My BIL Borrowed My Brand-New Crossover, Turned It Into a Dumpster, and Refused to Pay for Detailing – That Evening, He Called Me Screaming, 'How Dare You?'

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"You were never a scout."

As the crossover disappeared down the street, it didn't feel like my husband had asked me to be generous.

It felt like he'd asked me to disappear.

***

The next morning, nine came and went. Jake ignored my call, then finally texted:

"Relax. Leaving soon."

Timothy blamed traffic, but even he couldn't explain why his brother had stopped answering.

At 10:30, tires crunched over the gravel outside.

I looked through the front window and saw the crossover pull into the driveway.

I was at the door before Jake switched off the engine.

"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 first: alcohol, old food, and something sour.

I stared into the back seat. "What happened in here?"

Jake leaned against the hood. "We cleaned most of it."

The red stain was still wet. Mud and crushed food covered nearly every surface.

Jake shrugged. "Someone spilled a drink."

"Who?"

"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 to the stain. They came away wet.

"Sit in it."

"Sit down."

Jake looked at the seat. "I'm not sitting there."

"Why?"

"It's soaked."

"Exactly."

He folded his arms. "It's just a car."

I photographed every stain.