Chapter <b>169 </b>
Reba’s POV
The next morning arrived too quickly, pale sunlight filtering through the <b>hospital </b>blinds as I stood before the mirror, adjusting the simple ck <b>dress </b>Diana <b>had </b>brought for me. My fingers trembled slightly as I secured my mother’s pearl earrings–a gift on my twenty–first birthday, now being worn to my brother’s funeral.
My brother’s funeral. The words still felt surreal, Impossible. Jason had been troubled, difficult, and often selfish, but <b>he </b>was still my brother<b>. </b>And now <b>he </b>was gone, taken by violence meant to punish me.
I pressed <b>a </b>hand to my stomach, thinking of the tiny life growing there. My child would never know their uncle–just one <b>of </b>many family connections that <b>had </b>been severed by my involvement with the wolf world. I couldn’t help wondering what other prices I would pay for this life I was choosing.
A <b>gentle </b><b>knock </b>at the <b>door </b>interrupted my thoughts. Dominic entered, handsome and somber in a perfectly tailored ck <b>suit</b>. His blue <b>eyes </b>immediately found mine in the mirror, concern evident in their <b>depths</b>.
“Are you sure you’re up to this?” he asked, moving to <b>stand </b>behind me. His hands settled lightly on my shoulders, steadying and warm.
I nodded, not trusting my voice. Dr. Morgan had cleared me to attend the funeral<b>, </b>with strict instructions to return Immediately if I felt any pain or dizziness. The baby was stable for now, but still at risk. I hadn’t told anyone about my morning sickness episode earlier–I couldn’t bear to be kept from saying goodbye to Jason.
“My father texted, I finally said, turning to <b>face </b>Dominic. “He’s asked me toe directly to the cemetery. My mother… I swallowed hard. “She’s not handling this well.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Of course. Raymond is waiting with the car whenever you’re ready.”
I gathered my purse and phone, pausing at the door. “I haven’t heard <b>back </b>from her at all,” I admitted quietly. “Not even a reply to my condolence <b>message</b>.<b>” </b>
“Grief affects people differently, Dominic said diplomatically, though I could tell from the protective way he stood closer to me that he <b>was </b>concerned about how my mother might react.
The <b>drive </b>to the cemetery was quiet, my anxiety building with each mile. I’d messaged my father that I was bringing Dominic, but I hadn’t received confirmation that my mother knew or approved. Herst words to me in the hospital -ming me for Jason’s <b>death</b>–echoed in my mind.
As Raymond <b>pulled </b>the car through the cemetery gates, I could see a small gathering of people near a fresh grave site. My father stood with his head bowed, my mother beside him in a ck veil that obscured her face. Several of Jason’s friends clustered nearby, along with aunts <b>and </b><b>uncles </b>I rarely saw anymore.
“You can still change your mind,” Dominic said softly, his hand covering mine. “No one would me you.<i>” </i>
I shook my head. “I need to be here. He was my brother.”
We exited <b>the </b><b>car </b>and walked slowly toward <b>the </b>gathering. I felt the weight of stares as people noticed us approaching–noticed Dominic’smanding presence beside me, <b>his </b>band supportively at the small of my back. Whispers rippled through the small crowd.
My father looked up, relief crossing his tired face when he saw me. He stepped away from my mother to meet us, embracing me carefully.
“<b>Thank </b>you foring,” <b>he </b>murmured against my hair. “She’s… not well. Be prepared.”
I nodded against his shoulder, then pulled back to introduce Dominic. “Dad, this is Dominic Sterling, my-“I hesitated, not <b>sure </b>how to describe ourplex rtionship.
–
“Her partner, Dominic supplied smoothly, extending his hand. I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Brown.”
My father shook his hand, his <b>eyes </b>evaluating Dominic with the shrewd awareness. “Thank you for being here for her,” he said simply.
I took a deep breath and turned <b>toward </b>where <b>my </b>mother stood, still as a statue beside Jason’s casket. The closer ! got, the more I could feel Dominic tensing beside me, as though anticipating danger.
“Mom,” I said quietly as I approached her. “I’m so sorry about Jason.”
For a
long moment, she didn’t react at all. Then, slowly, she raised her veil. Her face was gaunt, eyes red–rimmed and hostile. “You have nerve showing up here,” she said, her voice carrying in the quiet cemetery.
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