"If he'd get the ball within a reasonable distance—," I start to argue my case to Coach Prescott, but Kyle interrupts me.

"You touched it. The pass was clean. If it weren't, you wouldn't have been able to do that.

That's logical—if you're a complete idiot.

"It was a miracle I was able to manage that. Even the best wide receiver in the NFL wouldn't have been able to bring that pass in," I snap at Kyle.

Football has been this for us since I moved to town—a constant source of something to fight about. Before my mom dragged me across the country to move in with the latest in a long string of asshole boyfriends, football was my freedom. It was the only thing I had keeping me sane when I had nothing but chaos at home. I've had an endless stream of stepsiblings and almost step siblings in my life, but until Kyle, none of them played football. It was always my thing.

"Enough," Coach shouts before Kyle has the chance to respond.

Everyone on the field stands at attention because Coach Prescott doesn't shout. It's one of the things about him making him the best coach I've ever had, and I've had a lot. My eyes snap to Coach, and I don't have to look at Kyle to know he's giving Prescott his full attention too.

"It's communication! The two of you can't get on the same page, and your arguing isn't going to solve that!" Prescott screams so loudly a vein pops out in his neck.

"Until the two of you can get your heads out of your asses, you're benched," Prescott says.

He says the words as if he's reporting the weather, but my heart sinks to my stomach. I glare at Kyle.

"Coach, you can't be serious," he's complaining.

I'm not sure I've ever been on his side before this, but I am unequivocally in complete agreement now. Coach is overacting to a few dropped and incomplete passes.

"This has been an issue all season. It isn't the first time I'm bringing it up, and I won't lose another game because of it," Prescott tells us.

"You will if you bench us," I argue.

"I will either way. At least this way you might consider making more of an effort to get along and get in sync."

Unlikely since I want nothing more than to punch my stepbrother in the face for causing this.

"Get cleaned up! Tyler, get your arm ready for Friday, you're starting. Tomorrow's practice determines who'll play in Caruthers's position," Coach shouts.

"Coach," I make a final attempt to reason with him, but he cuts me off.

"I don't want to hear it, Caruthers. The only way you're going out on my field again is if you two start communicating," he says before walking off.

Fuck. Once he's gone I turn to Kyle.

"I'm not any happier about this than you are," he snaps at me.

I'd call bullshit, but I'd rather allow him to have the last word than show him how much football means to me. He's walking away before I have the chance to say anything anyway. As he walks towards the locker room, my eyes drop down to his ass. As much as I hate my stepbrother, there's always a small part of me wanting to fuck him. It isn't right someone I have so little in common with would make my blood heat up more than anyone else ever has.

When I realize I'm staring, I shake my head to snap myself out of it. I decide to walk to the car to wait on him because being around him right now is a bad idea. It's bad enough we have to ride home together. My barely contained temper might not make the drive.

I walk across the field to the parking lot on the other side, and I find Kyle's Ferrari in its usual spot. I open the door, and I climb into the passenger side to wait on him to join me.

Sitting in the car never fails to make me feel like trash, and what's worse; it makes me feel like I'm lying to myself. I'm not this person. If it weren't for Kyle's father calling the bus to tell them to stop coming to his house, I'd still be riding the damn thing. As it is, Kyle's ridiculous and overpriced sport's car is my only transportation to and from school. I use Kyle's car once a week on Tuesday nights, and that's only out of necessity. If there were any other way, I wouldn't even do that. Other than that, the two of us have an unspoken agreement I don't borrow it.

Kyle showers quickly, and he's climbing into the car before I have time to convince myself I'm not being a hypocrite by riding in the car. I glare at him as a whiff of his cologne reaches my nose, and my stomach pinches. I do my best to ignore my body's reaction in favor of giving the asshole the cold shoulder.

Most nights, we drive home in complete silence. We can't agree on music any more than we can agree on anything else, and we discovered early into our parent's relationship the radio is more trouble than it's worth.

Unfortunately, that means spending an hour a day in complete silence in a car with Kyle. Kyle's dad's house is a multimillion-dollar house in the middle of nowhere, and it's a solid thirty-minute drive from the school.

In all of the years I've been dragged around from my mom's boyfriend's houses, I've never been put in a less ideal situation than this one. In the past, my mom has stuck with trashy assholes that act like trashy assholes. At least in those situations, I was relatively respectable. Anytime Holland or Kyle flash their money, I'm reminded of how dirty and low class I truly am.

Kyle's phone rings three minutes into the drive, and I feel my shoulders relax slightly. As much as I hate having a conversation with the guy, these silent car rides make me tense as shit.

"Hey, beautiful," he answers immediately.

That's Kyle's girlfriend. He's been with her since I moved into his house, and every time he talks to her, I'm reminded the hottest guy I've ever encountered is as straight as they come. Him being with her is ideal because I need the reminder sometimes.

"It was alright," he says, and even I can hear the lack of enthusiasm in his voice.

"Oh," Kyle says in response to whatever Ellie says.

"That's really sweet, Elle, but maybe you could come to another one?" Kyle says.

"What? Why! I thought you'd be happy!" Ellie responds, and I cringe for Kyle because she's pissed.

"I am," Kyle says before glancing at me for a moment.

I narrow my eyes slightly, mostly for show at this point. He turns his attention back out the windshield, and when he talks again, his tone is hushed.

"I'm benched for Friday's game," he says quietly as if we aren't in a perfectly quiet vehicle sitting a foot from one another.

I snort at his attempt to be quiet, and he glares at me.

"Wouldn't be benched if you could throw the ball within a yard of me," I argue when his eyes narrow at me.

"Can I call you back?" Kyle asks her.

I don't hear Ellie's response, but Kyle hangs up the phone. Once it's quiet again, tension is thick in the car. He's pissed at me, and quite frankly, I'm not feeling him at the moment either.

"You aren't blameless either," he snaps at me without looking in my direction.

"Suppose I could wake up with Von Miller's talent," I tell him.

He takes an audible breath, letting me know he's barely holding it together.

"There were a couple of passes that could've been better," he admits.

"A couple?" I laugh.

"You're seriously going to claim that was all on me?" he asks finally looking at me.

Truth is, it wasn't. I had a shitty practice, but Kyle has everything handed to him in life, and I have no intentions of making his life any easier. I climb out of the car, slamming the door behind me. I walk inside our house, leaving him in the car. I don't have any interest in discussing practice with the guy.

When I slide my key into the lock of Kyle's father's house, I get the same feeling I always do when overwhelmed with wealth. There's no reason somebody like me should be living in a house like this. I'm lying to myself if I let myself get sucked into this life where everything fits together as easily as my key slides into the lock of this house.

When I walk inside, I'm reminded all the wealth in the world doesn't buy happiness. The house is cold. It's always been this way. All of the lights are out in the house, and the blackout curtains on every window make it dark. Even though it's barely five o'clock, it's nearly pitch black in here.

It's also quiet. Nobody is home. Nobody is ever home when Kyle and I get here. His dad works late hours. We don't really know what my mom does all day, but most nights she comes home with shopping bags. She lives a life I would find dreadful, but she seems to enjoy it, so I guess it's fine. My life is never more miserable than when she isn't happy. It's better to keep Amelia Amerson happy if at all possible.

I walk into the living room, flipping on the light as I enter the room. I'm aware of Kyle's presence when he joins me in the house. Instead of sitting down on the couch to watch television together, Kyle goes into the kitchen. He always makes himself dinner when he gets home. I always watch tv until I feel like going into my room for the night. It may not be the most enjoyable routine, but it's a routine just the same.