Derek turned toward him with an exaggerated expression of surprise.
“Relax, little brother, because she can wash her hair.”
Ryan stepped between us and repeated his demand.
The joking atmosphere disappeared as everyone realized that Ryan was no longer willing to pretend Derek’s behavior was harmless.
Derek moved closer until the brothers stood almost chest to chest.
“Or what are you going to do about it?”
Ryan held his ground and told him that humiliating someone was not entertainment.
Derek shoved him hard enough to send him stumbling backward against the cooler.
The lid flew open, scattering ice across the deck as Ryan caught himself against the picnic table.
I stood halfway from my chair, but Ryan raised one hand to show that he was all right.
“Don’t ever touch me again,” Ryan warned.
Derek answered by punching him directly in the mouth.
My husband’s head snapped sideways, and a thin line of blood appeared on his lower lip.
