Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

Chatper 243

Abby

All I can do is watch, helpless, as Karl’s form recedes.

He’s being guided forcibly away by the firm hand of a security guard, and he’s

yelling something over the din of the crowd, the announcer, and the sounds of

cooking.

I can’t make out what he’s saying, but whatever it is, it’s frantic. But before I can

make sense of it, a microphone is suddenly shoved in my face, and the camera

blocks my view of Karl’s fading form.

“Abby, what’s happening? Does your sous chef often show such aggressive

behavior?” The announcer’s voice breaks through my train of thought, loud and

Enter title…

grating over the microphone. I feel frozen to my spot, unsure of what to do.

“I… Um… Excuse me,” I manage, pushing past the announcer and hurrying

toward the edge of the stage, toward where Karl and the security guard

disappeared to. But Mr. Thompson is already in my way, grabbing my arm and

yanking me out of the view of the camera.

“Abby, you can’t follow him,” Mr. Thompson hisses, his voice low. “Get back out

there.”

“But I need to—” I begin, but the words are cut off.

“No,” Mr. Thompson cuts in, his tone leaving no room for argument. “What you

need to do is finish your dish. This will be handled, don’t worry.”

“But Karl, he—”

he interrupts firmly. “The

stop. You must continue

“But I can’t cook without my

“It’s not fair. Daniel still

Mr. Thompson retorts with a

Abby, but it’s not up to me. You do want

from me now. It doesn’t feel right to

do this all on my own. I need a sous

pretend that this is all okay,” I say. “He

This—this is a farce!”

anything,” Mr. Thompson

here for, isn’t it? To prove yourself in

glance back at the station, at the

the lights, the eyes on the stage—all of it

I can’t

have to go back,” Mr. Thompson murmurs, his

Karl would want you to

without him.”

for a fleeting second, letting his words anchor

Thompson is right, yet

say, though each word feels hollow,

I won’t let this lie. Karl is many

one of them.”

says, squeezing my shoulder. “I’ll

Personally.”

whirl around and run back on stage, where the

waiting for me all this time. The audience is murmuring in

me from

work. And the timer hasn’t

wasted several

dash past the camera

a ticking time bomb, a countdown to an explosion that may

I feel utterly helpless

station, I catch

at work, his sous chef cooking with one hand, although I know

look with that

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