Riley
I knew I was in trouble the second Dean’s car made that sound.
I’d only borrowed it. Ten minutes to the store and back. Mom and Dad were out, he was at work, and I needed tampons and didn’t feel like walking. The parking lot was tight. I misjudged the turn. The scrape of metal on concrete was loud enough that two people looked over. When I got out, the passenger-side mirror was hanging by the wires and the door had a long white gouge down to the handle.
I drove it home with my hands shaking and parked it exactly where he’d left it. Then I went upstairs and waited.
He got back at six. I heard the front door, the pause, the low “What the f**k,” and then his footsteps on the stairs. My bedroom door opened without a knock.
Dean stood there in his work boots and the black T-shirt he
