Jake reached for the keys, but I pulled them back.
“Look at me.”
Rolling his eyes, he did.
“No food. No drinks. Nobody else drives it. You bring it back by nine tomorrow morning.”
He raised two fingers.
“Scout’s honor.”
“You were never a scout.”
Jake took the keys.
Timothy smiled as though everything had been settled.
As the crossover disappeared down the street, it didn’t feel as though my husband had asked me to be generous.
It felt like he’d asked me to make myself invisible.
—
The following morning, nine o’clock came and went.
Jake ignored my call before finally sending a text.
“Relax. Leaving soon.”
Timothy blamed traffic, but even he couldn’t explain why his brother had stopped answering his phone.
At 10:30, tires crunched across the gravel outside.
I looked through the front window and saw the crossover pulling into the driveway.
I reached the front door before Jake even shut off the engine.
“You’re late.”
“It’s only 10:30, Elle. Come on, loosen up.”
“You promised nine.”
He tossed me the keys.
“Close enough.”
I opened the driver’s door.
The smell hit me first—alcohol, stale food, and something sour.
I looked into the back seat.
“What happened in here?”
Jake leaned against the hood.
“We cleaned most of it.”
“Most of it?”
The red stain was still wet.
Mud and crushed food covered almost every surface.
Jake shrugged.
“Someone spilled a drink.”
“Who?”
“One of the guys.”
“You promised no food or drinks.”
“I promised nobody else would drive.”
“You promised both.”
“Plans changed, Elle. We were having fun.”
I pressed two fingers into the stain and lifted them.
They came away wet.
“Sit in it.”
“What?”
“Sit down.”
Jake glanced at the soaked seat.
“I’m not sitting there.”
“Why?”
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