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,

All the pent-up frustration, the

comes rushing to

That’s it.

barely contained fury. I

that she’s gone. Where her beautiful

bit, I’m now met with nothing but a

apron down onto the counter.

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

chest heaving. The

out a cigarette and light it, drawing the smoke deep into my

fill the gaping

What the hell am I doing? All of this, swallowing my

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

frustration of it all, I want her

drag, exhaling slowly as I stare up at the sliver of

a stark reminder of how confined I feel, boxed in by my own choices, my own

as I want to break free, to tell John to shove it, to tell Abby that this is

as much as it galls me to admit it,

last chance to make things right, to prove that I’m not the same guy I used to

of the alley, still wrestling

inside me. A deep growl resonates from within, not

shares my consciousness.

breath, trying to soothe

voice echoes in

purpose. You just have to push through it

I reply silently, a conversation taking

to do this, to prove I can be part of her world. But I f ucking hate

wolf snorts. “I know you do. It’ll just

“It feels like

I walked out of Abby’s office earlier today. Sure,

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

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

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

you’re putting her needs above

creeps in, worming its way into my

mistakes? What if I’m forever labeled the screw-up, the

who broke her heart?