Protection

Chapter 5

TOBIAS POV

On my way out of the house, I spot Tris in the plush living room, curled up under a fuzzy blanket made of some unidentifiable animal's fur and dawdling on her phone. Not two minutes ago, I asked Andrew if it would be fine for me to leave for a couple hours to visit my mother in the hospital, and he granted my request. But I have to make sure that Tris doesn't go anywhere during the time I am gone, since I won't be able to guard her.

"Tris," I say to get her attention. She doesn't respond, too focused on a text she is busy sending. "Tris."

"Hmm," she responds, but I don't think she is really listening.

I sigh. "I'm going out for a while, so that means you can't go anywhere. Understand?" She is silent, besides the sound of the clicking of her phone's keyboard, and I am starting to get impatient; this is like dealing with a toddler. "Did you even hear a word I just said?"

"Mm-hmm." It is noncommittal and probably false because she is so distracted by whatever she finds more important than this short conversation.

"Great. Stay here." I accentuate my order by pressing my palm in her direction. Then, with that—most likely—taken care of, I walk out to my car.

xXxXx

"Yeah, I'm here to see my mother, Evelyn Johnson," I say to the front desk lady of the cancer unit. I think she recognizes me, as I definitely remember her face. I have paid too many visits to this place. "I think she mentioned something about moving into another room last time, so could you please tell me her new room number?"

The woman nods and types quickly on her computer to pull up the room number. A moment later, she answers, "She is down this hallway." She points to my right. "The room will be on your left. Room 122."

"Thank you."

Following her directions, I slowly walk down the hallway, taking my time. As much as I love my mother, I despise visiting her these days. The cancer has grown worse and won't stop spreading, and I don't like watching it overwhelm her more and more each time I see her. The depressing atmosphere of this damn hospital probably doesn't help my case.

I hate this place.

But I care about my mother more. So I swallow my displeasure and turn the handle of her door, stepping inside and taking in her appearance.

She looks worse this time, as I expected. Her face is ghastly and tinted a sickly green color because of the dim lights. She looks older; her skin sags in places that it didn't before, and she looks significantly thinner. The eyes that used to be a warm brown have faded, and she has never looked closer to death than she does now.

This is not my mother.

But I force a smile on my face and greet her like normal. "Hi, Mom."

"Tobias," she mutters, a small grin working its way on her face. I step closer and take a seat on the chair next to her bed, ignoring the bags of unknown liquids on hooks next to me that lead to IVs. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," I say. "How have you been?"

She sighs and reaches up to pull the beanie on her head down farther. That was one of the things she hated most about chemotherapy—the loss of her thick, chocolate hair. "I don't want to talk about it. I want to hear about your life."

So I oblige. I tell her about the last month, about working and living in a mansion, about being a bodyguard to the stubborn young woman named Tris.

My mother doesn't know about my real assignment, let alone Dauntless, and she never will. Not only do I not want her to find out that her son murders people for a living, but I also don't want her to know that I do it for her sake. When I came back after serving in the military, I was broke, and since she obviously couldn't work and had no other relatives, I was left to find a way to pay the hospital bills. Max approached me with an offer that I couldn't refuse. The amount of money I received after my first two missions were enough to pay for her first round of chemo.