Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 174

It’s been hours and the air in the shop feels heavier than usual. Addy and Layla are keeping their distance, careful in that way people get when they’ve already been bitten once. They tried earlier, asked a few times if I was okay, and I snapped before I even realized it. The look on Layla’s face still stings.

Now I’m at my station, hands buried in my hair, trying to quiet the noise in my head. My phone sits on the counter, screen lit up, that damn wallpaper glaring back at me. Me and Jax, we look so alive there. It’s almost cruel how something that used to make me smile now just mocks me.

The door opens and I can't even summon the interest to look up.

“Hey, welcome,” Layla says, her voice bright. “How can we help you?”

Then a casual voice answers, familiar enough to freeze the breath in my chest.

“Hey....Nice place.”

My head jerks up before I can stop it. Nate's standing there....hoodie, baseball cap, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. For a second, my brain blanks. He walks straight toward me, like this isn’t insane. Like he belongs here. And I just sit there, watching him come closer. The day’s been one long ache already, and somehow it just found a way to get worse.

There’s a bruise blooming purple along his cheekbone....small, but fresh. I straighten slowly, spine uncurling like I’m waking from a bad dream. “What the hell are you doing here?” My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to. “How did you even know where I work?”

Nate shrugs, lips quirking like it’s a game. “Finding people is one of my less-advertised talents.” The way he says it...half cocky, half dead inside, makes me want to roll my eyes and punch him all at once. He scans the shop, taking it in with that lazy interest. “You got somewhere we can talk?” He glances at Layla and Addy, who're still pretending not to stare. “Preferably inside and a little less public?”

“About what?” I ask, suspicion tightening my voice.

He looks away for a moment, jaw working. When his gaze finds mine again, there’s weight there, something that doesn’t fit on him. Nate and serious emotions mix about as well as oil and water.

“Jax,” he says.

Just the sound of his name hits me like a punch. My throat goes tight. I swallow hard, forcing my voice steady. “Fine.” I push up from the chair, nodding toward the back. “Come on.”

I lead Nate toward the backroom. The overhead light flickers on, revealing the cramped space.....shelves stacked with ink boxes, spare cords, a few half-empty bottles of cleaner, and that single chair I always end up sitting on when I need to be alone with my mess. The one I was seated on just a couple of hours back.

Nate steps in behind me and quietly locks the door. The click echoes like a warning.

“What the hell do you want?” I ask, sharper this time. The bite in my tone makes his brows lift, eyes widening just slightly. For a second, he looks almost wounded.

“Whoa,” he says, hands raised in mock surrender. “You okay? You sound like you’re having a bad day. Which, for the record, would make two of us.”

Unbelievable.

“Cut the crap, Nate. What do you want?”

He sighs, then reaches into the pocket of his hoodie....Jax’s hoodie, I realize, the one that used to hang off his closet door. From the pocket, he pulls out a small envelope and holds it out to me. “Give this to him, yeah?”

I hesitate, then take it, fingers brushing the paper nervously. “What is it?” I ask, voice low.

“Just something I thought he might like to have,” Nate says lightly, almost like it’s nothing.

My fingers press against something rigid inside. I can feel the edges of whatever it is....a small, hard shape. I hold it closer, turning it over in my hands, careful, like I’m holding something fragile and dangerous all at once.

I study him, the bruise, the shadows under his eyes. “And you couldn’t just drop it off yourself?”

He shakes his head, something flickering in his expression. Then he shrugs, the motion loose and thoughtless, like the weight sitting on his shoulders doesn’t belong to him.

“Jax kicked me out,” he says, tone almost casual. Then he looks around the room, and hopefully asks, “You think I could crash here for a bit?”

My answer’s instant. “Fuck no!”

His head jerks up, then he chuckles. I can’t tell if he’s surprised or just pretending to be.

“I saw Jax,” I go on, trying to keep my voice level but failing. “He’s got enough shit to deal with without you piling on top of it.”

Nate nods slowly, like he expected that. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, I know.” His eyes dart to the side, and his tone shifts....less smug, more tired. “I’m leaving in a bit. For good, probably. Don’t know when I’ll be back to Seattle, if ever.”

He glances at the floor, then back at me. “I was just gonna go, but I couldn’t do that without talking to you first.”

“Then talk,” I say. “Say whatever you need to say, and then leave.”

He nods again, runs a hand through his hair like he’s stalling. Then, after a beat, he says, “How serious are you two?”

I frown. “What?”

“You and Jax,” he says, voice steady but guarded. “How serious are you?”

“Why?”

He looks at me with that same maddening half-smile. “So I can decide if I should go through with this conversation or not.”

I just stare at him for a moment, because, what the hell kind of question is that? Finally, I sigh and say, “We’re serious.”

He nods like he already knew. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “That’s what I thought.”

He’s quiet again for a second. Then he asks, “Did he tell you about Andy?”

The name is a punch to the ribs I should’ve seen coming. Andrew again. Always Andrew. I exhale slowly through my nose.

“He told me he’s gone,” I say flatly. “Didn’t say what happened.And I'd rather he be the one to tell me. ”

Nate hums softly, starts pacing, his eyes tracing the cluttered shelves. He reaches out, grabs a glass bottle of stencil solution and then immediately drops it. It shatters on the floor, a sharp crack slicing through the silence.

“Shit!” he blurts, stepping back.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Can you not touch anything? Please?!”

“Right, sorry.” He raises both hands like I’m pointing a gun at him. “Won’t happen again.”

There’s a fragile quiet after that. The smell of antiseptic and ink fills the air, sharp and sterile. I cross my arms. “So, was there really something you—”

“He didn’t cry.”

I blink, confused. “What?”

Nate’s voice is quieter now, less Nate and more something else. Something heavy. “When my dad died,” he says slowly, “...and then when Andy died, he didn’t cry.” His eyes flicker toward me, unsteady. “He just got angry. Started breaking things. Literally tried to burn the damn building down, but he never shed a single tear.”