Craving My Brother's Best Friend (Bailey and Kaleb) novel Chapter 49

**TITLE: The Night We Borrowed Fire from a Broken Star by Selvin Arlo Crest**
**Chapter 49**

**Kaleb’s POV**

Time dragged on as I tapped my foot impatiently against the polished floor, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet apartment.

David was still in front of the mirror, a flurry of fabric swirling around him as he changed his shirt for the third time.

“Come on, man, it’s just your parents you’re going to see,” I said, my annoyance creeping into my tone.

“Why are you acting like you’re about to meet the president?”

David tugged at his collar, his brow furrowing in concentration. “You don’t understand, Kaleb. I wear scrubs every single day. This is my chance to dress up, and I just want to look decent.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head at his antics. “You’re out of your mind. It’s your parents! They wouldn’t care if you showed up in your underwear.”

He grimaced, his eyes darting back to the mirror as he ran a hand through his tousled hair, clearly still unsatisfied with his appearance.

“You look perfectly fine,” I insisted, finally rising from my seat.

“Come on, we’re already late,” I urged, a sense of urgency creeping into my voice.

After a long, reluctant sigh, David grabbed his jacket, the fabric crinkling under his fingers.

“Okay, let’s go,” he conceded, and we made our way out of my apartment, the door clicking shut behind us.

We hurried down the stairs and into the car, where David’s foot pressed down on the gas pedal, the engine roaring to life. His fingers drummed nervously against the steering wheel, a rhythm that matched the rapid thumping of my own heart.

“Bailey is going to tease me,” he muttered, a hint of dread in his voice.

“She’ll tease you no matter what,” I replied, leaning back against the seat, trying to relax.

By the time we pulled into the restaurant parking lot, we were already fifteen minutes behind schedule. I followed David inside, the rich aroma of roasted meat and exotic spices enveloping me like a warm embrace.

The restaurant was opulent, with white tablecloths draping elegantly over the tables, shiny silverware glinting under the soft lighting, and patrons dressed to the nines as if they were stepping out of the pages of a fashion magazine.

Scanning the room, I spotted Mr. and Mrs. Hart seated at a table, Bailey beside her mother. She looked both uncomfortable and stunning, her beauty undeniable even amidst her evident unease.

“Sorry we’re late,” David said hastily as we approached their table, his voice tinged with a mix of embarrassment and excitement.

Mrs. Hart beamed at him, rising to envelop him in a warm hug. Mr. Hart extended his hand, which David shook firmly.

I offered a small nod in their direction, my eyes flicking toward Bailey, who lifted her gaze to meet mine for a fleeting moment before looking away, a mix of emotions swirling in her expression.

My chest tightened at the brief connection, but I forced myself to maintain a neutral expression, fighting against the storm of thoughts brewing inside me.

Taking my seat at the far end of the table, I tried to keep my focus steady, resisting the urge to stare at Bailey, my mind racing with unspoken words and unacknowledged feelings.

As the waiter arrived with our meals, I attempted to concentrate on my plate, but the atmosphere shifted when Mr. Hart cleared his throat, his voice booming with pride.

“The son of my business partner will be joining us tonight,” he announced, a hint of excitement in his tone. “He’s in your college too.”

I barely registered his words, my mind preoccupied with my own thoughts. Business partner’s kid? So what?

But when the doors swung open, I froze, my heart dropping as I recognized the figure walking in.

Ethan.

My entire body went rigid as I watched him glide toward our table, a confident smile plastered on his face. My grip tightened around the spoon in my hand, my heartbeat echoing in my ears.

What the hell is he doing here?

He approached our table as if he belonged there, and it ignited a fire of rage within me.

“Good evening,” he greeted smoothly, his voice dripping with charm.

“Ethan!” Mr. Hart exclaimed, rising to welcome him with open arms.

“Welcome, welcome! Sit down. Everyone, this is Ethan Cross.”

I felt my teeth clench painfully, a wave of frustration washing over me.

Of course, it had to be Ethan Cross—the son of Trevor Cross.

If Mr. Hart was so welcoming toward him, it suggested an ongoing relationship with Trevor Cross, hinting at secrets I was not privy to.

“We all know who he is, Dad,” Bailey muttered, her voice laced with irritation.

Ethan settled himself right next to her, and I struggled to contain my urge to leap up from my seat.

“So, are you all friends?” Mr. Hart inquired, glancing around the table with genuine curiosity.

“Yes,” Ethan replied effortlessly, flashing a smile at Bailey that made my insides churn.

“Friends, indeed. In fact, I’m hoping to be more than just friends with her.”

My hand trembled, and the spoon nearly slipped from my grasp.

“Stop flattering yourself. I have plenty of people who want me,” Bailey retorted, a fierce glint in her eyes.

Ethan smirked again, his confidence unshaken. “No one is better for you than me, darling,” he teased, laughter lacing his words.

Mrs. Hart smiled at him, her expression warm. “He’s bold, but please, no more flirting. We’re here for dinner.”

“Yes, stop flirting already,” Mr. Hart chimed in, a chuckle escaping his lips.

My stomach twisted at the sight of their camaraderie.

How could they smile at him? How could they laugh with him? Did he orchestrate everything that led to my father’s demise, all while cozying up to Trevor Cross?

I glared at Ethan, my blood roaring in my ears as he brushed his arm against Bailey’s deliberately, whispering something that made my insides boil.

“You’d look beautiful with my last name.”

That was the final straw. I couldn’t endure another second in that chair, surrounded by their laughter and Ethan’s smugness.

“I need to use the restroom,” I muttered, my voice rough and strained.

Those bastards killed my dad. Trevor Cross and his associates destroyed my family, and while I wasn’t entirely sure about Mr. Hart’s involvement, the fact that he was so comfortable with Trevor’s son spoke volumes.

I could hardly breathe, the weight of anger pressing down on my chest.

If I stayed one more moment, I feared I would break something—perhaps even Ethan’s face.

I pushed back my chair, the legs scraping harshly against the floor, drawing attention as I stormed toward the hallway.

I didn’t stop until I reached the restroom door. I shoved it open and leaned heavily against the sink, my hands gripping the edges as if they were my only anchor.

My reflection stared back at me, eyes dark and filled with fury, jaw clenched tight, veins standing out prominently in my neck.

“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, the word a mantra of frustration. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

I splashed cold water on my face, desperate for the chill to quell the raging storm inside me, but it did nothing to calm the anger surging through my veins.

How dare they? How dare Ethan sit at that table, acting like he belonged?

How could Mr. Hart smile as if everything was normal?

I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to block out the memories of the day I learned about my father’s fate, but they came crashing back, uninvited and relentless.

My father’s voice, his dreams for the future—all gone, while the people responsible seemed utterly unbothered, as if they had forgotten the devastation they had wrought.