“Tell me that you at least thought this through,” I seethed into the speakerphone, my fingers tightening around the steering wheel as if the leather alone were responsible for my restraint.
The early evening traffic crawled around me, but I barely registered it. Every ounce of my attention was directed toward not losing my temper.
Stefan exhaled sharply on the other end, a sound heavy with irritation. He hated this—hated that I was the one lecturing him, that I was the one forced into the role of reason. He hated even more that he answered to me. His younger brother. As though age alone should have qualified him for competence. He should have been grateful instead. After everything he had done—and everything he had failed to do—it was a mercy that I was the one sitting in this seat and n
