Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 165

It’s been two days since he brought it up. Two days since the word Michigan turned to static in my head and I shut him down before he could say anything else. He hasn’t mentioned it again. Not once. Which should make me relieved.....hell, it does, but still....

I’m sitting against the headboard, legs stretched out. Xander’s somewhere in my living room, looking for his phone. I can hear him muttering to himself, the kind of absent little noises he makes when he’s not really thinking, and it’s ridiculous how easily those sounds settle something in me.

He finally appears in the doorway, phone in hand, thumb scrolling through something on his phone. The light from the screen throws a soft blue over his face.

“Come here,” I say, and he stops, looks up with a grin that feels like home.

“I was heading there,” he says teasingly as he climbs onto the bed. He switches off his phone and places it aside before crawling closer.

When he settles beside me, I hook an arm around his waist and pull him back, guiding him until he’s sitting between my legs, his back pressed to my chest. A soft laugh leaves him as I lace our fingers together and cross our joined hands over his chest. His heartbeat is steady against my palms.

It’s been a good two days. Nothing heavy, nothing sharp....just us. Him being himself, the easy warmth that filters through every dark corner I’ve ever built. And yet, that quiet panic still hums under my ribs. Like the more I love him, and I do, the louder that fear gets.

He tilts his head back, looks up at me with that teasing grin. “I like it when you get all clingy.”

I scoff, leaning down just enough to brush my mouth over his hair. “I’m not clingy. I’m feeling cold. Trying to steal some of your heat.”

“Uh huh.” He glances down at my bare chest. “In that case, you’re not exactly dressed for insulation.”

I shrug. “Skin’s a better conductor. Easier to absorb your warmth when there’s nothing in the way.”

He shakes his head, laughing softly. “Okay, I’ll pretend I believe that.” Then he lets his head fall back against my shoulder, body melting into mine like he was made to fit there. And I believe he was, Xander was specifically designed for me.

“You wanna doom scroll with me again?”He asks quietly. I press a kiss to his shoulder, the taste of his skin grounding me. “No,” I murmur. “Just wanna hold you.”

And for a long while, that’s all I do. Just breathe him in, pretending the world outside this bed doesn’t exist. Because as long as he’s here, I almost believe it doesn’t.

“Are you mad?” I eventually ask, the words slipping out before I can decide if I actually want to hear the answer. Xander frowns, half turning in my hold so he can look at me properly. “Why would I be mad?”

I meet his eyes, then look away, tracing my thumb along the line of his collarbone. “Because I said no to Michigan.”

For a second, he just studies me, then that small, quiet smile pulls at his mouth. Subtle but devastating. He leans back against me again like he’s settling into something safe, and I wrap my arms around him, pulling him closer than necessary. He laughs under his breath.

“I'll have cracked ribs by next week if you keep this up.”

I loosen my grip a little but keep him close, my chin brushing his shoulder. His fingers start tracing slow, thoughtless lines across my forearms....light touches that make it hard to think about anything else.

“I’m not mad,” he says quietly after a moment. “Have I done something to make you think I was?”

I breathe him in, then shake my head. “No. You haven’t. It’s just, you don’t usually let things go that easily.” I pause, trying to find the right words. “You fight for what you want. The idea of you just....giving up, it doesn’t fit.”

He hums softly, his tone calm, grounded in that way that always makes me feel like he’s seeing something deeper than what I’m saying. “It wasn’t giving up,” he says. “I knew it was a big ask. Honestly, I was already braced for the no.”

He tilts his head slightly, resting it against mine. “I’m not trying to overwhelm you, Jax. I know how that feels. I can't drag you from a hangout with my drunk friends into meeting my entire family.” He smiles faintly again, his voice soft but steady. “So yeah, I get it. I really do.”

I believe him, but that doesn’t stop the guilt from curling somewhere low in my chest, right beside the relief. We’re quiet for a while. Then my phone rings and I reach for it. Sam's name flashes on the screen, Xander sees it too and I feel him tense. He called yesterday morning too, and Xander saw it then as well.

I hit ignore, same way I did yesterday.

Then Xander says, almost casually, “I’ve been doing some research.”

I glance at him. “Research on what?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares straight ahead, jaw tight, and I know that look....when he’s bracing himself to say something I won’t like.

“Alternatives,” he says finally.

My brow furrows. “For what?”

“The fighting.” His tone is soft but deliberate. “There are other options out there. Safer ones. Things that’ll still wreck your body, push it, flood you with that same kind of adrenaline.”

I shake my head before he’s even done. “It’s not the same.”

“Yeah,” he says, and there’s this tired sort of patience in his voice. “That’s kind of the point. It’s less dangerous. Still serves the same purpose. You could try rock climbing, boxing, martial arts....literally anything else apart from—”

“It’s not the same,” I cut in, sharper this time.

He looks at me, really looks at me, and I hate that expression, the one that says he understands more than I want him to.

Because he’s wrong. He’s right. But he’s wrong. It’s not about the rush or the challenge. It’s about what it takes from me, and what it gives back. The split second where everything stops spinning.

I can feel his eyes on me, waiting and weighing. I keep mine fixed ahead. His voice comes out calm. That kind of stillness that means his mind’s moving faster than his mouth.

“How do you even know it’s not the same?” he asks. “You ever tried anything else?”

I shake my head. “I don’t need to try anything else,” I say. “I just know.”

He hums quietly, a soft, noncommittal sound, and goes back to tracing patterns along my arms. His fingers move slowly, like he’s thinking through the touch. For a second, I think that’s it...that he’s letting it drop.

But then, barely above a whisper, he says, “Wouldn’t you try? Even once. For me?”

I exhale hard. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“You know what,” I say, my voice rougher than I mean it to be. “The guilt-tripping. Why can’t we just let it go?”

He turns his head a little, eyes flicking toward mine, and his next words come quiet but sharp.

“Can you blame me?” he asks. “That place is a hellhole, Jax. Every day I wonder if you'll go there. And when you don’t go, I’m relieved...just for a second, but then I remember you will eventually. So I can’t even—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head, breath catching on something too heavy to say.