Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 100

JAX'S POV

The sharp, chemical smell hits me first when I open the microwave door. Something blackened and bubbling sits in the middle of the glass plate, what’s left of a sealed can of beans. The goddamn thing exploded. There’s sauce plastered against the sides, lid jammed up against the back wall like shrapnel. I stare at it, my jaw tightening, because that microwave wasn’t cheap. Stainless steel, top of the fucking line. And now it looks like the inside of a dumpster fire.

I drag a hand through my hair and glance toward the living room. Nate’s stretched out on the couch, plate balanced on his stomach while he shovels food into his mouth, eyes glued to the TV. He doesn’t even notice. Or he does and doesn’t care. I know when he’s done eating he'll leave his trail behind...crumbs, wrappers, dirty dishes. And now this. The microwave is the last straw.

Three fucking nights, he'd said. It’s almost been a week. Five days of babysitting his ass, of getting him out of trouble, covering for him, dealing with the mess he leaves behind. And I’m done.

I stalk down the hall, my steps heavy against the hardwood, and shove the spare bedroom door open. His crap’s scattered everywhere, half-open duffel bag, clothes tossed around like confetti, the smell of smoke and cologne hanging in the air. It's enough. I’ll pack his shit myself, shove a roll of cash in his hand, and put him out on the street before he burns the whole building down along with what's left of my sanity.

I take a step inside when there’s a knock at the front door. Sharp and quick. My frown deepens because no one knocks here. No one ever comes here. Unless Nate’s fucked up again.

I back out, slam the door behind me, locking it. My patience is hanging by a thread as I make my way down the hall. By the time I hit the living room, Nate’s already got the door wide open, dressed in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and still holding his damn plate.

And then I see who’s on the other side.

Xander.

He’s standing there, eyes locked on Nate like he could burn a hole straight through him. There’s no mistaking that look... confused, angry, suspicious as hell. And something in my chest shifts, a muscle I didn’t know I was clenching pulling tighter.

Nate grins, chewing slow. “Hey,” he says casually, like they’re old friends. “You lost? Or you, uh… need help with something?”

Xander’s gaze doesn’t flicker, doesn’t even shift to look at me.

Nate chuckles to himself, takes another bite, then he adds, “You’re not a cop, right? Cause if you are, whatever it is? I didn’t do it.”

I stop just a step behind him, my shadow falling across the doorway, and my hands curl into fists at my sides. And I don’t like the expression on Xander’s face, the way his eyes cut over Nate like he’s imagining putting him in the ground.

His name slips out of me before I can stop it, rough and warning, because I already see the storm building behind his eyes. He’s filling in blanks I haven’t given him, stringing together conclusions I know are wrong. He looks up at me once, sharp, and then back at Nate...like he’s comparing, like he’s already decided what he thinks he knows. Then he glances my way again, and my chest twists at the fucking look he gives me before he turns his back and strides off.

I move to follow, but Nate’s voice cuts in, all curious and oblivious. “Oh, do you know him?”

“Fuck,” I bite out, ignoring Nate completely. My legs are already carrying me past him, out of the room, pulse hammering in my ears. I catch sight of Xander just as he steps into the elevator, his shoulders squared like armor, his head turned away like I don’t even exist.

“Xander!” I call out, pushing harder. The doors start sliding shut but I get there in time, jamming my hand between them. They snap open again with a protesting groan. I hold them wide, my heart clawing at my ribs, and jerk my head toward the hallway. “Get out.”

His eyes cut to mine, defiant, lit with that dangerous spark that’s equal parts fury and hurt. “Fuck off, Jax.” his mouth twists, vicious.

The words hit harder than I want them to. They scrape right through, leaving something raw and aching in their wake. I grind my teeth, steadying myself, forcing calm I don’t feel. My voice comes out low, steady, like steel wrapped in velvet. “You’re jumping to conclusions, Xander. And they’re wrong ones.”

He scoffs, sinking deeper into his corner of the elevator, arms crossed and jaw tight. “Yeah? Looked pretty fucking cozy to me.”

“Look at me,” I demand, because I can’t stand the way he won’t. When his eyes finally snap to mine, it’s like being cut open. “I don’t care how pissed you are, I don’t care how much you want to bolt. You’re not going anywhere until we get this straight.”

The heat between us is thick and almost crackling, the air itself trembling with it. My pulse is wrecked and my chest tight, every word I speak feeling like I’m clawing back something that matters more than I want to admit. I push the doors wider, muscles tight with restraint. “Step out, Xander.” My voice sounds somewhat steady, but inside I’m strung out, wired with too much frustration and too much want.

He doesn’t move, just glares at me like I’m the damn enemy.

I hate that look, hate that it's being directed at me. My jaw clenches, I nod once. “Fine.”

I step inside instead, and immediately he scoffs, that sharp edge in his voice cutting deep as he shifts in an attempt to leave.

Not a chance...

I shove him back against the cold steel wall, my hand flat against his chest, feeling the hard pound of his heart under my palm. His eyes flash wide, fury and something else sparking there, and before he can spit out another word, I slam my other hand against the red emergency stop button. The elevator lurches, freezes. Silence drops heavy around us.

Now it’s just him and me, no escape. His glare continues cutting straight through me. “That why you didn't want me coming over? Didn't want me spoiling your fun?”

I lean back against the wall where the buttons are so he can't reach for them, arms loose at my sides though every muscle in me feels wired. My eyes roam over him before I can stop myself. White graphic tee, blue jeans that hug his hips just enough to make me grit my teeth. He’s pissed, fire in his eyes, but Christ... he’s a sight.

He catches me looking and his eyes narrow even more. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

Then he’s stepping forward, right up in my face, all sharp edges and blind fury. “Who the fuck was that?” He jerks his finger towards the general direction of my apartment, and the question lands heavy.