Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

#Chapter 80: New Horizons
Karl

The sun is barely hovering above the horizon as I pull up in front of Abby’s apartment building on

Friday morning.

I can’t help but smile as I think about the day ahead of us. My black car idles, the hum of its engine

drowned out by the pop song playing on the radio—a song I can easily imagine Abby singing along to,

although I don’t personally care for that kind of music myself.

With a deep breath, I turn off the engine and grab the to-go cup of her favorite coffee from the cup

holder.

She opens the door almost as soon as I knock, as though she was standing there, waiting. There’s a

look in her eyes that makes it seem as though she’s still on the fence about going. But the second her

eyes meet mine, the tension in her shoulders eases. Just a bit.

“Good morning,” I greet, handing her the coffee. “Figured you could use this.”

She grins, taking a sip immediately. “You read my mind.”

There’s a slight silence for a few moments. My eyes scan the inside of her apartment, where a bag sits

on the floor behind her; it’s packed haphazardly, no doubt. She’s never been the neatest traveler.

“Oh, one more thing,” she says before I can say anything. She slips her phone out of her pocket and

begins tapping furiously on the screen while her coffee cup balances precariously in the crook of her

elbow. “I have to tell Ethan—”

“Ethan will be fine without you,” I say, sn atching both the phone and the coffee cup away. “And so will

the restaurant. Just enjoy your time off, Abby.”

She glares at me for a moment, that signature stare of hers, but finally relaxes and lets out a deep sigh.

“You’re right.”

We hit the road within a few minutes. The morning sun streams through the windows, casting her face

in a warm amber glow. I plug in my phone and shuffle through a playlist I know she’ll love.

“So, long drive ahead. Music?”

“Surprise me,” she says, her fingers nervously tapping on the coffee cup.

I hit play, and the first chords of a nostalgic song—one that played at our wedding—fill the car. She

laughs, shaking her head. “Seriously?”

“Come on, it’s a classic,” I defend, bobbing my head to the beat.

Abby’s lips twitch upwards into a smile, but it quickly fades. I watch from my peripherals as she averts

her coffee cup.

ever so slightly. And

in comfortable silence for about half an hour when

building off the

place?” she

glance in the direction she’s pointing, spotting the outline

days. “Ah, the Woodpecker Inn,” I say, a smile forming on

than once.”

a more nostalgic tone. “You proposed to

betraying

What was it called—La

look. “Karl, you’ve got

near the fireplace where we used

voice trails off momentarily, leaving space where our

Inn… I try not to think about it, because if I

car off the road.

what we used to do near that fireplace, but no, Abby, I

us out for disturbing the peace

like this, both of us stubbornly clinging to our own versions

is playful, almost electric, a reminder of simpler times.

settle the argument when Abby’s eyes

idiots,”

I ask,

wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “It was

“The lighthouse?”

shooting me a sideways glance. “The one near your pack’s territory. With

restaurant attached?”

realization hits me like a bolt of lightning, and I burst into laughter too.

could I

dinner at the restaurant there, and you proposed at the top,” she says, her voice taking

tone. “And then we went to

there’s a softness in her voice, a glimmer of something that

briefest of moments, and it’s as if the years peel

were. The regret hits me like a

regret that’s been there for too long, lurking in the shadows even when I

to acknowledge it.

another hour and a half of driving, the towering trees

in a few months now, but it feels just as familiar

Abby beside me.

quick glance, hoping that I don’t see any glimmer of doubt in

though I

pull into the driveway, the old mansion coming into view. Before I can even cut the

butler for as long as I can remember, steps onto

when he sees me. “Mr. Karl!” he exclaims, shuffling out. “How nice to—” But

his

you doing here?” he asks, a thinly veiled note of disapproval

words.

Gerald,” Abby replies, her tone neutral.

more, his eyes say it all. Maybe I should

has a problem with Abby

with, not ours.

for her bag, but she’s already grabbed it. “I got it,” she says,

shoots up my arm, and I have to resist