Craving My Brother's Best Friend (Bailey and Kaleb) novel Chapter 52

**The Night We Borrowed Fire from a Broken Star by Selvin Arlo Crest – Chapter 52**

**Kaleb’s POV**

Perched on the cold, hard bench, I felt the weight of the world pressing down on me as the rest of the team bustled around, packing their gear with a sense of camaraderie that felt worlds away from my own turmoil. My legs felt like lead, heavy and unresponsive, while an uncomfortable burn settled deep in my chest. Sweat trickled down my neck, a reminder of the physical exertion that had only added to my growing sense of failure.

Coach stood before me, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his expression a mixture of disappointment and concern.

“Kaleb,” he began, his voice low but laced with a firmness that sent a shiver down my spine. “You’ve been off all week. Your passes are sloppy, and your head seems to be somewhere else entirely.”

His words struck me like a punch to the gut. I could feel my stomach twist in response, a visceral reaction to the reality that I was letting everyone down.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you, but if this continues, I’ll have no choice but to cut you from the team.”

The gravity of his statement hung in the air like a dark cloud. I slowly lifted my head, meeting his gaze, and I could see the seriousness etched on his face. Coach never made threats lightly; when he spoke like this, it was because he meant it.

“I’m sorry, Coach,” I managed to croak out, my voice rough and unsteady. “I’ll do better. I promise I won’t miss practice again.”

He remained unconvinced, his brow furrowing deeper. “Sorry isn’t enough, Kaleb. This isn’t just about you. This is a team, and everyone depends on you. If you can’t give a hundred percent, then maybe it’s time to step aside and let someone else take your place.”

I clenched my jaw, the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. My mind was a chaotic whirlwind of thoughts, most of which I couldn’t control. I had no idea if my condition would improve, but I couldn’t voice that fear.

“I’ll be better,” I insisted, desperation creeping into my tone. “I promise I’ll be at practice.”

He gave me one last, penetrating look before turning away. “We’ll see.”

With a heavy heart, I grabbed my bag and trudged out of the gym, each step feeling like a march toward inevitable failure. My chest felt tight, constricting my breath. I hated the idea of disappointing anyone, especially my teammates.

As I stepped outside, the cool evening air hit my face, but it did little to lift my spirits. I felt sullen, dragging my feet toward my car, each step a reminder of how far I had fallen.

I switched on my phone, and it buzzed incessantly in my pocket.

A flood of messages from the class group lit up my screen. Normally, I wouldn’t bother checking, as it was usually filled with silly memes and complaints about assignments. But then I saw Bailey’s name flash across the screen, and my heart skipped a beat.

I froze, my finger instinctively tapping the link before I could think twice. It led me straight to the school’s student news forum, and the headline made my blood run cold.

“Bailey sleeping with lecturers for grades.”

A video played, showing Bailey emerging from a lecturer’s office. The footage was grainy and shaky, but it was unmistakably her.

“What the hell,” I whispered, my heart pounding in my ears as I stood frozen in the middle of the walkway.

Scrolling down, I was met with a torrent of hate comments and slurs, each one more vicious than the last. It felt as if they were tearing her apart, mocking her as if her life held no value.

My hands trembled as I called her immediately, desperation clawing at my insides.

The phone rang once, then cut off. I tried again, but it was the same. I kept dialing, over and over, but each time, I was met with silence.

“Pick up, Bailey,” I muttered under my breath, frustration and fear mixing within me.

“Damn it, Bailey, pick up!” I urged, my voice rising.

I glanced back at the comments, my stomach churning. Some people even posted her apartment number. If she saw this, if she read all this hate… I couldn’t let that happen.

I needed to act.

Dialing Malik’s number, I felt a surge of urgency. “Yo, Kaleb, what’s up?” he answered.

“I need your help,” I blurted out, my voice shaking with anger. “Can you trace who posted that video?”

“Send me the link,” he said, his tone shifting to serious.

I sent it without hesitation. “This is urgent.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he replied. “Give me some time.”

Time was something I didn’t have. Each second that ticked by meant more people were watching, commenting, sharing.

My chest felt like it was caving in, and I started pacing the street, dialing Bailey’s number again and again to no avail.

Finally, a text from Malik broke through my spiral of anxiety.

An address popped up alongside a photo of a guy I had never seen before.

He looked ordinary, with a rough face and a cheap jacket.

Without a second thought, I jumped into my car and sped off. My mind raced with questions. Who would do this? Who hated Bailey enough to destroy her reputation like this?

The address led me to a small, run-down house on the outskirts of town. The paint was peeling off the walls, a reflection of neglect that mirrored my own feelings.

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