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, his

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

my pride—it all comes rushing to the surface like a tidal

That’s it.

with barely contained fury. I shoot one

that she’s

I’m now met with nothing

breath, I throw my apron down

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

door into the alley, my chest heaving. The cold night air stings my face, but

light it, drawing the smoke deep into

gaping

against the brick wall, my mind reeling. What the hell am I doing? All of

her. For Abby. Because despite

I want her

I stare up at the sliver of night sky visible

stark reminder of how confined I feel,

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

much as it galls me to admit it, I know that

prove that I’m

against the cold, unforgiving wall of the alley,

resonates from within, not from my human side, but from

shares my consciousness.

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

in my head, clear as day.

You just have

know,” I reply silently, a conversation taking place entirely within the confines

me to do this, to prove I can be

“I know you do. It’ll just be

though?” I ask. “It feels like she’ll

I walked out of

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

trying, to be the man she

will see,” my wolf reassures me, as if reading

you’re putting her

creeps in, worming its way into my mind despite my wolf’s

What if I’m forever labeled

who broke her heart?