Page 88 of Hey, Stepbro

He blows me a kiss that sends warmth flooding through my chest.

"Good luck, Brock!" I shout back, cupping my hands around my mouth to make sure he hears me. The corners of his lips quirk up into a grin, and I know he appreciates my support.

"Aw, you two are adorable," Stella gushes, nudging me with her elbow.

I’m a little embarrassed, but I’m grateful for the friends who understand and support my relationship with Brock. I’m incredibly lucky to have him in my life.

Focus on the present moment.

"Time to kick some Bluejay ass!" Waxley shouts, pumping his fist in the air.

"Go Rawdogs!" I join in, cheering alongside my friends as we watch our team take the field.

The game starts off with a bang.

The sounds of helmets clashing and players grunting filling the air.

Justin slaps Brock's ass in encouragement as they line up for the first play.

A flare of jealousy surges inside me at the contact, but then I laugh it off, reminding myself that this is how football players show camaraderie.

Each pass, each tackle, and every play only serve to remind me of how much I believe in him—both as an athlete and as the love of my life.

"Here we go," Stella shouts, her excitement infectious. "Let's see what our boys can do."

I watch intently as the Rawdogs' offense takes the field. Brock commands his teammates with confidence. As he calls out the play, the Bluejays' defensive line shifts, trying to prepare for whatever strategy he has in mind.

"Show them who’s boss, Brock," I whisper under my breath, gripping the edge of my seat.

"Omaha, Omaha! Set, hut!" Brock barks out the signals, and the ball snaps into his hands. The offensive line moves in unison, creating a pocket for him to throw from. Brock drops back, scanning the field for an open receiver.

"Go, go, go!" Waxley cheers, sensing something big about to happen.

With a flash of his powerful arm, Brock unleashes a perfect spiral down the field. The crowd gasps collectively as the ball soars through the air, heading straight towards Santana.

"Vámanos, Santana!" I plead silently, my heart thudding.

Santana leaps into the air, snagging the football with a one-handed catch. The stadium erupts with cheers, and I join in, screaming my support for my stepbrother and his friend.

"Did you see that catch?" Stella exclaims, grabbing my arm. "That shit was amazing."

"I know, right?" I agree, still buzzing from the adrenaline. "Brock and Santana make a great team."

"Let's hope they can keep up the momentum," Waxley adds, his eyes glued to the field.

The game rages on, each team battling for dominance with every play. Adrenaline charges through the air, heavy like a storm waiting to break. The scoreboard reads 28-27 in favor of the Bluejays, and my being fills with anticipation as we enter the final minutes.

"Let's go Rawdogs!" Stella shouts beside me, her enthusiasm contagious. Waxley grins, his eyes darting between the field and the ticking clock.

"Brock, you can do it!" I yell, clenching my fists and willing my voice to reach him.

On the field, Brock scans the defense, sweat glistening on his brow. He wipes his hands on his pants, then takes a deep breath before barking out a command. The Rawdogs line up, laser-focused, and I hold my breath as the ball is snapped.

Brock drops back into the pocket, searching for an open receiver. Time seems to slow down, and a knot forms in my stomach. The pressure mounts as the Bluejays' defense closes in, but Brock remains calm—a testament to his skill and determination.

"Here it comes," Waxley whispers, leaning forward in anticipation.

Suddenly, Brock spots Justin sprinting downfield, a step ahead of his defender. With a powerful flick of his wrist, Brock sends the ball spiraling through the air, a perfect spiral that leaves the crowd gasping.

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