“He’s fine, Mom.” Paige sounded bored.
The men lined up. Archer got the ball and ran for the goal line. Dean closed in on him. Archer thrust out an arm, slamming his elbow into his brother’s chest. Dean grunted. He stumbled backward, but managed to strip the ball loose from Archer’s hands and fall on it as he was going down.
The players lined up again. Dean’s mouth set into a hard slash. Grass stained his jeans and shirt, and there was a scrape on his jaw. Matthew snapped the ball. Dean caught it and backed up, looking downfield for an open receiver.
“Go deep!” he yelled at James.
“Hey, Dean, that’s what your hot girlfriend said to me last night!” Archer shouted gleefully from the other end of the field.
My heart lurched.
Joanna West gasped.
Dean froze. For half a second.
Then his anger exploded. He slammed the ball to the ground and raced toward his brother. He was a blur of movement as he passed the terrace, but I saw his face—a mask of rage and hatred.
Oh, no. No…
Dean lunged at Archer so hard that the thud of their bodies hitting the ground shook the earth. Shock paralyzed everyone. Dean wrestled his brother to his back, then threw a leg over him and straddled him. He drew a fist back, his whole body unleashing in a series of fast blows.
Archer yelped. He had no time to counterattack. His legs kicked out, his torso twisting as he struggled to escape the relentless punches. Dean’s fists flew, striking him again and again. His muscles bunched beneath his shirt, his jaw clenched. He slammed a fist into Archer’s nose. Blood spurted.
“Do something!” Joanna screamed.
The sound spurred the other men into action. Richard West was not one of them. He stood at the sidelines, watching his younger son get pummeled.
Matthew and James grabbed Dean’s arms and tried to pull him off. A growl tore from Dean’s throat as he shoved them away and kept thrashing his brother. Another punch. Another strike. More blood.
Holy Christ…
I ran before I could think, my shoes slamming against the grass. I heard someone shout my name. Wind whistled past my ears. Dean’s fists were a blur, rage firing with every sharp movement. Another Coleman brother tried to yank Dean away.
Beneath him, Archer tried to curl up defensively, his hands over his face. Dean punched through every opening, refusing to stop.
“Dean!”
Not knowing what else to do, I tackled him, bracing myself against his flying fists. His knuckle caught me under the jaw. Stars burst behind my eyes. Pain lanced through me.
I threw my arms around him from behind and held on, praying he would listen. He was rigid, rock-hard with fury, his breath sawing through the air. He seized Archer’s collar and pulled back for another blow.
“Stop,” I gasped. “Dean, stop. Please, please stop!”
He stopped in mid-motion. The instant was long enough for me to shove him to the side. We tumbled to the grass. I landed on top of him and grasped his wrists, pinning him to the ground. His chest heaved beneath mine.
I stared into his rage-dark eyes.
“Stop,” I whispered. “Stop.”
He stared back at me, his breath rasping against my neck. I released one of his wrists and put my hand on his cheek.
“It’s okay.” My voice shook. I brushed my palm over his hair. “It’s okay.”
Some of the rigidity drained from his muscles. One of his arms clamped around my waist, locking our bodies together. I lowered my forehead to his chest. His heart pounded.
“Dean! Are you all right?” Paige shoved at my shoulder. “Get off him, Liv.”
“Don’t touch her,” Dean growled.
I closed my eyes. I absorbed the feeling of him beneath me, the gradual slackening of his body, the subduing anger. My thoughts and emotions tangled in a knotted mess I couldn’t even begin to unravel.
Slowly I lifted my head and opened my eyes to meet Dean’s unreadable gaze. A bruise marked his jaw, and blood was smeared beneath his nose.
A fraught tension coiled through the air. I was struck by the sense that something was about to break wide open, like an egg dropped from a vast height.
Voices rose in a pitch of agitation. I turned to find the Coleman brothers surrounding Archer, who was struggling against their restraining arms, his face bruised and bloody and hard with anger.
“You asshole!” Archer yelled at Dean, trying to dart forward. The Colemans fought him back.
“Archer, come inside,” Joanna pleaded.
I pushed myself to a sitting position. Dean climbed to his feet and scraped his hands through his hair. Strain lined his body, but at least now he appeared in control of his rage. His face was scratched and bleeding from where Archer had gotten a few punches in. He took my hand and pulled me up.
“Dean!” Paige hurried toward her brother. “Dean, how could you—”
He held up a hand to stop her.