Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 115

I can’t help thinking about last night. How loud we were and if Nate heard. If he knows exactly how many times Jax dragged me apart and put me back together. The thought should embarrass me. It doesn’t. It just makes me smile, fingers curling around the knife.

I reach for my phone. “Mind if I put on some music?”

He doesn’t look up. “If it’s intolerable, I’ll run your phone through the meat grinder.”

The way he says it, all gruff, makes me snort. “Fair enough.” I unlock it, thumb hovering over my playlist. Thinking about how I'd told him burgers were my favorite food and now he’s here making them for me. It’s stupidly sweet, and my chest feels too full for something so simple.

I scroll until I find the playlist....Xanax. The ridiculous ship name Addy and Layla came up with way before this thing between me and Jax became official. They haven’t let up since. The playlist’s become a habit. I’ve been collecting songs....anything that reminds me of him, or of us, or of this thing I still can’t believe is real.

I can’t help it. The second I tap play, the opening riff has me biting back a grin. I Touch Myself by Divinyls. It’s ridiculous, it’s cheesy, it’s so on the nose it practically blushes for me.

Jax doesn’t notice right away, too focused on shaping patties with this maddening concentration, muscles flexing like he’s in some kind of slow-burn cooking ad meant to ruin me. But then the first two lines float through the kitchen and his hands pause mid-motion. Just slightly. Like the words slipped under his skin before he could stop them.

I lean my hip into the counter, head bobbing along to the beat, lips quirking when the chorus kicks in. That’s when he finally turns, spatula in hand, eyebrow lifting like it’s got somewhere urgent to be.

I lose it, laughter breaking sharp and bright, echoing against tile.

“What?” I shoot back, all fake innocence, nodding along in perfect sync with the chorus. “It’s pretty accurate.”

He just stares at me, before scoffing low under his breath, the corner of his mouth betraying him with the smallest twitch. He shakes his head like he can’t believe he puts up with me, but the scoff melts into a chuckle. And it’s warm. Like I’ve just slipped past some invisible guard without him noticing.

I grin wider, because getting Jax to laugh....even begrudgingly, even just a huff through his nose while he pretends to be annoyed, feels like cracking open a safe. He goes back to the burgers, jaw tight but not hiding the faintest curve of a smile, and I let the song play out.

He's buttering the buns now, it’s absurd, how seriously he takes burger assembly. And of course, right then, Heartbeats comes on. Jose González, stripped-down, all quiet ache in a few chords.

“My favorite artist,” I say, too casual, knife still in hand. He glances at me but doesn’t answer. Just keeps smoothing butter over bread.

Back at the farmer’s market, he told me he doesn’t really listen to music. I do. All the time. Always have. My dad made sure of it, his records...his instruments, it was impossible not to soak it in.

Jax pauses, tilts his head. Listens and nods once. “It’s nice.”

I squint at him, can’t tell if he means it or if he’s just throwing me a bone. I finish slicing the tomato and hold it up for inspection. “So? Passable?”

He leans, studies it like a critic at an art gallery, then just sucks in a breath. I shove the cutting board closer. “Next time I’ll pull out a ruler, get the slices to regulation thickness.”

His mouth twitches. “Bold of you to assume there’ll be a next time after that massacre.”

“Massacre?” I laugh, shaking my head. “Please, you’re lucky I didn’t stab myself in the process.”

The song fades, and before I can bite back another retort, Stay Alive begins. Soft. Steady. Fragile in a way that shouldn’t feel dangerous, but does. I lean against the counter, knife down now, trying not to touch him. But he’s right there. So close. Too close.

Halfway through, he stops again. Turns his head slightly, eyes finding me. There’s something in them that makes my chest go tight.

“What’s that one called?”

“Stay Alive,” I say, voice quieter than I mean it to be. “Same artist as the last.”

He nods. “I like it.”

And this time, I know he means it. He’s not humoring me. He’s listening...really listening. The track ends and silence edges in. He turns towards me, not even trying to hide it. “Play it again?”

My throat goes dry. But I smile, because that’s all I can do. “Of course.” I hit replay.

And something shifts. Not in the song, in the space between us. It’s like I’m hearing it for the first time too, because I’m hearing it with him.

His eyes hold mine, unflinching. Searching. And it’s unbearable, the weight of it, the way it strips me down to bare bone. So I cross the distance and kiss him. Just a brush of lips, brief, almost clumsy. Sweet in a way that scares the hell out of me.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t push, doesn’t demand more.

His lips brush mine one last time before he pulls back, eyes sharp but heavy with something I can’t quite name. His voice is low, almost rough, like it scrapes its way out of his chest. “You make it hard to remember why I shouldn’t, Xander.” Then, like he didn’t just drop a live grenade between us, he turns back to the stove, sliding the buns into the pan as if the sizzle could drown out what he said.

My brow pulls tight, that line sitting heavy in my chest, too close to a truth I’ve been chasing in him since the start. I shift closer, pressing into his back, arms sliding around his waist because distance suddenly feels unbearable.

He smells like soap and hope and something that’s just him. I tuck my chin against his shoulder and breathe him in while he goes back to his task like my touch is the most natural thing in the world.

And it’s perfect. Perfect in a way that’s terrifying, because now I know what the shift is. This is no longer just fire and teeth. This is that thing you don’t survive without getting wrecked.

I should be scared. I am scared. But God help me....I don’t mind it either.