Craving My Brother’s Friend

Brother’s Wrath

Amira POV

"Get in here." Zayne's voice is dead calm, which somehow makes it worse than if he were yelling.

I step back into my room, and he follows, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The sound makes me jump.

"Sit down."

"Zayne, I.."

"Sit. Down."

I sink onto my bed, my legs too shaky to hold me up. He starts pacing back and forth across my small room like a caged animal. Three steps to the window, turn, three steps to the dresser, turn. His fists never unclench.

"Three days," he says finally. "Three days I've been driving around, trying to make sense of what I saw in that room."

I want to speak, but something in his tone keeps me quiet.

"Do you know what I kept thinking about?" He stops pacing and looks at me. "Your eighteenth birthday party. Remember that?"

Of course I remember. It was the night everything changed for me, though I didn't realize it then.

"You were so drunk you could barely stand up," he continues. "And who do I find taking care of you? Khalil. Holding your hair while you threw up, making sure you drank water, tucking you into bed like you were something precious."

The memory hits me like a punch. I'd forgotten about that part of the night. I only remembered waking up with a hangover and finding aspirin and water on my nightstand.

"I thanked him," Zayne's voice cracks. "I actually thanked him for taking care of my little sister. And you know what he said?"

I shake my head.

"He said it was his pleasure. His pleasure." Zayne laughs, but there's no humor in it. "I thought he was just being nice. Being a good friend. But he was already thinking about you, wasn't he? Already wanting you."

"It wasn't like that."

"Wasn't it?" He whirls on me. "Tell me, Amira. When did it start? When did you first start looking at my best friend like you wanted to f**k him?"

"Don't talk about it like that."

"Like what? Like the truth? Because that's what this is, isn't it? You want to sleep with Khalil."

Heat floods my cheeks. "It's not just about sex."

"Oh, it's love, is it?" His voice drips with sarcasm. "How romantic. My baby sister is falling in love with the man who's been planning this for years."

"He wasn't planning anything!"

"Wake up, Amira! Men like Khalil don't do anything without a plan. He's been grooming you."

The word hits me like a slap. "That's not true."

"Isn't it? Think about it. All those times he asked about your classes, your grades, your life. All those birthday gifts that were just a little too thoughtful, a little too personal. All those late-night conversations when I was working."

"He was being nice. Being family."

"Family?" Zayne's laugh is harsh. "Family doesn't look at each other the way he looks at you. The family doesn't kiss like what I saw downstairs."

Tears start burning behind my eyes. "You don't understand."

"Then help me understand. Explain to me how my best friend, the man I trusted with everything, including you, decided to betray me in the worst possible way."

"He didn't betray you!"

"He's been lying to me for years!"

"He never lied. He just... he never acted on his feelings."

"Until now."

"Until now," I whisper.

Zayne stops pacing and sits heavily in my desk chair, suddenly looking exhausted. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"I fell in love."

"You destroyed everything." His voice is quiet now, which is somehow worse than the yelling. "Fifteen years of friendship. Fifteen years of brotherhood. Our business partnership. Our family dynamic. All of it, gone."

"It doesn't have to be gone."

He looks at me like I've said something incredibly stupid. "You think we can all just go back to normal? Sunday dinners and Christmas mornings and family vacations? You think I can sit there and watch him touch you, knowing that he's been wanting you since you were barely legal?"

"I was eighteen.."

"Exactly! Eighteen. A child. And he was twenty-six, already successful, already sophisticated. Don't you see how f****d up that is?"

"I'm not eighteen anymore."

"No, but you were when this started in his head. You were when he started watching you, wanting you, planning this."

"Stop saying he planned this!"

"Then what would you call it? Five years of waiting for the perfect moment to make his move?"

I stand up, anger finally overriding my hurt. "You want to know what I'd call it? I'd call it a man trying to do the right thing. Trying to respect you and our family and the age difference. Fighting his feelings for years because he knew it would complicate everything."

"Fighting his feelings?" Zayne stands too, towering over me. "Is that what you think he was doing? Fighting them?"

"Yes."

"Then why didn't he stay away from you? Why didn't he find excuses not to come to family events? Why didn't he date other women seriously? Why didn't he do anything to actually fight these feelings instead of nurturing them?"

The questions hit me like physical blows because I don't have good answers for them. Why didn't Khalil try harder to stay away? Why was he always there, always present in my life?

"I don't know," I whisper.

"I do. Because he was waiting. Biding his time until you were old enough, mature enough, ready enough. And then he struck."

"It wasn't like that."

"What was it like, then? Tell me your version."

I try to find words to explain the pull between Khalil and me, the way we orbited each other for years without ever touching. But how do you explain something that defies logic?

"It just... happened," I say lamely.

"Nothing just happens with him, Amira. He's the most calculating person I know. Every move he makes is deliberate."

"Maybe that's true in business, but this was different."

"Was it? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like he played a very long game and won."

The tears come then, hot and angry. "Why can't you just be happy for me?"

"Happy?" His voice explodes. "You want me to be happy that my best friend has been lying to me for years? That my sister has been lying to me? That the two people I trust most in the world have been sneaking around behind my back?"

"We weren't sneaking around!"

"No? Then what do you call what happened at the pool last week?"

My blood freezes. "How do you.."

"I'm not stupid, Amira. I saw the way you two were looking at each other the next morning. I saw the guilt written all over both your faces. I just didn't want to believe it."

"Zayne.."

"And that night in the hotel? When you both disappeared for hours? I convinced myself you were just being friendly. Just talking. But you weren't, were you?"

"We didn't do anything.."

"Define 'anything.'"

