Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

#Chapter 62: Too Much To Ask
The door to Abby’s office swings shut behind me, and my mind races as I walk back into the kitchen.

First, she asks me to make nice with Chloe, and now this? Apprenticing under John, of all people? A

guy I can’t even stand to be in the same room with?

“Karl, grab the veal from the fridge. Now.” John’s voice snaps me back to reality, jarring and grating as

ever.

I grab the veal and set it on the counter, taking a moment to steel myself. I’m doing this for Abby, I

remind myself. As if sensing my inner turmoil, Abby glances over at me from across the kitchen.

Our eyes meet for just a second, but it’s enough. I nod subtly. I can do this.

The dinner rush starts, and the kitchen turns into a whirlwind of flying knives and sizzling pans. John

wastes no time in laying into me.

“Come on, Karl, chop those onions faster! We don’t have all day!”

My knuckles whiten around the knife handle, but I force a smile. “Sure, John, whatever you say.”

Dinner service rushes on like a torrential river, and I’m just trying to keep my head above water. Each

critique from John feels like another weight pulling me down, but I keep reminding myself why I’m here,

who I’m here for.

The clock ticks past nine, and the last orders are finally up. John looks at me, a satisfied smirk

spreading across his face. “Not a complete disaster, I suppose.”

My jaw clenches, my fists curl, but I refuse to let the torrent out. Abby’s eyes catch mine again, her

gaze searching. I look away. I can’t let her see how much this is getting to me.

And that’s when it happens. One small, insignificant straw that breaks the proverbial camel’s back.

“Karl, you idiot! These steaks are overcooked! Do you even know what medium-rare looks like?” John

the words out,

All the pent-up frustration, the hours of biting my tongue,

pride—it all comes rushing

That’s it.

off, my hands shaking with barely contained fury.

she’s gone. Where her beautiful face would have

now met with nothing but a

apron down onto the counter. “Cook the steaks yourself, then.

more to myself than anyone else, and storm out of the

my chest heaving. The cold

it, drawing

the gaping

mind reeling. What the hell am I doing? All of this,

John’s relentless cr ap—it’s all for her. For Abby. Because despite the

I

exhaling slowly as I stare up at the sliver of night sky visible between

of how confined I feel, boxed in by

yet, as much as I want to break free, to tell John to

it galls me to admit

to prove that I’m not the

lean back against the cold, unforgiving wall of the alley, still

resonates from within, not from my

shares my consciousness.

I murmur under my breath, trying to soothe the restless animal

wolf’s voice echoes in my head, clear as day.

pushing your buttons on purpose. You just have to push through it for a little

I reply silently, a conversation

this, to prove I can be

It’ll just be for a while

it, though?” I ask. “It feels like

asking myself ever since I walked out of

out, be the bigger man and tolerate John

trying, really trying, to be

wolf reassures me, as if reading my thoughts. “She’ll realize you’re making

you’re putting her

creeps in, worming its way into my mind

see past my old mistakes? What if I’m forever labeled the screw-up, the black sheep, the

who broke her heart?