Chasing His Kickass Luna Back

#Chapter 42: Through the Flames

Abby

Just as I’m leaning forward to make sense of the strange spark in the back of the oven, something

ignites. Text content © NôvelDrama.Org.

I jump back with a yelp just as the heat nearly consumes me.

My heart races as the orange flames dance menacingly from the oven, cutting off the symphony of our

dinner rush with its threatening roar. The scent of burnt food mingles with a more acrid, electrical smell.

An electrical fire.

Panic courses through me.

“Fire! Fire in the oven!” I shout, reaching for the nearby fire extinguisher.

My fingers barely grasp the cool metal before I feel the searing heat engulf my arm. A sharp pain

lances through me, and I draw back with a sharp hiss, dropping the fire extinguisher.

My arm pulses with intense pain, the skin red and already blistering.

“Abby!” Karl’s voice cuts through the chaos, and before I know it, he’s beside me, effortlessly wielding

the extinguisher to smother the flames. Within moments, the roaring fire is reduced to a smoky whisper,

but the damage is done.

I cradle my burnt arm, biting back the tears that threaten to spill. The pain is overwhelming. My vision

blurs, and my legs feel weak. The world tilts.

“Abby, look at me,” Karl urges, his voice lined with concern. His deep brown eyes are inches away, full

of worry.

“I… I’m okay,” I manage, although the quiver in my voice betrays me. The pain isn’t subsiding, and a

nauseating mix of fear and shock swirls within me.

“You’re not okay,” he insists. “We need to get you to the hospital. Now.”

The bustling sounds of the restaurant seem distant. Whispers and murmurs of concern ripple around

us, but all I can focus on is Karl’s steady voice.

“No, the restaurant…” I begin, my thoughts fragmented. The reality of the situation hasn’t fully sunk in.

Karl, taking charge, nods to Jake. “Handle things here. I’ll take Abby to the hospital.”

Without waiting for a response, Karl gently scoops me up, his arms cradling me close. The scent of his

cologne, mixed with the aromas of the kitchen, is oddly comforting. My head rests against his chest as

he carries me out to his car. The cool evening air is a sharp contrast to the heat inside, and I can’t help

but shiver.

Inside the car, he places me gently on the passenger seat, buckling me in. “Just hang in there, Abby.

We’ll be there soon.”

I nod weakly, my gaze drifting to my burnt arm. The pain is unbearable, but having Karl beside me is a

strange balm.

As he starts the car, I feel his fingers intertwining with mine. It’s a simple gesture, but in this moment of

vulnerability, it means everything.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he murmurs, shooting me a quick glance before focusing back on the road.

“Thank you, Karl,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if

you weren’t there.”

He squeezes my hand, his thumb tracing comforting circles on my skin. “You don’t have to thank me,

Abby. I just did what anyone would have.”

But at this moment, I know that’s not true. In my pain-induced state, I almost feel as though everything

about Karl’s return to me has been nothing but one thing after another. Like he returned at just the right

time, when I needed him the most. But it’s silly; I’m just delirious from the pain of the burn on my arm.

His grip tightens, and I feel the reassuring rhythm of his pulse against my fingers. The city lights blur

past us, but inside the car, time seems to slow.

“How bad is it?” I ask, my voice tremulous.

He glances over, the soft streetlights illuminating the concern etched on his features. “It’s not for me to

say. The doctors will take care of you, though.”

We lapse into a comfortable silence. The hum of the engine, combined with the pain, lulls me into a

half-conscious state. The world outside becomes a hazy, unfocused panorama.

But through it all, the warmth of Karl’s hand is a constant, grounding me. Even in the throes of pain, I

can't help but appreciate the intimacy of the moment. Our shared experiences in the kitchen, the dance

of dishes and ingredients, have fostered a connection I never anticipated.

I feel him glance over at me from time to time, ensuring I’m still conscious. Each time our eyes meet,

there’s a depth of emotion that’s hard to define.

It feels like mere moments before the car comes to a halt. The glaring lights of the hospital loom ahead,

and the gravity of the situation hits me full force.

As Karl helps me out of the car, the pain intensifies, but I grit my teeth, trying to put on a brave face.

“You’re doing great,” he whispers, guiding me through the automatic doors.

The stark white interiors of the emergency room are a stark contrast to the warm, cozy ambiance of my

restaurant. Nurses and doctors move about with practiced precision, their voices a blend of efficiency

and concern.

Karl’s voice, however, cuts through the din. “She needs help. She’s burnt her arm.”

Before I know it, I'm being led to a bed, the clinical environment around me a whirlwind of activity. Karl,

ever the protector, stays close, filling out the necessary paperwork and answering questions.

Though I can tell he’s just as shaken up as I am, he’s my anchor in this moment. And as the nurses

begin their treatment, I clutch his hand, drawing strength from him.

As the nurses bustle about, attending to my burns and ensuring I’m comfortable, a memory tugs at the

back of my mind. I chance a glance at Karl, who’s watching me with a mix of concern and amusement.

Despite the pain, a smirk forms on my lips.

“Hey, remember when we accidentally set our old kitchen on fire?” I ask, my voice laced with mischief.

Karl’s eyebrows raise momentarily, before a lopsided grin takes over his face. “You mean when you set

our old kitchen on fire?”

A rush of warmth floods my cheeks, and I’m suddenly thankful for the dimmed lights of the ER. “I had

hoped you’d forgotten that minor detail.”

Karl chuckles, and I'm transported back to that fateful day. Back when we were married, before things

went south.

I had been trying to perfect a new dish and had hot oil sizzling in a pan. Caught up in something on the

television, I forgot about it. The smoke alerted me, but in my panic, I did the unthinkable.

Carrying the pan over to the sink, I thoughtlessly poured water into it. The pan erupted in a monstrous

flame, igniting the white curtains above the sink and nearly singing my eyebrows off along with them.

By the time we finally got it under control, the fire had menacingly licked the ceiling, leaving a

permanent black scar that we wound up having to paint over.

At the time, it had been a cause for tears and reprimands. But over time, it eventually became one of

those moments we used to look back on and shake our heads, the laughter bubbling up before the

words even did.

Karl’s voice brings me back to the present. “I think that was the day you truly realized you were better

at running restaurants than cooking in them.”

I roll my eyes playfully. “Low blow, Karl. Low blow.”

His laughter is infectious, and despite the pain, I find myself joining in.

The pain and the shock of the evening’s events begin to blur. But one thing stands clear—the

unexpected bond forming between Karl and me. Despite the circumstances, I can’t help but feel closer

to him, grateful for his unwavering support.

And as the night wears on, with Karl by my side, I feel a warmth that has nothing to do with my injury.