Page 44 of Claiming What's Mine

Chapter Thirteen

Jayden

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Tugging on the collarof my suit, I slipped a finger in at the neckline and pulled it away. “Ugh,” I groaned quietly.

“Just leave it alone,” my sister whispered harshly.

Pausing, I couldn't believe how much she sounded like our mother right then. She was barely a year old when our mother passed away, to hear that tone in her voice made the hair on my arms prickle.

Smirking to myself, it felt like she was the older sibling right then and I was the younger brother. “It's tight, I can't breathe.”

“That's the way it's supposed to be.” My sister talked to me through the corner of her lips as she smiled at an older woman who approached to apologize for our loss. “It's a suit, Jay, you act like you've never worn one.”

“I haven't, not since Mom's funeral, and I don't even really remember what it felt like.”

Beth flicked her eyes up to mine and frowned. “I'm sorry, I'm not trying—”

“It's fine, Beth, just focus on this, we don't need to think about that too.”

Turning to the next person who came by to pay their respects, my sister put on a strong smile. “Thank you for coming,” she said gracefully, giving them a big hug.

Beth was a strong, bright, young woman. Eighteen, heading to college, ready to start her own life. My sister had come a long way over the years, and I was proud of her for what she had overcome.

I'd like to think that some of her strength came from me. I didn't have shit to give her, but maybe she learned a thing or two.

My eyes were all over the place. On the ceiling, on the floor, on the flowers, anything that wasn't our dead father. I didn't want to look at him in the casket. Shit, I didn't even want to be there, and I wouldn't be if Beth hadn't asked.

There was something about the way a funeral home smelled that just stuck with me all these years. It was this over powering mix of flowers and chemicals. The scent would instantly fill my nose if I thought about anything that had to do with death.

I remembered how weird it was to see my mother that way, her face all done up in makeup that wasn't her own, her hands cold and wax-like to the touch. It made me so uncomfortable to be there.

Shaking off the thought, I turned to look at the door. A woman had entered the room, moving to the front of the casket and saying a silent prayer. At first I didn't recognize her, it was as if there was a delay between my eyes and my brain. Squinting, I watched her cautiously, highly aware that I knew her, but unable to grasp how.

Dressed in a knee length black skirt and a deep purple blouse, her hair was pulled up into a tight bun, with a small white flower pinned behind her ear. Her brows were tinted with eye shadow, her cheeks splashed in pink.

Turning her face to look towards the row of seats against the wall, everything around me began to sway and spin.

Is that. . .

Blue?

Instantly, my hands became sweaty and my heart started beating faster. Taking short, shallow breaths through my nose, I grabbed my chest as the muscles tightened.

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