Tobias: Book One of the Cantrell Brothers Series

Chapter Fifty-Two

“My condolences,” yet another funeral attendee told him solemnly, only stopping for a second before moving down the line of Cantrells.

Tobias looked down the aisle to the half-open casket, trying to force himself to look into the wooden coffin. Turning his eyes downward, he shook another person's hand, not even bothering to mutter a thank you as more and more people offered their condolences or sympathies before walking down the dark green carpeting.

They were in the same church that Tawson had died in, his brother's coffin hovering right next to the spot where he had fallen. Guest after guest walked over that spot a countless number of times, all hovering around until they found an open seat in the packed rows of light wooden pews.

Laughter filled his ears, a quiet tune that had his teeth grinding in pure annoyance. He hated them, every single one of them. None of them – not even the majority who had flown from Texas – cared. None of them had known Tawson like he did.

The woman with the extravagantly feathered, black hat didn't know that his Bug loved the smell of mangos but hated the taste. Sitting down on creaking joints, the old man with the pin-striped suit wasn't aware of Tawson's love for basketball or that Tawson would only ever use a Nike ball. None of them knew anything, and they would never understand.

They didn't have a right to be here. For them, it was a simple, social gathering to support his parents and brothers. Others, Tobias realized as his eyes scanned the endless line of condolence gifters, he didn't even know. Racking his mind, he tried to fathom who the man standing before him was but simply couldn't.

Not like it matters anyway. None of them loved Tawson like I do, he commanded himself before checking the clock mounted on the balcony once again.

11:12, exactly thirteen hours and six minutes since all sense of feeling and any type of emotion had left his empty body. It didn't matter that the familiar agony and despair were clawing at that place inside his chest at the moment. It didn't matter that he still couldn't bear the sight of Tawson's lifeless and cold boy, for he pushed it all away, locking it inside of himself.

“Maybe it's for the best,” Trace had told him last night. “Maybe it's your own body protecting you.”

“Yeah,” he had muttered, continuing to push away the hurt until he had finally fallen asleep after so many sleepless nights.

Another warm hand touched his again, bringing him back to this God awful reality. The simple gesture of comfort and friendship sickened him, making the church's flowery scent almost too strong to bear. A frail woman, a married couple, little kids, and everybody of all sorts were passing through the line slowly, stopping every so often to tell him a story of Tawson.

“Your brother was a nice man." Some middle-aged man he didn't know from Adam smiled gently.

Fighting to urge to smack that crooked smile off the man's face, Tobias only nodded his head, telling the stranger with his eyes that he better move quick before something terrible happened to that clean-shaven face. The man took the hint, shooting a frightened glance his way before moving onto Titus.

Anna was right next to his second oldest brother. Hair all done up in a neat bun and her face perfectly made up with a light coating of some sort of feminine product, she looked stunning for such a solemn day. Her hand was placed protectively on Titus's sagging and beaten shoulders, and just like that, Tobias had to push down another wave of emotion.

That beautiful, slightly freckled face of Jane Reynolds stayed in his mind, a smile gracing her face. The image overtook his thoughts until the person standing in front of him looked like the very same woman who had took everything from him. Her hair was done up like Anna's, a few stray tendrils framing her pale face.