Titus: Book Two of the Cantrell Brothers Series

Chapter Thirty

Her cries turned into hiccups with every stroke of the mighty crayon until they got her to drink some orange juice and got her to start telling them all about her kindergarten. Thrane, Anna realized as she looked up at the drugged man, was doing much worse than his soon to be six-year-old niece. Leaning heavily on the island table, his eyes darted back and forth, almost as shaky as his casted left hand as he swung it back and forth and back and forth.

He looked like he was about to have one hell of a break down.

“Thrane?” she called him quietly. “Would you like to sit down?”

The man didn't answer, only continuing to swing his arm while muttering something that sounded a lot like 'metacarpal' under his breath.

“We gave him some Vicodon about forty-ish minutes ago,” Trace said quietly while smoothing down his daughter's wild, blonde curls. “It got him to finally shut the hell-”

Callie didn't even take her eyes off the coloring paper, only saying, “Jack.”

“Sorry, honey.” Trace kissed his daughter's forehead.

After that, they continued coloring with Callie, praising her wonderful coloring skills. It didn't take long before five o'clock hit the oven clock with green numbers, but Titus stayed all the same, coaxing and soothing both her and his niece. Callie beamed up at them, eyes blue eyes holding strength just like her father's brown ones did.

“Uncle Thrane?” the little girl asked, crawling under the table to tug at his frayed, dark gray sweatpants.

The man didn't even look down at his niece before asking, “Yeah?”

“Do you want to color? I sharpened your favorite colors.”

Anna looked down at the table, and sure enough, black and all the different hues of gray were edged into the best point that a crayon could get with the built-in sharpener that came with the sixty-four pack.

“I'm kinda hungry,” was all he said before digging around in the fridge and taking out the giant pot of cooked turkey that they had feasted on yesterday for the official Thanksgiving meal.

The turkey was basically the only thing that hadn't been entirely devoured yesterday, everything else – such as the different flavored pies, the homemade stuffing, mashed potatoes, and corn – having disappeared within everybody's stomachs.

Anna rubbed her own slightly rounded belly, still feeling extremely bloated despite the fact that she had ate a sensible meal that had consisted of mostly vegetables. It hadn't helped that she had had another fitful night of her upset stomach waking her up every hour or two to empty itself within the toilet across the hall.

It came as no surprise when Titus asked, “You feelin' alright?” He had always been able to somehow read her mind.

“Y-yeah,” she replied just as shakily as Callie had done a little while ago.

Walking around his younger brother, Thrane, who was scooping up cold chunks of diced turkey with a ladle, Titus poured her a glass of water all the same from the purifying pitcher and handed it back to her. She took it and drank back most of the contents, closing her eyes to force the nausea down.

“That better?” he asked, voice starting to get a little nasally from his still slightly swollen and bruised nose.

“Yeah, thanks.” She put the glass into the dishwasher and then turned to Thrane. “Do you want me to heat that up?”

“N-no. I like it cold,” he replied and scooped up another spoonful to his mouth with his shaky, non-dominant right hand.

“Don't you start crying now, too,” Titus said from the opposite side of the counter.