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

out,

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

rushing to the surface like

That’s it.

yank my apron off, my hands shaking with barely contained fury.

standing before, only to realize that she’s gone. Where her beautiful face would

I’m now met with nothing but

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

more to myself than

my chest

I pull out a cigarette and light it, drawing the

the gaping void

wall, my mind reeling. What the hell

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

I want her back

stare up

feel, boxed in by my own choices, my

tell John to shove

galls me to

prove that I’m not

cold, unforgiving wall of the alley, still

from within, not from

shares my consciousness.

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

echoes in my head, clear as day. “This John

on purpose. You just have

reply silently, a conversation taking place entirely within the confines of

can be part of her

It’ll

it, though?” I ask. “It feels

asking myself ever since I

be the bigger man and tolerate John for Abby’s sake. But where does

sees that I’m trying, really trying, to be the man she wants

as if reading my thoughts. “She’ll

you’re putting her needs

doubt creeps in, worming its way into my mind despite my wolf’s reassurance. What if

if I’m forever labeled the

who broke her heart?