Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 120

“Take it however you want,” I mutter, reaching for the glass. I down what’s left in one long swallow, the burn sharp and grounding.

He sucks in a breath, then lets it out slow. “Sorry to break it to you, but I only save my advice for my friends.”

I scoff, quick to counter. “You don’t have any friends.”

His head tilts, but before he can speak, I clear my throat, curse myself inwardly, and tack on, “...Any other friends, that is.”

That gets him to turn, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

“Don’t,” I warn, pointing a finger his way. “Don’t get all soppy.”

He’s fully smiling now, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to smooth the expression off his face. “On account of our confirmed friendship,” he then says, dry but still smiling, “I’ll gladly offer you some sound advice.”

I sigh, dragging a hand down my face. Regretting this already.

He steeples his fingers on the desk, slipping into that all-business expression I know better than most. The one that makes me feel like I’ve just stepped into some boardroom where I don’t belong.

“In mine and Layla’s couple’s therapy—”

“Nevermind.” I shake my head fast, already half rising from my seat. “I’ll figure this out myself.”

He ignores me, of course. His grey eyes pin me like I’m some quarterly report he’s dissecting. I groan, sink back into the chair. My elbow settles on the armrest, temple pressed into the back of my hand. My other hand flicks a gesture at him, “Fine, get on with it.”

He does. Unfortunately.

“As I was saying, in our last session Layla brought up how I’m always trying to control her wardrobe.” He says it like he doesn’t see what the problem is. “I didn’t really see the big deal, I was just looking out for her. And she’s got that body—”

I cut him off, sharp. “Pretty sure we’re drifting off topic.”

He clears his throat, straightens, but he’s fighting a smirk. “Right. Anyway. The therapist told us something that stuck. She said, if the way you love someone feels like control, you’re not really loving them. You’re managing them. And no one wants to be managed.”

I arch a brow, completely lost. “That sounds real poetic, but I don’t see how the hell it helps me.”

He nods like he expected that. Then he launches back in. “Relationships are about compromise and honesty. Understanding each other. If Xander asks you to quit the job...which he should, by the way...”

I give him a look sharp enough to cut. He ignores it.

“...and you compromise and quit without really wanting to, you won’t be at peace. And if you refuse, then he won’t be at peace. So... this is where honesty comes in. The therapist told Layla and me to really talk about why I was so obsessed with what she wore. And we did. I realized it ran deeper than I thought. And I was honest. Which meant she understood me better, and I understood her. That’s the point. Honesty. Vulnerability. That’s what makes it work.”

He finishes and leans back, studying me like I’m supposed to be scribbling notes. “Does that help?”

I think it over, then shake my head. “Not one bit. You sound like a fortune cookie.”

He exhales through his nose, half a laugh, half a curse. “Fuck you. It’s sound advice. When you talk, just be genuine with your feelings.” He’s already reaching into his drawer for some files, flipping through them like he’s done with me.

I glance past him to the skyline through the glass wall. The city stretched out like it knows all the answers I don’t. The words come out before I even plan them. “And if I can’t?”

He looks up, softer now, eyes losing some of that sharp edge. “Can’t what?”

“Be genuine... with my feelings.” My throat works. I hate how quiet it comes out.

He sighs. “It’s a relationship, Jax. It’s all about honesty. Even when it’s hard.” A pause “...Especially when it’s hard.” His tone lands heavier than his words. Then he adds, “And as your only existing friend, my advice—”

“That’s enough,” I cut in fast, standing. “I’m leaving before you start knitting us matching sweaters.”

I don’t walk away though. Not yet. Something in me claws to the surface, and I clear my throat. “You asked me once why I helped you. Back then.”

His gaze sharpens, full focus now.

I nod slowly, forcing the words out. “You reminded me of someone. Someone I vowed to protect...and failed. I didn’t want to risk that again. And I hesitated. But I realized I’d never forgive myself if I did nothing. So I risked it anyway.”

I can see it, the flicker of emotions he tries to strangle down before they show. He doesn’t say a word. Just watches me.

That’s enough, I give a curt nod and turn, pushing the door open. I’m halfway through when his voice stops me.

“It’s her name,” he says.

I turn, frowning. “What?”

“The tattoo. It’s her name.”

For a beat, there's silence. Then I scoff, shaking my head. “Knew it’d be some cheesy shit like that.”

I step out, shutting the door to the sight of Adam flipping me off.

I step into the elevator, thumb lingering against the lit screen of my phone. I don’t even want to admit it, but Adam’s damn words keep circling. Like they’ve hooked themselves into me.

This thing I feel for Xander...it’s too strong. Too sudden, too consuming. It grows by the hour, stretching inside me, pulling tight against every restraint I’ve tried to throw on it. I don’t understand how the hell it’s gotten this far, but I know I’m starving for him. This relentless hunger clawing at my ribs.

Before I can stop myself, I’m dialing his number. The doors slide shut just as he picks up.

“ Hey, what’s up? Everything okay?” His voice is open and warm, full of care that doesn’t have conditions. It’s like pressure against a wound I didn’t want to admit was bleeding. For a second, it threatens to make me admit more than I mean to.

I make a sound in the back of my throat, rough, noncommittal. “Yeah...everything’s fine. I just…” My throat closes.My voice snags, and I clear my throat. “I was thinking about you. Thought I’d check in.”

Silence stretches in the other end, long enough that I frown. There's a charged beat where I imagine his brow furrowed, his lips parted like he’s caught off guard. “Xander?”

“Yeah,” he answers, voice a little dazed, like I’ve thrown him off balance. “It’s been less than two hours since you dropped me off.”

“I know.”

He chuckles, low and warm, and it slides through me like whiskey. “I’m okay. And I was thinking about you too. I'm always thinking about you.”

The corners of my mouth twitch, tugging into something small and reluctant. My chest goes tight.

“You still with Adam?” he asks.

“Just left.”

“Where you headed?”

“There’s a restaurant I wanted to hit up. Then probably home.”

“If they’ve got something good, get me some?”

I huff a breath, softer than a laugh. “Yeah. I will.”

“I’ll let you get back to work,” I murmur, even though every part of me doesn’t want to. “Bye.”

“Bye,” he says, and I’m about to end the call when...

“Jax.”

I still. “Yeah?”

His voice dips, softer now, threaded with something that hooks right under my skin. “Call me like this more often. I like it.”

My throat works around words I can’t say, so I settle on, “Okay.” Then quieter, “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, you will.”

The line goes dead, but I keep the phone against my ear until the elevator dings, eyes burning at the thought of him.