Craving My Brother's Best Friend (Bailey and Kaleb) novel Chapter 2

**The Night We Borrowed Fire from a Broken Star by Selvin Arlo Crest**

**Bailey’s POV**

The closet felt like a suffocating little cave, dark and cramped, with the only illumination seeping through the narrow crack beneath the door. My back pressed firmly against the solid wood, and I could feel the pulsating rhythm of the music from outside, thumping like a heartbeat in my ears, syncing oddly with my own racing pulse.

Kaleb was leaning casually against the opposite wall, his posture relaxed yet his eyes sharp, scrutinizing me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.

“Why are you giving me the cold shoulder, Bails?” he finally broke the heavy silence, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. I couldn’t help but scoff, the sound escaping my lips before I could rein it in.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I retorted, crossing my arms defiantly over my chest, my gaze fixated on the scuffed toes of my sneakers. The floor beneath me seemed to tilt, swirling in a dizzying dance, and I couldn’t shake the nagging thought that something was seriously off with me.

Kaleb straightened, his expression shifting into something more serious, more demanding. “Look at me then,” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

There was no trace of playfulness in his voice, and the weight of his words caught me off guard, causing my heart to skip a beat.

He waited, expectant, but I couldn’t bring myself to meet his gaze. My head felt like it was floating away, lost in a haze of confusion and something more. What irked me the most was his calm demeanor; he was so unflappable, so unfazed by everything that had just transpired.

“Are you just going to pretend like everything’s alright?” I snapped, my eyes darting to the old clothing rack beside me, anything to avoid his piercing stare.

“Is everything not alright?” he replied, his tone incredulous, as if he were addressing the most obvious question in the world. I almost laughed, not at him, but at myself for expecting him to be affected by what had happened.

“Okay then,” I shrugged, biting down on my bottom lip, frustration bubbling up inside me.

Why was this getting to me so much?

My chest felt tight, a dull ache spreading through me, and the room continued to spin, making me teeter on my feet.

“Whoa there.” I felt his hands land on my shoulders, but the contact sent a jolt of irritation through me rather than comfort.

“I’m fine,” I snapped, shrugging him off, my voice dripping with a venom that I hoped concealed the tremor beneath.

Kaleb’s eyes widened momentarily before narrowing again, his gaze now scrutinizing me as if I were a specimen he needed to analyze.

“How much did you have to drink?” he asked, but it sounded more like a command than a question, reminiscent of how my brother scolded me when I crossed a line.

But Kaleb wasn’t my brother. I owed him no explanation.

“What is it to you?” I shot back, my irritation flaring.

“Bailey…”

—

**Chapter 2**

“You know what not to say.” I raised my hand, halting him mid-sentence, already bracing myself for the predictable lecture. “You’re going to say it’s because I’m your best friend’s little sister, or that you have my best interests at heart, or whatever nonsense excuse you can muster.”

My chest heaved as I took a bold step forward, finally gathering the courage to meet his eyes. Emotions surged within me like a tidal wave breaking through a dam, threatening to engulf me.

“You’ll say I’m not old enough to drink, or that I’m too childish to grasp the realities of life,” I continued, my voice rising with each word.

I should just stop talking. I should wait it out, let the seven minutes pass in silence. I was drunk, and I was painfully aware of it. My thoughts were a jumbled mess, yet the urge to express these pent-up feelings was overwhelming.

Kaleb simply watched me, his expression inscrutable, which only fueled my anger further.

“You!” My hands clenched into fists, and in a fit of frustration, I collided with his chest, feeling the solid warmth beneath my palms. He barely flinched, so I kept pushing against him. “You probably see me as just a silly teen who you’re obligated to look after,” I hissed, my fists weakly thudding against him. “That’s all I am to you, right?”

I hated how my voice cracked, how my anger was bleeding into something raw and vulnerable. My throat felt tighter than the knot of emotions twisting in my chest, and I longed to blame the alcohol for the tears that threatened to spill over.

“After all…” I trailed off, my fists trembling against his chest. “…you’ll never see me the way I see you.”

The confession slipped out before I could stop it, the words hanging heavy between us, louder than the bass thumping outside the door.

An agonizing silence enveloped us. I kept my head bowed, unable to meet his gaze, acutely aware that I had crossed an unspoken boundary, a realization that struck me with the force of a thunderclap.

“Say something.” My fists tightened around his shirt, fear gnawing at me that he might laugh or, worse, pity me.

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