Chasing His Kickass Luna Back novel Chapter 249

Abby

As Karl speaks, my fingers worry the hem of my white chef’s coat, now no longer pristine but splattered with sauce and tiny stains and the remains of haphazardly cooked meals. It feels like a perfect representation of my inner world right now: once untarnished and lily-white, but now stained and weathered from the trials I’ve been through today.

We’re still standing in the supply closet, and the air feels thick. Karl is standing over me still, his hand pressed into the door next to my head, sandwiching me there with his body.

My wolf stirs ever so slightly, but now is not the time; I just found out that Karl tried to talk to the judges for me, and I’m not sure how to feel about it.

“Abby…” he begins, his voice trailing off for a moment as his eyes search mine. Finally, he pushes away from the door and crosses the small room, running his hand through his hair for what feels like the millionth time in the past few minutes.

“Just tell me, Karl,” I murmur, blinking away the tears that are threatening to spill.

He pauses, then draws in a deep breath, and turns to face me again. “Abby, yes, I did talk to Logan; but I never tried to bribe anybody. I hope you can believe me in that regard.”

I nod, because despite the whirlwind that this competition has become, I do know that. Karl has no reason to lie to me right now. His integrity is still intact, just as he promised all those weeks ago.

“I know, Karl. But why talk to him? What did you say?”

He takes a deep breath, and I can tell he’s choosing his words with the utmost care. “I told him you’re an incredible chef, Abby. The best here, without a doubt. And you don’t deserve the way he treats you—”

“But?” The word hangs between us.

Karl’s jaw tightens, and he looks away for a brief moment, gathering his thoughts. When he faces me again, it’s as though there’s a newfound resolve in his eyes, like there’s something that he wants to tell me but he can’t get it all out.

“But… he’s got this idea about you, Abby. He doesn’t see things clearly. I just... I tried to make him see that you are putting in your heart and soul into this competition. That’s it.”

My heart races, and I don’t know what to say. There’s a profound mixture of gratitude and dread knotting itself around my stomach: gratitude for Karl’s attempt to talk to Logan, but also dread because I know that, whatever Logan’s ‘misconceptions’ about me are, nothing Karl can say would ever change the outcome of this doomed competition.

“And what happened with the sous chef?” I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper. “What happened, really?”

A shadow crosses Karl’s face. “He was tampering with the ingredients in the pantry. The truffles. I caught him in the act, tried to stop him. I grabbed the mushrooms out of his hand, but I swear, Abby, I never laid a finger on him.”

I know he’s telling the truth; Karl, despite all of his overpowering Alpha demeanor, would never hurt anyone in this sort of context. Not in a million years, and especially not on live television.

“And the guards didn’t believe you?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “The guards think I’m lying. The sous chef might press charges if the footage looks... Anyway, it doesn’t matter. They’re sending me home, Abby. I won’t be here when you get offstage.”

I stare down at the floor unblinking, staring at my feet. Outside, I can hear the PA system crackle to life again: “Contestants, this is your two minute warning. Return to the stage in two minutes. I repeat, two minutes.”

The tears brim and spill over before I can stop them, and I quickly look away, trying to blink them back before they ruin my stage makeup.

Karl reaches out, his hand hovering next to my face as if he wants to wipe the tears away but isn’t sure if he should. “Abby, talk to me. Please.”

I open my mouth to try again, but the assistant’s voice cuts through the PA system, sharp and urgent. “Contestants, back to the stage, please!”

Karl’s face falls, and there's a desperation there that mirrors my own. “Abby, your dish, did they like it?”

I just shake my head again, a silent gesture that speaks volumes. I can’t tell him, not now. The words won’t come, and it’s too late; I’ve lost. We’ve lost.

Without another word, I swing the supply closet door open and begin rushing down the hallway toward the stage, toward a nearly frantic assistant waving her clipboard up ahead.

“Abby!” Karl lunges out of the supply closet, his blue surgical mask dangling from his ear, and calls after me as rush away. But I can’t face him, can’t tell him now. There’s no time, and besides—the words won’t come anyway.

Just as I reach the assistant, though, I take one last look over my shoulder to see Karl’s form, standing at the end of the hallway, his eyes full of concern and confusion. And all I can do is wave, offering him the weakest of smiles.

And then, I’m ushered back to the stage.