Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 119

JAX'S POV

I’m not even sure why I’m here. Adam’s office isn’t exactly welcoming, it's too polished, but I’ve found myself sinking into the leather chair more than once when I don’t feel like going anywhere else. He’s at his desk, glued to his laptop, jotting things in that neat little notebook of his like the world depends on it.

I get up, drift toward the whiskey table. My hand knows the weight of the bottle before I even look at it. I pour, lift it, take a sip, and freeze.

The taste hits my tongue and it’s...sharp, almost foreign. Like I’ve been away from it longer than I realized. My brows knit, and for a second I just stare at the glass. Days. It’s been days. That’s...significant, if I cared to admit it. I don’t feel it though. No twitch in my fingers, no itch under my skin. Just awareness.

Nate and his damn big mouth!

The Pit isn’t a big deal to me...it pays, it’s familiar, and familiarity’s worth something. But Xander? He’s a different equation. I’d forgotten what it felt like to give a damn about what someone else thought of me. I hate that I do. But I really fucking do.

“Did you just miss my entertaining company?” Adam’s voice cuts in, dry as ever.

I glance back. He hasn’t moved, eyes locked on his laptop. Like he’s talking to me with half a brain while the other half is conducting business deals worth millions.

I stride over and drop into the chair across from him, set my glass down on the desk. Then I just watch him. He doesn’t notice at first, but eventually his eyes flick up. One brow arches, like I’ve interrupted his sacred ritual.

“What was it?” I ask.

His pen stills. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“The tattoo you got. What was it?”

He chuckles, shakes his head. “Why don’t you ask your boyfriend? I don’t see why I should tell you anything. It’s not like we’ve known each other for years and you already know every fucking thing there is to know about me.”

The bite in his tone catches me off guard. He’s usually so damn composed, locked up tight. This is... sharp, different.

I frown. “Who pissed in your coffee this morning?”

He ignores me, goes back to typing, but not smoothly. His keystrokes are angrier now, each one hitting the desk like a punch.

I reach for my glass again, pause halfway. Tilt my head at him. “Layla not a fan of your new art piece? That why you’re so sour?”

His breath comes out slow and heavy. Like he’s reining himself back, trying to settle. Then he closes the laptop a fraction, shifts it aside, and lifts his gaze to mine.

“You said you liked me more than you like most people.”

I blink, frown deeper. “Okay...? Where exactly are we going with this?”

“I’ve always wondered if we were actually friends,” he says. His voice is too calm now, the kind that masks something raw. “Guess I got my answer. We’re not. The eight years we’ve known each other don’t mean a damn thing.”

The words land heavy. For once, I don’t have a comeback waiting. I lean back slowly. “You good?”

He shrugs, careless on the surface. “Why wouldn’t I be?” He opens the laptop but shuts it almost immediately. His composure is cracking all over the place. Then, sharp again...“Tell me why I had to hear from Layla that you’re dating, and not from you? If all I’m good for is bailing you out of trouble and–” He cuts himself off, throws his hands up. “And whiskey and....whatever. Doesn’t matter.” He snaps the laptop open. “I’ve got work to do. I’m sure your new boyfriend makes better company.”

I just sit there, glass in hand, staring at him. The little meltdown doesn’t fit Adam. He’s usually all composed and logical. Seeing him crack like this kind of startles me. Then, without meaning to, an amused chuckle bubbles out.

He glares, sharp enough to cut.

“Don’t tell me…” I lean forward, grin spreading slow. “Are you jealous?”

He scoffs, the sound dismissive. “Don’t flatter yourself.” He says it like the word itself offends him. My grin only widens. He’s got that stone face on, the one most people can’t read. But I’ve seen cracks in it too many times not to notice.

He meets my gaze head-on, grey eyes steady, unreadable to most, but I know better. They’re layered, hiding more than anyone can comprehend. “It’s fine,” he says evenly. “I came to terms with the fact this friendship is one-sided years ago.” He waves a hand in a careless flick, quite petty actually. “Hope you two have a lovely relationship.”

I lean back, cross my arms, settle in to watch him while he dives back into his work like the conversation never happened. I realize something I’ve never said out loud, or even admitted in my head until now. I like Adam. Not in some grand, complicated way. But in the way where I’ve seen him at his worst more times than I can count. I’ve pulled him back to the surface when he was drowning. But I’ve always hesitated when it comes to bonds, even harmless ones. Easier to keep things undefined.

“Quit staring at me,” he says suddenly, not looking up. “I’m not Xander. I won’t get all weak in the knees.”

I scoff. “Now you’re just being an ass.” Though, truth be told, I’m still amused. He’s rattled, which is rare enough that I’m almost tempted to keep pushing just to see how far it’ll go.

Minutes slip by like that, quiet except for his typing and my glass spinning slowly against the desk. I think about leaving, letting him stew in whatever mood he’s buried himself in. But something makes me stay.

I mutter a curse under my breath. Then, before I can stop myself, I say, “I lied, I don’t really work at a boxing ring.”

His typing slows for a beat, then resumes like nothing happened. “I never thought you did.”

I nod, not surprised he caught up on the lie.

“I work at this place,” I continue. My voice is lower now, less amused. “A fight club. It’s called The Pit.”

That gets his attention. He looks up, frowning. “Fight club?”

I shrug, keep my tone light even though it feels heavier than it should. “Yeah. A bunch of people pay good money to watch two...sometimes more...guys beat the shit out of each other. Nothing glamorous.”

His frown deepens. “And you work there?”

“I do.” I hold his gaze, unapologetic. “And I’m not planning to stop.”

He leans back slightly, studies me. Then, slowly, he nods. Like he’s filing that away. “Why the hell are you telling me this now?”

I swirl the last of the whiskey in my glass, the amber catching the light. “Because he found out.” My jaw tightens. “And now we're apparently gonna have to talk about it. Not exactly looking forward to how that’s gonna go.”

Adam opens his mouth, shuts it again. For a second, his composure falters, like he’s weighing words he doesn’t normally offer. Then he leans forward just slightly, grey eyes sharp on me.

“Are you asking for my advice,” he says, low and deliberate, “or is this you finally opening up?”