"I'm not angry." At least, not at her, and not any more than he usually is. He starts the car and rolls down the window slightly, so he can smoke. He can still taste her on his lips. "I know you're right."

It would never pass his lips to tell her that he's ashamed. There are some words that he's cognitively incapable of applying to himself, no matter how true they are at times. Ashamed. Depressed. Insecure. Just like his brother.

He'll accept entitled, angry, volatile, a violent, brutal jackass before any of those.

"I'll shower while you get that all sorted."