My brother-in-law borrowed my brand-new crossover, trashed it like a garbage bin, and refused to cover the detailing costs—then had the nerve to call me that night, yelling, “How dare you?”

insurance, or didn’t you spring for the fancy kind?”

“You borrowed it. You pay for the damage,” I said.

The front door opened behind us.

Timothy came down the steps, half-asleep and rubbing one eye.

“What happened? Elle, are you okay?”

I pointed into the crossover. “Look.”

He leaned through the open door and stopped.

“Jake, this is bad.”

“It can be cleaned,continue reading …