Page 2 of Hey, Stepbro

I shake my head, attempting to rid myself of these distractions.

Focus, Brock. Keep your head in the game.

The sound of Coach's whistle snaps me back to reality. "Time to hit the showers."

Thank Christ practice is over. As much as I love my team, my coursework is killing me this week.

The demands of being a star quarterback and taking on countless extracurricular activities are never ending. I’m always running late; either to class, practice, or to the bar with my friends.

I nervously watch the clock on the side of the field, praying I'll have enough time to catch up on my unfinished English lit essay later tonight.

As I enter the locker room, the stench of sweat and unwashed gear assaults my nose. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in one of the mirrors and grimace at the sight. My hair, which I usually pride myself on, is a mess and my face is covered in dirt.

I make my way to my locker, grabbing a towel and a fresh set of clothes. I'm about to strip down when my phone buzzes.

It’s Amanda. She usually doesn’t FaceTime right after practice, so the fact that she’s calling is odd.

I hesitate for a moment, wondering if now is the right time to talk. I’m sweaty as shit and I need a goddamn shower. But before I can make up my mind, my traitorous thumb accepts the call.

"Hey," I say, trying to keep my voice even.

"I wanted to talk to you about something," she says, her brown eyes meeting mine.

I nod, my heart racing. I hope nothing's wrong.

"Brock, I know we've been together for a long time, and I care about you more than anything. But lately, we’ve been drifting apart. You're so focused on football, and I'm busting my ass to get into med school. I don't know if we're on the same page anymore."

The weight of her words hits me like a ton of bricks. She's right—wehavebeen drifting apart. But I’ll be damned to hell if that means we should break up.

What the fuck is she thinking?

"Yeah, I've been busy as shit with the team," I say, "but you're still the most important thing in my life."

She looks at me skeptically, and I know I need to prove myself.

"Let's go out tonight. You and me. We'll have a real date. No distractions, no football. I promise."

She considers my offer for a moment, then shakes her head. "Not going to happen."

My heart drops. "Why not?"

"Because I have plans," she replies, her voice softening.

"What plans?"

"A medical student at Trinity Hospital in Des Moines asked me out for drinks. I said yes."

My mind reels. I can't believe what I'm hearing. My girlfriend, the love of my life, is going on a date with someone else. How could she do this to me?

Motherfucker, I planned to marry this chick. Put a goddamn ring on her finger like the fucking Beyoncé song.

"What’s his name?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. I’ll beat his ass, whoever he is. Right fucking now.

"It doesn't matter. Look, I needed to tell you how I was feeling. I'm not sure what's going to happen between me and this guy, but I had to be honest with you."

And with that, she kills the video call, leaving me standing there in shock. I feel like I've been hit by a truck. How could she do this to me? How could she throw away everything we've built?

"Fuck her." I shouldn't be so cruel, but I can't help it. If she were here, I bet her eyes would pop in shock at my words, but she’s not.

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