Chasing His Kickass Luna Back

#Chapter 67: Crossroads

Abby

The tension in the room feels palpable, a thick curtain of unsaid words and unexplored emotions

hanging in the air between Karl and me. My grip tightens on the knife handle as I glance at the chaos of

ingredients strewn across the counter.

“Tell me first,” I blurt out, wanting to avoid the inevitable confrontation as long as possible. “What are

you doing here? The restaurant closed hours ago.”

Karl sighs and shakes his head, walking past me and over to the line. I watch as he bends down

behind the counter and disappears for a moment, muttering to himself, before he stands back up and

holds something up in the air: his wallet.

“Dropped this earlier,” he says, slipping it into his pocket. “Wanted to come back and make sure it was

here. Now it’s your turn. What are you doing here at…” He glances at his watch. “One o’clock in the

morning?”

I swallow, glancing around at the ingredients and half-cooked dishes all around the kitchen. The sink is

full of empty dishes from failed attempts, the trash can is practically overflowing with said failed

attempts, and the various successful attempts are lined up on the adjacent counter for pictures to keep

in mind for presentation ideas.

“I, um…” I find myself choking up slightly. “I’m just practicing,” I half-lie. “Wanted to test my skills.”

Karl raises an eyebrow. “And waste all these ingredients? You’re not that type of chef.”

I nearly curse out loud. Karl is right; I’ve never been the type to waste ingredients.

Even in the past, when I’ve gone on creative cooking sprees, I would never just throw things away

when the dishes don’t turn out perfectly. There’s a food pantry right down the street that I visit

frequently to donate dishes, and when I lived with Karl, the servants and guests were always enjoying

leftovers.

“You might as well tell me, Abby.” Karl finally breaks the silence, his voice tinged with impatience. I can

tell that he’s onto me, and probably has been for some time. Probably since he found me hugging

Ethan and Chloe. “You’ve clearly been up to something huge here lately, and I’m starting to feel like I’m

the last to know. Why keep me in the dark?”

Sighing, I put the knife down, my eyes meeting his. There’s no point in avoiding the inevitable any

longer. I might as well rip off the band-aid now. “Okay, fine,” I mutter, wiping my hands on my apron. This content © Nôv/elDr(a)m/a.Org.

“I’m one of the finalists to compete to cater the Alpha party.”

His eyes widen for a fraction of a second before his expression smooths over into something I can’t

quite decipher right now. “That’s great, Abby. I’m proud of you.”

But something’s off. His voice lacks the warmth I had hoped for, and his smile isn’t quite reaching his

eyes. I can sense what I feared all this time—that he’d prefer that I go to the Alpha party with him

instead of catering it.

“You don’t sound like you mean it,” I prod, my own words edged with a surprising bitterness to them.

“What? I said I’m proud of you,” he retorts, clearly irritated now.

“Yeah, but your tone says otherwise. What’s going on, Karl?”

He hesitates, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I wanted to go to the Alpha party with you. As

your date. This whole catering thing sort of ruins that, though, doesn’t it?”

For some reason, even though I expected this sort of response from him, I’m still taken aback. I guess

there was a part of me that hoped that he really has changed, that he would be genuinely happy for my

success instead of making it about him.

“You’re upset because you wanted to go to a party? Seriously?”

“It’s not just any party, Abby. The Alpha party is a big deal. I thought it could be something special for

us,” he shoots back, his eyes locked onto mine. “And besides, you promised. Or did you forget?”

My heart pounds in my chest. “I didn’t forget,” I say. “But this competition… It could be huge for my

career. It’s going to be on television and everything. I’m sorry, but I hoped that you would understand.”

“Of course I understand,” he says, turning away from me for a moment. “But what about us? Don’t I

mean something to you too? I thought you wanted to go with me.” His voice rises with each word, filling

the empty kitchen.

“Us? There is no ‘us’, Karl,” I murmur. “I’ve told you countless times before that it’s not going to happen

between us.”

“Have you, though?” His voice is low and strained, like he’s trying to hold himself back. “Because it

feels to me like you’ve just been keeping me on a string this whole time, giving me vague promises and

hoops to jump through. And let’s not forget what happened the other week…”

I wince at his words. The memory of our night right here in this kitchen whirls through my mind,

reminding me of how it felt to have him close like that again.

Even thinking about it now makes my wolf begin to stir ever so slightly. But I’ve already decided that it

can’t happen again. I made a promise to my friends, and most importantly, to myself. Fool me once…

“We wouldn’t work,” I say, blinking away the tears that are threatening to come. “Our lives are too

different now. And you broke my heart, made my wolf go to sleep. I still can’t forgive you.”

“So don’t forgive me,” he replies, throwing his hands up in the air. “But you can’t deny what’s happening

between us.”

His words make me reel. “Nothing is happening between us.” I can’t tell if I believe my own words or

not, and I pause, licking my lips. “I’m sorry, Karl. I know I promised that I would go to this party with

you, but this competition is too huge of an opportunity to give up in exchange for spending a night with

my ex.”

The kitchen falls silent. Karl’s brown eyes meet mine, and for the first time in a long time, I can see

something other than proud indignation in them. There’s also pain. Immense pain. But right now, at this

moment, all I can think about is my own pain. Maybe it’s selfish, but I feel as though I deserve the right

to be selfish after everything I’ve been through.

“I’m sorry,” I finally say, my voice cracking. “But I can’t give up on my dreams for this.”

“And what about my dreams, Abby? What about what I want?” he retorts, his voice breaking as well.

“Since when is your dream about going to a party? Isn’t there more to life than that?” The words are out

of my mouth before I can stop them, and instantly, I regret them, because I can tell that it’s far more

than that to Karl.

Karl’s face hardens, his jaw setting. “It’s not about the party, Abby. It never was.”

His words sting, a punch to the gut that leaves me breathless. But before I can respond, he turns away,

storming out of the kitchen. In his wake, I am left alone amidst the chaos.