Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

#Chapter 58: Getaway Driver

I’m pacing my living room, a glass of whiskey in hand, lost in my thoughts. The night has been a

coc ktail of emotions—high spirits at the party, laughter with Abby… And then, of course, there was the

palpable tension with Chloe.

I thought I had managed to keep my feelings under wraps, maintain the casual facade. But Chloe had

to go and ruin it, filling the air with words like poison darts.

“Stay away from him,” she had whispered to Abby, not knowing that I was within earshot.

Who the hell does she think she is?

I throw myself onto the leather chair, my fingers gripping the armrests, the echo of Chloe’s words still

fresh in my mind. “Stay away from him,” she had said, as though her voice could erect a wall between

Abby and me—a wall I’m not certain even I could scale at this point.

“What is her problem?” I growl to myself, my thoughts a whirlwind of frustration.

“She clearly dislikes you,” my wolf interjects, his voice a rumbling presence in the depths of my

consciousness.

“You think I can’t see that? And it’s not the first time, either,” I retort, my mind slipping back in time, to

another party, another confrontation.

It had been a similar occasion. Friends, laughter, a lively atmosphere.

Abby had been radiant, the center of my universe. But then Chloe had started arguing with me. About

what, I can barely remember.

What I do recall is the anger, my territorial instincts flaring up, the undeniable urge to assert my

dominance. I had ended up kicking her out of the party.

The aftermath was equally vivid. Abby had been furious, her eyes ablaze with a fire I had rarely seen.

“You’re trying to ruin my friendships, Karl,” she had yelled, her voice strained with emotion. She had left

with Chloe, her best friend, her confidant. Abby hadn’t come home for two days. When she finally did,

the atmosphere between us had been colder than a winter night.

“You were a jerk to Chloe,” she’d told me, her voice heavy with disappointment when I tried to kiss her.

“If you can’t be nice to my friends, then don’t expect any affection from me.”

I groan, dragging my hands down my face, the weight of the past settling on my shoulders. “Is this what

it’s always going to be?” I ask out loud. “If I ever have a chance with Abby again, am I going to spend

my life tiptoeing around her friends who can’t stand me?”

“You weren’t the best husband,” my wolf remarks, a touch of reproach in his tone. “You left Abby. You

mistreated her. What do you expect?”

“I know, okay? I know I screwed up. And I’m working d mn hard to be a better man—to be the kind of

man Abby deserves,” I snap, my voice tinged with bitterness. “But it’s like no one can see that. No

one’s even willing to give me a chance to prove I’ve changed.”

“Abby sees it,” my wolf whispers, his voice softening. “She might not fully realize it yet, but she senses

the change in you. Otherwise, she wouldn’t allow you back into her life, even in the small ways that she

has.”

I lean back into the chair, letting the words sink in, a tiny glimmer of hope in a sea of doubt and regret.

Maybe my wolf is right. Maybe Abby does see the changes in me. And maybe, just maybe, that will be

enough to rebuild what I’ve shattered.

Just then, my phone buzzes on the coffee table, ripping me from my internal monologue. The caller ID

displays Gianna, my ever-efficient secretary.

“Hello?”

“Karl, you need to come home next weekend,” she says without preamble. “Your Council has called a

meeting. Can you come?”

Home. The pack. The responsibilities I’ve been skirting ever since I moved to the city. I realize I can’t

put it off any longer.

“Fine,” I say, gritting my teeth. “I’ll be there.”

I hang up, feeling the weight of my double life—the life I left behind and the one I’m struggling to build.

It’s a constant juggling act, and sometimes I drop the ball.

As if on cue, my phone buzzes again, pulling me back to the present. This time, it’s Abby. My thumb

hovers over the green button, a sense of dread mingling with anticipation. It’s late. Why would she be

calling?

“Hello?” I answer, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Karl, it’s… It’s me,” she stammers, her voice tinged with anxiety. “I had to get off the subway. I’m a little

lost. And—”

“Send me your location. I’m coming to get you,” I interrupt, my heart pounding. In a second, all other

thoughts evaporate, replaced by a primal urge to protect.

I grab my coat and head for the door, locking my apartment with an urgency that mirrors my racing

thoughts. I’m in my car in record time, my phone guiding me to her location.

As I drive, I find myself mulling over what the hell is going on between Abby and me.

One moment we’re throwing flour at each other like a couple of lovestruck teens, and the next I’m

walking out of her life because her best friend tells her to keep her distance. And now here I am,

bin

picking her up in the middle of the night when she needs me the most.

Am I really the villain in their narrative, or just a casualty of their sisterhood?

The thought is cut short as my phone indicates that I’m nearing Abby’s location. My eyes scan the

dimly lit streets, eventually catching sight of her standing under a streetlight.

She looks shaken, glancing nervously over her shoulder at a group of men who are eyeing her with

unsettling interest.

Anger boils within me, hot and swift. Parking the car, I step out, my eyes meeting Abby’s for a split

second—a silent assurance that she’s no longer alone.

“Get in the car, Abby,” I growl.

Abby swallows. “Thank you… Wait, Karl!”

But it’s too late. I’m already storming toward the group of men, my hands balled up into fists.

“Hey, you got a problem?” one of the men sneers, taking a step toward me.

“Yeah,” I reply, my voice icy. “I’ve got a problem with anyone who thinks they can harass a woman on

the street.”

The tension is palpable, an electric charge in the air.

The man lunges at me, but he’s too slow, too slo ppy. I dodge his swing easily and counter with a swift

punch to his jaw. He stag gers back, clutching his face in pain. His friends seem to gauge the situation,

hesitating for a moment that stretches into an eternity.

“You still want to continue?” I growl, my eyes scanning the group. They look at each other, then back at

me, and in that moment, the balance of power shifts.

“C’mon, guys,” another one of the men says, taking a step backwards. “Let’s get out of here.”

“You’d better,” I growl.

One by one, they retreat, melting into the shadows from which they emerged, leaving me standing in

the dim light, my breaths heavy with a mixture of adrenaline and relief.

I turn back to Abby, who is staring at me with wide eyes, a complex dance of emotions flitting across

her face. Gratitude, relief, and something else—something I can’t quite put my finger on.

But before I can analyze it further, I get back into the car, my mind returning to the immediate situation.

Abby is safe; that’s what matters now. Everything else can wait.

As I slide into the driver’s seat, I glance at her one more time, confirming she’s truly unharmed, and

then I shift the car into gear.