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

words out, his face flushed

the pent-up frustration, the hours of biting my

all comes rushing to the surface like

That’s it.

yank my apron off, my hands shaking with barely contained

to realize that she’s gone. Where

I’m now met with nothing but a

down

myself than anyone else,

my chest heaving. The cold night

it. I pull out a cigarette and light it, drawing the smoke

the gaping

What the

for her. For Abby. Because

I

up at the sliver of night sky visible between the

confined I feel, boxed in by my own choices, my

tell John to shove it, to tell Abby that this is too

down, as much as it galls me to

that I’m not the same guy

cold, unforgiving wall of the alley, still wrestling with the storm of

growl resonates from within, not from my

shares my consciousness.

it now?” I murmur under my breath, trying to

echoes in my head, clear as day.

just have to push through

I know,” I reply silently, a conversation taking place

to do this, to prove I can be part of her world.

you do. It’ll just be for a while longer,

ask. “It

since I walked out

bigger man and tolerate John for

I’m trying, really trying,

my wolf reassures me, as if reading

her

in, worming its way into

What if I’m forever labeled the screw-up, the black sheep, the

who broke her heart?