Chasing His Kickass Luna Back Chapter 145

Abby

Daniel and I fall silent as Bryan and Mr. Thompson suddenly walk into the room, Daniel’s earlier remarks still ringing in my ears.

But as my eyes flick from Bryan, whose eyes are red-rimmed and swollen, to Mr. Thompson, whose face is somber, I suddenly find myself forgetting all about my argument with Daniel.

“Bryan, are you okay?” I ask, taking a step forward.

He looks up, his eyes full of an emotion that strikes me instantly. Bryan has been the quiet sort throughout this entire competition, focused entirely on his work. But now, he suddenly appears as though his very soul is slipping out from him, like the rug was just ripped from beneath his feet.

“It’s private, Abby—” Mr. Thompson begins, but Bryan cuts him off.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Bryan says. “It’s just… um…” His voice quivers, and there’s a pause before he finally takes a deep breath and speaks. “It’s… It’s my mom,” he whispers, the words catching in his throat. “She passed away. Just now.”

The room tilts a little, my heart dropping to my stomach. The competition, the rivalry, the argument with Daniel—all of it suddenly seems to fade into nothingness.

“Oh, Bryan... I’m so sorry,” I murmur.

He nods. “She wasn’t doing so well, and has been in the hospital for a while. I should have been by her side, but…” He shakes his head now, clearly regretful. “I was here instead.”

“What now, then?” Daniel asks, his posture stiff. I glance over at him, and there’s a glint in his eyes, something telling me that he’s only thinking of himself right now. Empathy isn’t in the cards for him; not today, and maybe not ever.

“I’m dropping out.”

Bryan’s words hit me like a ton of bricks. I’m at a loss for words, my eyes wide, my mouth agape.

Then Mr. Thompson speaks up, his usually jovial demeanor masked by a sense of regret and urgency. “We’re very sorry to see you go, Bryan,” he says gently. “But it’s your choice. Feel free to go; we’ll handle your station.”

“And what about the contest?” Daniel blurts out, that glint in his eyes still apparent.

Mr. Thompson turns, his hands clasped behind his back, a sure sign that he’s about to switch into his professional mode. “The final round will proceed with you two, Abby and Daniel.”

Daniel’s eyes narrow. “But the scores—”

“The scores of the second round will not be taken into account,” Mr. Thompson interrupts, shooting Daniel a warning look. “Regardless of scores, you are now the two remaining finalists.”

There’s a moment where I feel a bitter sense of relief mingled with guilt, the taste more acrid than that of my bitter tiramisu. But I push it aside, focusing instead on Bryan, whose world has just crumbled.

“Bryan…” I start, taking a few steps toward him, my own troubles feeling trivial and small now. “I... If there’s anything—”

But Bryan’s shoulders tremble slightly as I speak, and I can’t just stand here anymore. As if I’m moving on autopilot, I step forward and wrap my arms around him in a hug. It’s awkward, unexpected—especially from me, to him, this man I barely know—but in an odd way, I know he needs this right now.

He stiffens, like he’s just been slapped. But then, after a few moments, he seems to relax. His arms tentatively wrap around my shoulders, hiding me back. There’s a sense of surprise in his embrace, as he was no doubt not expecting a comforting hug from one of his opponents.

We stand here for a few moments, locked in this embrace. The room is silent, and I can feel Daniel’s eyes boring holes into the back of my head—but more than anything, I can feel Bryan’s shoulders tremble, a silent sob quaking his body. And right now, that’s all that matters.

The hug breaks after a few long moments, and Bryan finally steps back. “Thank you,” he says, his voice a cracked whisper. “I didn’t expect—”

“There’s no need,” I whisper, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Go and be with your family. We’ll be thinking of you, Bryan.”

He nods, and with a last glance, he turns and walks out of the breakroom, out of the competition, out of this chapter of his life. Mr. Thompson follows on his heels, and then the door clicks shut, and Daniel and I are now engulfed in a silence so profound it practically makes my ears pop.

Then, as if on cue, Karl reappears, his usual quick stride a bit slower, his forehead creased.

“Everything okay here?” he asks, eyes searching the room, as if he could sense the shift in the air.

I push away from the table I’ve been leaning on to steady myself, meeting him halfway in the middle of the room. “It’s Bryan... he’s out. His mother passed away.” My voice is a whisper, cracked and strained with a combination of surprise and worry.

Karl’s face pales. “Oh no, that’s terrible. Poor guy…”

“And because of that, Mr. Thompson said the second round scores are scrapped. It’s just Daniel and me in the final now.”

He nods, processing the information. “Right, the final…” His voice trails off, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck.

Silence swells between us, and I can’t help but notice the way his eyes dodge mine. “Hey… Where did you go earlier?” I ask, curiosity lacing my tone.

He stiffens as though the question just hit a nerve. “Just… I had to make a call. Family stuff, you know?” he says, although I know Karl too well to ignore the lie in his tone.

I’m about to dig deeper when Daniel’s voice cuts through the room. I almost forgot he was even there, still standing in the corner again.

“Family stuff, huh? Must be catching.” There’s a sneer in his voice, and when I turn to him, his eyes are locked on Karl with a sharpness that sets me on edge.

Karl squares his jaw, the muscle ticking. “Something you want to say, Daniel?”

Daniel just smiles, a cold, humorless curl of his lips. “Not my business. Just interesting timing, that’s all.”

I’m not sure what’s going on here, but whatever it is, I feel caught in the middle of it as the two men glare at each other. But then, suddenly, the intercom buzzes to life, the sound grating on my ears.

“All contestants, please return to the stage for the final round.”

With that signature smirk of his, Daniel pushes off of the counter he’s been leaning on, hands in his pockets, and strides out of the room without another word. Karl and I watch him go before exchanging looks.

“What was that about?” I find myself asking, glancing up at Karl with hesitance in my voice.

Karl meets my gaze, and his own gaze has cooled already, betraying nothing.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “You made it to the last round, and that’s something. Let’s just focus on winning this thing.”

I nod, drawing in a ragged breath. Sure. Winning. It’s not off the table, so long as I play my cards right in the final round.

I just hope that I won’t get sabotaged this time.