire body into the driver's seat.

Thirty, pained minutes later, and they were home. He and Anna both unbuckled the seat belts, unstrapping the car seat in a practiced unison that should have relaxed him but didn't quite manage to succeed. Once the car seat was free from the truck, Titus was left to only follow them into the house, his whole body feeling sick and hot again.

He didn't even bother trying to help Anna, only going into the kitchen and downing three ibuprofen pills. They slid down his throat with ease – a complete contradiction to how his house was now. This, this screaming from his baby and silence from his wife, wasn't ease; it was a complete contradiction to the word. This was the pulse-pounding headache that arose within him now more than ever. This was something that he should be able to fix. He just didn't know how, but he could try.