Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 11

JAX'S POV

Fucking hospital light. That pale, flickering kind that makes everything feel colder than it already is.

I don’t last twenty minutes in there.

Not with the white walls, not with the smell, not with the way the damn place breathes like it fucking knows me.

Layla’s in there, with her damn arm cradled to her chest. She'd been the one in the fight, just like I guessed. Classic.

I was supposed to be watching her.

Instead....Xander, the heat. That fucking sound he made.

I make it a block before I stop walking. I can still see the ER sign glowing behind me if I turn around, but I don’t.

I won’t.

I lean against a busted-up light post, the kind that's been graffitied and pissed on and probably seen better years than I have. I take a breath, but it doesn't go deep. The weight in my chest doesn’t let it. Something’s pressing there, tight, old, like a goddamn bruise that’s still sore years later.

My fingers shake when I pull up Adam’s number. I tell myself it’s the cold. It rings once.

Twice.

He picks up. Voice sharp. “Jax?”

I don’t waste time.

“She got in a fight,” I say. “ Might’ve fractured her arm.”

There’s silence. Then—

“You let her get hurt?” His voice drops to that low, deadly octave. The one he saves for when he’s seconds from snapping.

“She’s not exactly easy to babysit.”

“You were supposed to be watching her!”

Yeah. I know.

“I turned my back for five minutes,” I mutter. “Didn’t expect her to turn feral that quick.”

“Is she okay?”

“She's still waiting to be checked out, we just got here. ”

He sighs. It sounds pained. “Jesus, Jax. You...I need updates. Call me as soon as they say something real.”

“Yeah.” I pause. “ You're gonna fly back, aren't you?"

My tone's accusatory. He's too weak to stay away, too illogical where she's concerned. He doesn’t respond to that. Just says, “Keep me posted,” and hangs up.

I don’t move.

The wind hits harder out here, brushing against my neck like fingers I didn’t ask for. I roll my jaw, stare up at the sky like it might offer answers it never does.

I know I should go back in. Sit there like it doesn’t bother me. Like the air doesn’t smell like antiseptic and trauma.

But I can’t. Not yet.

That place, It reminds me of voices that stop mid-sentence. Of machines that beep until they don’t.

I wish I had my damn flask.

A couple sips of that burn would probably smooth out this mess in my chest. Soften the edges of this dull, dragging ache I can't quite name. It's stupid, I hardly even touched a drink at the club. Had been too busy watching Xander. Too dialed in on every smirk, every glance, the subtle shift in his shoulders when he caught me looking.

And now this. A damn hospital hospital, Layla inside with a possible fracture and Adam a thousand miles away ready to murder me through the phone.

I drag a hand down my face, exhale through clenched teeth.

Then....

Footsteps.

I hear them before I see him. Light, careful steps, like he's trying not to spook something. I don’t need to turn around to know it’s him. My skin knows before my eyes do.

Xander.

I glance over my shoulder. He’s got that guarded look in his eyes again, like he’s part wild thing, part guy with questions he’s not ready to ask. He’s hesitant, but there’s this pull in him. Same one in me. Curiosity, maybe. Or something more dangerous.

He stops a few feet away. Doesn’t speak. Just stares. And I let him. I look too. Really look. At the worry he’s trying to hide behind that casual slouch. At the little twitch in his fingers like they wanna do something but he won’t let them.

Then he asks, “You okay?”

It’s not a throwaway question. It’s not a polite filler. There’s something tangled in his voice, something raw and unsure. Like even he doesn’t understand why he cares.

I scoff. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

I cock my head, “I’m not that close to Layla that her bruising a bone would send me spiraling into emotional despair.”

He gives a slow nod. Eyes flick to the street, then up at the sky like either of those will offer some kind of answer. Hands disappear into his front pockets. Silence again.

But watching him? It’s doing something. Slowing my pulse. Pulling me out of the dark.

Then he says, “I don’t know. You just seemed… off. When you walked away.”

I blink at him.

“Off?” I echo, brow raised.

“Yeah,” he says. “Off.”

I stare. Not because I’m pissed, but because I hadn’t expected him to notice. That he saw that, felt that....I didn’t think I was bleeding out enough for someone to pick up on it. And especially not him. But I’m not about to linger on that.

So I tilt my head, let the smirk return, this time sharper, smug, the kind that knows exactly what it’s doing.

“You watching me, Xander?”

His eyes narrow slightly.

“You intrigued?” There’s a bite in my tone now. Playful, but dangerous.

He scoffs. Shakes his head.

“Forget it. I don’t even know why I’m out here.”

Bullshit. His eyes flick to my neck. He swallows. I know exactly what he’s looking at. Where he marked me. It’s probably blooming purple by now.

I tap his cheek with my hand. “Yes you do.”

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t need to.

I take a step closer. He doesn’t move. That’s the thing with him, he’ll act all startled and unsure, but when I really push? He holds his ground. Makes it that much more fun.

I lean in just a fraction. My voice drops.

“Just look, you’re already coming to me willingly.”

I hold his gaze. Then I walk away, leaving him standing there. I feel calmer, steadier. Maybe I don’t need that flask after all.