His Front Seat Was Never Mine
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Summary
Shane was a man who lived by rigid, impenetrable boundaries.
His world was a meticulously guarded perimeter, and nothing that belonged to him was open to casual touch. Whenever I reached for the front passenger door of his sedan, his brow would furrow with immediate irritation. "Sit in the back, Corinne," he would say, his tone clipped. "I keep my briefcase and files up front." Whenever I asked to borrow his gaming console on lazy Sunday afternoons, his refusal was equally swift and cold: "No. Your hands sweat. It ruins the silicone grips."
