Page 59 of Hey, Stepbro

"Me, too," I whisper.

Brock pulls me closer and kisses me tenderly.

CHAPTER18

BROCK

Blakely sits across from me in the dining room, his floppy brown hair framing his expressive eyes that, to my surprise, currently carry a hint of nervousness.

He's been buried in his Kindle all afternoon, no doubt a romance novel, which is his happy place. He's been mentally preparing for his own coming out conversation.

Only Blakely isn't coming out as gay—obviously. Everyone here is well aware of his sexuality.

Nope.

We're coming out to our dads.

Cue the screams and drama.

Seated at the head of the table, my dad Nathaniel cuts into his steak. At forty-five, he still looks youthful, with salt and pepper hair and warm hazel eyes that crinkle when he smiles.

Stephen, Blakely's biological dad, occupies the other end. Stephen is forty-two, with a stocky build, short-cropped brown hair, and green eyes that seem to see right through you.

The love our dads share is apparent, something I've come to appreciate over the past few months. I was so upset when I found out Dad was remarrying. I couldn't believe it, but Stephen is a great man. I'm glad it was him and not someone else who wouldn't respect him like Carlos.

"Did you guys have a good trip?" I ask Nathaniel and Stephen, trying to ease my own nerves as I cut into my own meal.

"Absolutely," Nathaniel replies, beaming. "The beach was fantastic, and we even had some free time to explore the island. It's such a beautiful place."

Stephen nods in agreement. "We were gone for five days, but we could have stayed longer. There's so much to see and do in Honduras."

Blakely wolf whistles. "You both got a sunburn."

"Did we?" Nathaniel chuckles. "I knew we should've put on more sunscreen."

"Honey, you could put on an entire bottle, and you'd still burn," Stephen teases.

"I did use a whole bottle," Nathaniel laments. "I hate being so pasty."

Stephen pats my dad's shoulder. "I'll grab the aloe after dinner and give you a much-needed massage."

"You always know what to do. Thank you, biscuit."

"Anytime, teacup."

Blakely makes a face. "O.M.G. Gross."

"You don't like our dads' nicknames?" I joke.

Blakely takes a bite of steak. "They could've gone with piña and colada. This is way too British."

"There was a cruise ship packed with Brits there when we arrived," Stephen explains. "They love the Caribbean... when Tenerife is too busy."

"Cartagena must've also been full," Nathaniel drawls. "God, you can't even walk around the old Roman theater anymore without smacking into ten English assholes waddling around looking for beans on toast. They actually sell beans on toast in Cartagena—can you fucking believe that? That’s the downside of globalization. You can’t escape those fucking Brits."

As our dads continue to discuss their trip, my heart rate picks up. Blakely and I have something important to tell them, and the anticipation is making us both jittery. I glance at my stepbrother, who fidgets with his fork, his leg bouncing under the table.

"Are you guys okay?" Nathaniel asks, noticing our nervousness. "You both seem a little on edge."

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