I can't answer that without lying, and we both know it.

"Jesus Christ." He runs both hands through his hair. "How could you do this to me?"

"I never wanted to hurt you."

"But you did it anyway."

"Because I love him!"

The words hang in the air between us like a challenge. Zayne stares at me for a long moment, his face cycling through emotions I can't read.

"You love him," he repeats slowly.

"Yes."

"More than you love me?"

The question is a trap, and we both know it. "It's not the same kind of love."

"Answer the question."

"I can't."

"You can't, or you won't?"

"I can't choose between you. You're my brother. He's... he's everything else."

"Everything else." Zayne nods like I've confirmed something he already knew. "Well, then. I guess that makes this easy."

"What makes it easy?"

He stands up, his face settling into a mask I don't recognize. Cold. Final.

"You have a choice to make, Amira."

"What kind of choice?"

"Him or me."

The words hit me like ice water. "That's not fair."

"Fair? You want to talk about fair? Is it fair that my best friend betrayed me? Is it fair that my sister chose him over her family? Is it fair that I have to choose between my business partner and my sanity?"

"You don't have to choose anything!"

"Yes, I do. Because I can't, I won't watch this happen. I won't sit at family dinners and pretend everything is normal while he touches you. I won't work with him every day knowing what he's done. I won't be the third wheel in my own family."

"So you're giving me an ultimatum?"

"I'm giving you a choice. The same choice I gave him."

"You talked to Khalil?"

"I went to his hotel yesterday. We had a very interesting conversation."

My heart stops. "What did you say to him?"

"I told him the same thing I'm telling you. This ends now, or our relationship ends forever."

"And what did he say?"

Zayne's smile is sharp and humorless. "He said he'd think about it. Real romance, right? The great love of your life needs to think about whether you're worth losing me."

The words cut deeper than anything else he's said. Is that really what Khalil said? That he'd think about it?

"So here's your choice," Zayne continues. "Cut him off completely, no contact, no relationship, nothing or lose me instead. Your brother who's protected you your whole life, or the man who's been manipulating you for years."

"He hasn't been manipulating me."

"Prove it. Choose me."

I stare at him through my tears, this stranger wearing my brother's face. "And if I can't?"

"Then we're done. No family dinners. No holidays. No relationship at all. Do you want him? Fine. But you can't have both of us."

"Zayne, please.."

"I'm going to pack my things," he says, moving toward the door. "I'll be out of the house by tonight. When you've made your decision, you know how to reach me."

"Where are you going?"

"Somewhere I don't have to see his face every day. Somewhere I don't have to watch my sister throw her life away for a man who doesn't deserve her."

He opens the door, then pauses.

"For what it's worth," he says without turning around, "I hope you choose wisely. Because this decision will define the rest of your life."

Then he's gone, leaving me alone with the wreckage of my family and an impossible choice.

I sit on my bed for a long time after he leaves, listening to him move around his room. Drawers opening and closing. The rustle of clothes being packed. The sound of my brother erasing himself from our lives.

Mom tries to talk to him when he comes downstairs with his suitcases, but he barely acknowledges her. Just kisses her cheek and tells her he'll call soon.

He doesn't say goodbye to me.

After he's gone, Mom and I sit in the kitchen in silence. She makes tea neither of us drinks. I stare at my phone, wanting to call Khalil but not knowing what to say.

"What are you going to do?" Mom finally asks.

"I don't know."

"He's your brother, sweetheart."

"I know."

"But Khalil..."

"I know that too."

She reaches across the table and covers my hand with hers. "Whatever you decide, I'll support you. But you need to be sure. Really sure. Because there might not be any coming back from this."

That evening, I packed a bag and drove to my apartment near campus. I can't stay in that house anymore, surrounded by memories of both of them. I need space to think, to figure out what I'm going to do.

The apartment feels strange after spending so much time at home. Too quiet. Too empty. I try to study, but the words blur together on the page. I try to watch TV, but nothing holds my attention.

Finally, I just lie on my couch and stare at the ceiling, thinking about impossible choices and the two men who've shaped my entire life.

Somewhere across the city, Khalil is probably doing the same thing. Wrestling with guilt and love and the possibility of losing everything that matters.

Does he regret it? Does he wish we'd never kissed? Does he think Zayne is right about the age difference, about the manipulation, about all of it?

Or is he, like me, trying to figure out how to fight for something that might be worth losing everything else?

The rain starts around midnight, drumming against my windows like fingers tapping impatiently. I listen to it for hours, matching my breathing to its rhythm, trying to find some kind of peace.

I must fall asleep on the couch, because I wake to the sound of knocking. Soft at first, then more insistent.

I checked my phone, 3:47 AM.

Who the hell is knocking on my door at this hour?

I stumble to the peephole and look out, expecting to see a drunk college student at the wrong apartment.

Instead, I see a figure standing in the hallway, dripping wet from the rain.

Dark hair plastered to his head. Broad shoulders in a soaked shirt. Eyes that find mine through the peephole like he knows I'm looking.

Khalil.

My heart stops, then starts again at double speed. He's here. At nearly four in the morning, soaking wet and looking like he's been through hell.

I press my forehead against the door, trying to steady my breathing. This is it. The moment that will change everything.

My hand hovers over the deadbolt, trembling.

Behind me, my phone buzzes with a text. I don't have to look to know it's from Zayne. Probably another ultimatum. Another demand that I choose.

In front of me, through three inches of wood and metal, stands the man I love. The man who's been fighting his feelings for years. The man who's finally ready to stop fighting.

The man my brother will never forgive me for choosing. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and reach for the lock.