Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 128

The waitress sets down the last brush, promises to be right back with our order, and disappears in a flutter of soft steps. I smile after her, polite, then let my gaze sweep the café. It’s warm in here, cozy in that lived-in way. Couples dot the room, leaning into each other, laughing quietly over their palettes. It’s exactly what the comments promised....a fun date spot.

When I look back, Jax isn’t seeing any of it. His jaw’s tight, thumb flying across his screen with all the gentleness of a jackhammer.

“You good?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

He blows out a breath, drops the phone onto the table like it’s guilty. “Nate broke two glasses. Thought the smartest way to clean it up was with my fucking vacuum. He broke the damn thing too, just sent me a picture of one-star reviews from the vacuum’s website claiming it was 'defective' to begin with.”

I blink, then laugh, the sound bursting out before I can stop it. “He’s a menace, huh?”

“Menace is generous. He’s a walking hazard sign who doesn’t even realize he’s one.”

I’m still grinning, shaking my head. “I don't know, I think he’s kinda cute.”

Jax’s glare snaps to me like I’ve just confessed to infidelity.

“Not like that,” I rush, hands up. “Cute in the... kid sense. Like, you laugh at the chaos because it’s so ridiculous.” I shrug. “He reminds me of Gabriel.”

“Who the hell’s Gabriel?”

“My nephew.” I pull out my phone, find the picture I know by heart, Gabriel perched on my lap at the restaurant last time I was home, both of us laughing at some nonsense he’d said while he hogged his dad’s phone. I slide it across to Jax. “He’s my sister’s. She’s got two kids. Heather’s an angel. Gabriel too...just talks like he’s been saving up words for years and needs to dump them all on you at once.”

Jax studies the photo, and his mouth tips into something that isn’t quite a smile but isn’t far from it. He hands the phone back carefully.

And the question leaps out of me before I can stop it. “Do you like kids?”

He looks up and suddenly I’m fiddling with the brushes, lining them neatly in a row, pretending it’s nothing. But my heart’s pounding like I just asked him to marry me. Maybe I get why it feels so heavy....because it is. It’s the kind of thing you ask when you’ve been in a relationship long enough, when you’re not just feeling it in your chest but letting yourself imagine the rest.

I’ve never let myself picture it, not fully. But it’s always been there, at the edges. It’s a dream I buried before the impossibility of it could hurt me, and yet here it is, clawing its way out in the middle of a damn paint café.

Jax leans back, unreadable. “I don’t dislike them. Just....never been around them enough to know, I guess.”

I nod too quickly, reaching over to arrange his paints like that’ll ground me. My throat’s dry. “Right. That makes sense.” I sit back, force my hands to still, then clear my throat. My voice feels unsteady even though I’m trying to keep it casual. “That’s not really what I meant though. I meant.... do you want them? Kids, I mean.”

I risk a glance. He’s watching me now, like he sees through every layer I’m trying to wrap myself in. The look sits heavy between us, unreadable but charged.

Then he goes quiet, really thinking it over, and his mouth parts. All that comes out is, “I don’t think so.” Heavy, like it costs him something to admit.

I slowly nod, my brush already in my hand before I realize it, hoping the disappointment dragging through me doesn’t show. It probably does, the way his eyes linger on me like he’s trying to read my pulse. I dip into the paint, coat the bristles, and let the first stroke ground me.

To change the subject, I say lightly, “Doesn’t Nate get bored? All alone at home all the time?”

Jax snorts, leans back in his chair. “He’s fine. I get a headache within ten minutes of hanging out with him.”

That earns a small laugh out of me. I keep my eyes on the canvas, covering it in a smooth layer of black. “Maybe I’ll paint you something,” I say, trying to sound casual. “And you can do the same.”

He tilts his head, brows knitting. “What the hell would I even paint?”

“Anything,” I shrug. “There are no rules. I saw a girl sketching stick figures when we walked in. The bar’s on the floor, trust me. Just have fun with it.”

I’m just about done with my base coat when I glance over and catch him....shoulders squared, jaw set, face full of concentration. He rakes a hand through his hair, looks around like inspiration might come out of the air itself. Then he says, dead serious, “Then prepare to be astounded. I’ve been hiding my skills. Paint actually runs in my veins.”

The seriousness in his delivery kills me. I bark out a laugh, shaking my head. “Oh, it’s on, then.”

He smiles, turns back to his canvas like it’s a battleground, and I let my gaze linger. Longer than I should. Because the whole time I’m laying down this black backdrop, my mind is looping back to what he said. That heavy 'I don’t think so.'

It should crush me....it does. But then I look at where we are. He actually said hi to my mum... albeit under weird, very brief circumstances. He laced his fingers with mine like it was second nature, and right now he’s looking at me like I’m worth showing up for. And this is Jax, the guy who wanted nothing, not even the idea of a relationship.

I’m nothing if not persistent. I got him. And it’s too early for me to be asking about futures and families like I don’t already know the difficult road we’re on. He’s here. That’s more than enough for now.

With that thought, a grin pulls at my mouth, slow and certain. I know exactly what I’m going to paint.

Our food arrives and the waitress pauses, eyes catching mine before darting to my work. “Oh, wow,” she says, surprise warming her voice, her eyes shifting to Jax for a beat. “You’re good. Enjoy.” She sets the plates down and drifts off without waiting for me to respond, a smile on her face.

Jax’s eyes slide toward my painting again, more curious this time. “Show me,” he pretty much instructs.

I shake my head, protective. “Nope. Focus on your masterpiece, Picasso. We’ll do a grand reveal when we’re both finished.”

He looks at me like I’ve just denied him oxygen. He then picks up his fork and stabs at a roasted potato wedge, chewing while his eyes shoot daggers at me. He reaches for his plate next, lifts a piece of the pan-seared salmon, and takes a bite...slow and measured. I lean back, watching him.