The sky was just starting to lighten with dawn when I woke. The clock read five-forty. Dean’s side of the bed was empty, the sheets and covers rumpled. I crawled out of bed and trudged to the bathroom to brush my teeth and splash water on my face. I shrugged into my robe, finger-combing the tangles from my hair before heading downstairs. A rectangle of light came from the kitchen.
As I approached, the low rumble of male voices stopped me. My heart stuttered with a strange sense of foreboding.
“You fucked it up once, you’ll fuck it up again,” Dean hissed.
“Just because it’s not what you’d do,” another voice snapped. “Give me the goddamn money, and I’ll get out of here.”
“No.”
“Then welcome me home for Thanksgiving, brother.”
Archer. My breath stopped in my throat. The deadbeat brother had returned. Unable to stop myself, I peered around the kitchen door.
Dean stood with his back to me, clad in his running clothes, his shoulders rigid. Across from him was a tall, younger man with overlong, unkempt black hair and a sullen expression. Dressed in jeans and a dirty T-shirt beneath a worn leather jacket, he stood with his legs apart and his hands on his hips in a stance of insolent defiance.
“You’re not staying here for the weekend,” Dean said.
“Aren’t I? Mom will love it. All of us together for the holidays.”
Dean’s hand shot out to grab the front of his brother’s T-shirt. “You little bastard.”
“Don’t fucking—” Archer stopped. His gaze jerked to me, pinning me to the spot. “Who the hell are you?”
Dean spun around. “Liv, what…”
“I… I couldn’t sleep. Must be the time change.” I pressed a hand to my chest and backed up a step. “I’m sorry.”
Archer looked from me to Dean and back again. Understanding dawned in his expression suddenly. He smiled.
Dean crossed the room and stopped beside me, putting a protective hand on my lower back.
“Hello.” Archer approached, his brow furrowing as he looked at me. “We haven’t met yet. I’m Archer West, Dean’s brother. And you’re Dean’s…?”
Yes, I’m Dean’s.
“Liv Winter,” I said.
“Liv.” He extended a hand.
Up close, Archer was handsome in a scruffy way, with thick eyelashes and a wide mouth. His features were smoother than Dean’s, almost pretty in the way his cheekbones sloped to his jaw, but his eyes contained a gleam that was unnerving at best.
I shook his hand, disliking the way his long fingers tightened around mine. As he drew his hand away, he slid a forefinger across my palm.
A shudder of revulsion raced through me. I pulled away and wiped my hand on my robe.
“Um, I’ll leave you to talk,” I said. “Sorry for the interruption.”
“No, stay,” Archer suggested. “Dean was just making coffee, right, bro?”
Dean shook his head. “Get the hell out, Archer. Liv, sorry he’s such an ass.”
“Liv,” Archer said. “Short for…?”
“Olivia.”
“Shakespearean.” He raised a black eyebrow. “Nice. I like it. Reminds me of that quote, you know, live fast, die young. Do you live—”
Before he could finish, Dean stepped forward and shoved his brother to the side. Archer’s shoulder hit the doorjamb with a thud. Anger flared, and he whirled toward Dean.
Just when I thought Archer was about to throw a punch, Dean took another threatening step toward his brother. They locked gazes for half a second, then Archer retreated.
Hah.
“Asshole,” Archer muttered, embarrassment coloring his face.
“Come in, Liv.” Dean closed his hand reassuringly around my arm. “If he makes you uncomfortable again, I will fucking kill him, and he knows it. Right, bro?”
Archer shot me a glare, then grabbed a beat-up duffle bag by the refrigerator and stalked out of the kitchen. The instant he left, Dean’s shoulders sagged.
“Sorry.” He pulled me against his side. “I didn’t expect him to come back. No one did.”
“He doesn’t come home for the holidays?”
“He doesn’t come home unless he wants something,” Dean replied, his tone bitter. “What he wants is the money my grandfather left him.”
“Why does he want it from you?”
“My grandfather set what’s called a condition precedent for Archer’s inheritance. That means Archer has to finish college, get a steady job, prove he’s capable of handling the money. My grandfather also designated me as the person who determines if and when Archer has fulfilled the conditions and what percentage of the money he should get at any given time.”
“You?” I wondered why Richard West wasn’t the designated “person in charge,” then remembered that Dean told me his father and grandfather had been estranged.
“Has Archer received any of his inheritance yet?” I asked.
“No.”
“And that’s why he’s mad at you.”
“One of the reasons.” He filled the coffee grinder and watched as the blades pulverized the beans.
“What are the other reasons?”
He didn’t respond, his expression set. A sudden trepidation rolled through me.
“Dean, what—”
I stopped when Dean glanced to the doorway. The sound of heavy footsteps preceded Richard West’s entry into the kitchen.
“Morning.” Richard strode in dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt, smelling like cologne. “Liv. Dean. Coffee ready?”
“Couple of minutes.” Dean filled the pot with water. “Dad, Archer is back.”
Richard frowned. “Where is he?”