Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 171

XANDER'S POV

Addy’s at the window when I hear the familiar growl of Jax's bike outside. “Your menace in leather’s here,” she says, tone teasing. Before I can come up with a reply, my phone buzzes. Just one word, same as always.

‘*Here’*

It’s stupid how something that small can drag a smile out of me before I even realize it’s there. I cut through the shop and out the door. He’s right there, parked at the curb, helmet still on, body angled slightly my way.

I walk over, heart doing that stupid jump thing it always does around him. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything. I stop in front of him, lean in just enough to tap the tips of my fingers against the side of his helmet.

“No kiss today?” I ask, my voice dipping softer than I mean it to.....half teasing, half aching for the kind of closeness that’s already become second nature. But he doesn’t react or pull me in like he usually would. He looks away, just for a second, like he’s trying to find his words. And my chest tightens.

When he turns back to me, there’s something that settles between us, like the air's gone thicker. Invisible but sharp, like the moment before a storm breaks. It hums between us and I feel it crawl under my skin before I even know what it is.

I glance down. His hands are still on the handlebars, fingers curling slightly.

Bruised knuckles.

My stomach drops.....

For a moment, everything in me stutters. I reach out like he’s something that might break if I touch him wrong. My fingers find the edges of his helmet, and I ease it off, holding my breath.

And then I see him.

His jaw’s bruised, there’s a shadow of swelling under his left eye. A smear of dried blood near his lip. He looks like he’s been through hell. My chest aches, heartbeat drumming so loud it feels like it’s echoing in my throat.

I take half a step back, because if I don’t, I’m not sure what I’ll do. Shout? Shake him until he tells me what the hell happened?

A thousand thoughts crash through my head, all tangled up in the same breath. The words are right there, burning the back of my throat, but I can’t push any of them out. So I just stand there, staring at him, wishing I could fix whatever part of him keeps running toward pain instead of away from it.

And then the anger hits. Not fear, not worry. Just sharp and blinding anger. It claws up my throat before I can stop it, burning hotter with every second I look at him. All I feel is this deep, unexplainable fury that doesn’t give a damn about all that “I need it” bullshit.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, but his expression shifts just slightly, just enough for me to know he can see it. He knows what I'm feeling.

I hang his helmet on the handlebar, my hands shaking more than I want to admit. I turn my head to the side and breathe out, trying to cage the storm building in my chest. We’ve been good. Better than good, actually. We found a rhythm that works pretty well. And now this. He shows up busted and quiet and staring at me like I’m supposed to just understand.

I don’t....I can’t.

Because if he was okay this morning, what the fuck happened between then and now? What snapped in his head, what drove him back to that dark edge?

I try to speak, but the still words don’t come. Not the ones that sound like ‘why did you do this’, and definitely not the ones that sound like ‘I love you too much to keep watching you destroy yourself.’

I drag a hand over my face, the weight of it all pressing down on me until I can barely breathe. My stomach twists, tight and cold. “I've lost my appetite,” I say, voice rougher than I mean it to be. “I’ll see you later at your place.”

I turn to leave, already halfway back toward the door when his voice catches on the air behind me.

“I didn’t go there,” he says. “To The Pit. I didn’t go.”

I turn back, my eyes narrowing slightly, heart caught somewhere between disbelief and exhaustion. “Then what the hell happened, Jax?”

His fingers lace together on the handlebars, focus locked on the empty space in front of him like if he stares hard enough, it’ll swallow the question whole.

“I got into a fight with these guys,” he starts, his tone too calm for the mess he looks like. “They were—”

“We'll talk later,” I cut in. “I really can’t do this right now.”

That finally makes him turn to me, his eyes sharp. “It wasn’t my fucking fault,” he says. “Some guys were picking on Nate. I had to do something.”

I nod slowly, though I barely register it. The words slide right through me, meaningless noise trying to fill a space too full already. All I can see are the bruises. The cuts. The ache stitched into the way he moves.

“Nate mixed himself up with some dangerous people,” he goes on, voice harder now, trying to explain or justify. “They were trying to drag him off, I couldn’t just stand there.”

“Right,” I murmur, something unconvincing slipping out of me. A sound that’s not quite agreement, not quite disbelief.

“That’s it?” he asks after a second, his voice sharper now. “You’re not gonna say anything?”

“Like what?” I shoot back. “What am I supposed to say?”

He exhales, long and frustrated, his jaw flexing. “You’re mad.”

“What gave you that idea?”

He pins me with a look then, the kind that reaches right through my chest and pulls everything ugly to the surface. “You asked me not to go to The Pit,” he says quietly. “And I didn’t. So why the hell are you mad? It’s not like I went out looking for a fight.”

I wish it were that simple. I wish I could tell him it’s not about where he fought. It’s about what it means. That every bruise is another reminder that the world keeps trying to take pieces of him, and he keeps letting it. That I’m so goddamn scared of loving someone who seems to bleed without even realizing it.

“I think we should just talk later,” I say finally, my voice calm but pulled taut. “I don’t wanna say something I’ll regret right now.”

Jax’s head tilts a little, his gaze locking onto me like a challenge. “Like what?”

I don’t answer right away. My pulse is still thrumming too hard, my thoughts a storm I can’t sort through fast enough.

He shakes his head, a rough sound leaving him. “You’re always telling me to quit straying away, right? To not shut down when shit gets hard.” There's steel in his tone now, each word striking clean and precise. “I almost did that today. Almost just kept my damn distance because I knew this....” he gestures between us, frustration laced in every movement, “....would be your reaction. But I didn’t. I showed up. I’m here and I’m doing my fucking best, Xander. So just do what you always do and say whatever it is you’re thinking.”

My jaw flexes, a dull ache settling behind it as the words claw their way up my chest. I manage a slow breath, swallowing down everything that wants to break loose.

“Let’s take a walk,” I say quietly, before turning and starting down the sidewalk.

His footsteps eventually fall into rhythm with mine. He doesn’t say anything, and I don’t turn to look at him.

Because right now, if I do, I’m not sure if I’ll want to yell or reach for him, and I don’t trust myself to know which one would come first.