We settled into a routine somehow. Acting polite when our parents were around and trying to keep out of each others way the rest of the time. But I still wanted to watch the game, even if I had to endure my stepbrother’s presence.

I went into the basement living room and ignored the glare from Nate.

“What’s the score?” I asked.

“3 against 2.”

“What the heck. Did they just score twice in a row?”

“I didn’t know you enjoyed watching soccer.”

“That’s my favourite team playing,” I said as I pointed to the screen.

“The losing team, right?” Nate asked with a smirk.

“No, that’s your team,” I said. I still remember his favourite team. And I would never cheer on the same team if I could help it.

When my team scored another goal, I got up and cheered loudly, knowing it would piss him off.

Nate answered by switching the channel.

“Hey. What the hell did you do that for? I was watching.”

“It was boring,” Nate said nonchalantly.

“You’re just a sore loser. You just did it because your team was losing.”

“That’s not the reason.”

A loud moan from the TV made me look at the channel he had chosen. What the hell was that?