Chasing His Kickass Luna Back
Chapter 0351

Abby

It's been two days since I submitted my statement about the footage to the police, and nothing has happened. The health department is taking their sweet time testing my food samples, and there's nothing more that I can do other than wait.

Sleep has become a rare luxury, and my appetite has all but disappeared. Not to mention the fact that the constant barrage of news coverage and social media frenzy over the “worst Alpha gathering in history” only adds to the turmoil swirling in my mind.

I can't bring myself to watch the news or scroll through the endless comments and posts dissecting every aspect of the scandal. Every time I do, it makes me feel sick.

One evening, as I'm sitting on my couch wondering what to do, I make a decision. I need a break from the suffocating isolation of my apartment and the judgmental eyes of the world.

The thought of a dive bar down the street that I visit somewhat regularly crosses my mind—a place where I'm sure nobody will bother me, if they can even make out my face beneath the dimmed lights.

I put on a simple outfit, determined to keep a low profile, and head out.

As I step into the bar, I'm relieved to see that it's almost empty. There are a few other patrons crowded around a small TV, watching some sports game or another, and a couple of college kids playing darts off to the side. No one even looks my way when I walk in.

The bartender, a middle-aged man with a weathered face and a salt-and-pepper beard, acknowledges my presence with a nod. He starts to mix my drink without asking for my order, because I come here often enough that he knows what I like. We've never talked, though.

As he works, he glances at me and asks the question I've been dreading to hear.

“You're Abby, right?”

I hesitate for a moment, my heart sinking. But there's no point in hiding my identity, especially in a place like this. I nod reluctantly and reply, “Yes, I am. Why do you ask?”

The bartender doesn't offer a judgmental look or a harsh comment. Instead, he simply shrugs and continues to prepare my drink. “I'm sorry all of this is happening to you,” he says in a sincere tone My eyes widen. “Pardon?” I blurt out, genuinely surprised.

He nods. “It's unfair, you know. Sometimes, the voices of the few can be so loud that they drown out the voices of the many. It's just a fact of life.”

His words catch me off guard, and I'm grateful for his empathy. It's a rare thing to find in a world that seems so quick to condemn. I watch as he places the drink in front of me, and I offer him a faint smile of appreciation.

“Wow. Thanks,” I say, taking the glass. It's cool against my fingers. “I, uh... I haven't heard anything so nice in a little while.”

He chuckles. “I kinda figured. You look a little worse for wear.”

"Yeah. It's been a tough few days,” I admit, my voice thick with exhaustion. “I thought everything was going so well at the Alpha party. I just don't understand why everyone got sick.”

The bartender leans on his elbows, his eyes filled with understanding. “Sometimes, life can throw us curveballs that we can't predict. You'd be willing to admit if it was your fault, wouldn't you?”

I nod, my gaze fixed on the amber liquid in my glass. “Of course I would. I take my responsibility as a chef seriously. But deep down, I don't believe it was my fault.”

He nods thoughtfully, as if weighing my words. “Well, keep your head up, Abby,” he says, his tone reassuring. “You've got people who are rooting for ya.”

“Thanks,” I say, raising my glass. “I'll try to remember that.”

Three drinks later, and I'm walking home in the chilly night air. My hands are in my pockets, but there's a sense of warmth blanketing my body thanks to the alcohol.

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