54-Funeral

Victor’s POV

“You take for granted things like putting on a shirt,” I tell Stevee as she steps in to help me.

“I know, I broke my arm when I was little. My dominant hand. I got good with my other hand after that,” she tells me.

She still hasn’t apologized for yelling at me during sex. I found that so disrespectful. I mean it was our first time together and she is yelling at me. I noticed she was taking a while, so I thought changing positions would help. I was clearly wrong. But I don’t think she needed to take that tone.

“Thanks for the help,” I tell her, trying to catch her eye.

She avoids it and changes into the suit Bridget brought her after we got back to our room this afternoon.

Tonight, we honor the fallen. As the son of one of them, Stevee and I will be seated with my mother at the head table.

“I asked Bridget about sitting with us, but she isn’t comfortable,” Stevee tells me.

“Lots of history there,” I tell her.

“Mark too, they want to sit with Wesley at the Westmoreland Pack