Before anyone understood what he intended, he tilted the can directly over my head.
Cold beer ran through my hair, down the back of my neck, and across the front of the pale blue dress Ryan had bought me for our anniversary.
For one terrible second, I heard nothing except the liquid striking the wooden deck beneath my chair.
Then Derek started laughing.
Diane laughed with him, and a few relatives followed uncertainly because nobody seemed willing to challenge her oldest son.
I remained seated, breathing slowly while memories of championship nights flashed through my mind.
My old coach had taught me that the person who controlled their breathing usually controlled the situation.
I could almost hear his voice reminding me that strength meant knowing when not to use it.
Ryan suddenly pushed back his chair so hard that the legs scraped across the deck.
“Apologize to my wife,” he demanded.
