Tobias: Book One of the Cantrell Brothers Series

Chapter Six

Like trained soldiers on a covert operation, rays of sunlight infiltrated his newly opened eyes. His forehead was hit next, instantly making the room seem as if its temperature had just been raised by twenty, insufferable degrees. With the feeling of suffocation close at hand, Tobias looked around the oddly familiar room, confused as to why he was lying on a bed that had an antiseptic smell to it.

Small, circular objects were sticking on his chest, connected to some type of monitor by thin wires. Each beep caused his head to pound in the most malicious way. A small IV was connected to the inside of his elbow where the fragile veins lay beneath, just like Tawson.

That's when it hit him all over again. The grief and pain were almost too much to bear as he remembered Tawson laying on the cold, sterile hospital bed in that awful room. Then his mother's arms had wrapped around him along with that of his four other brothers and father. Tobias remembered the crying perfectly, but what he didn't remember was how he had gotten in here.

What if his Bug wasn't doing well, or worse, wasn't even alive anymore? An elevated beeping sound went off more rapidly, reminding him of the strange machine he was connected to. Yanking out the IV needle and small, suction cups, he shakily got up on his feet, only to realize that he was wearing a hospital gown that revealed his boxer brief-covered backside.

He found his clothes in the bathroom where he wiped off the sweat that had been collecting on his forehead and back. After changing back into normal attire, Tobias made his way down to room 115 where Bug had been put in.

A few of the nurses and doctors he passed gave him concerned looks as they saw his limp, but he ignored them, a grim set to his face warning them of what would happen if he was interrupted on this dizzying mission. Tobias didn't stop to knock on the door that belonged to room 115; instead, he just barged right in with false confidence and strength that was being sapped from his body every second that he had to wait.

What awaited him sent a lurch through his entire body. A frail, old man was in the bed. Instead of his Bug, there was some stranger who was breathing as if every breath would be his last. That could only mean two things: one, Bug had passed away or two, Bug had been moved out of the Intensive Care Unit because he had gotten better.

Hoping for the latter and very much fearing the former, Tobias walked as calmly as possible to the receptionist's desk.

"Hi, do you know which room Tawson Cantrell is in?"

"Oh yes." She smiled, making the wrinkles around her mouth that much more pronounced, "Tawson is in room 349 on the third floor," she explained after typing away on her computer.

He smiled, a real, genuine smile this time. "Thanks."

The sound of his boots' thud against the tiled flooring distracted him from the rumbling in his stomach. He felt as if he had skipped breakfast and lunch five times over. Room 349's metal, door handle had turned slick with sweat, for he stood there, just holding it in hands clammy with nervousness.

"Bug," he whispered after opening up the dark wooden door.

"Toby!" the older man squealed, sounding more like he was five rather than his forty-seven years.

Bug's face looked healthy again, just shaved to the smoothness of marble and lightly glowing with his wide, carefree smile. His small little teeth practically radiated in the soft, fluorescent lighting. Their mother sat there with that motherly expression of hers that showed her disapproval at Tobias being out of his room and the relief that Tawson was getting back to his old, happy self.

"What are you doing out of your room? You should be resting," his mother scolded.

Tobias didn't even answer, just walking over to Taw's bed until one hip was planted firmly on the bed, the other connecting to his foot on the floor. Leaning back until his head was on the same pillow as Tawson, he breathed for what felt like the first time in days, a calming breath that instantly gave him reassurance.