Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 177

No matter how many times I closed my eyes, sleep wouldn’t come.

It just wouldn’t.

So I lay there instead, listening to the quiet, watching Jax breathe, watching the way the light from the lamp hit the edge of his jaw. And that was fine for a while. Until my brain started to run laps I didn’t ask for. Thoughts I didn’t want. What-ifs and what-nows.

Eventually, I gave up.

I slid out from under the covers just long enough to grab my laptop and sketchpad from my bag. If I wasn’t going to sleep, I could at least pretend to be productive. I’ve been sitting against the headboard ever since, Jax still asleep beside me, one arm heavy across his stomach. The blue glow of the screen paints the sheets a weird shade of ghostly white.

I’ve spent the last hour answering DMs on the shop’s socials....stuff Addy usually handles, but tonight, I need the noise. The distraction. It’s either this or dive back into Erin’s wedding group chat and blow it up again, and I don’t think I can survive another round of “Xander, maybe keep your fucking opinions to yourself next time.”

When I check the time, it’s almost four.

I’m mid-reply to a girl who’s sent a picture of her tattoo and wants an extension when Jax stirs beside me. I pause, fingers hovering over the keyboard, head turning his way.

He groans, shoves the covers down, shifts onto his back. I almost assume he’ll just drift off again, but then his eyes open. The lamp’s still on, and the soft light hits him square in the face. He squints, blinks, an arm coming up to cover part of his eyes. They dart around the room before landing on me.....then on the laptop.

“What time is it?” His voice is rough, sleep-slurred and low.

“Three fifty,” I say quietly.

He mutters something under his breath and pushes himself up, wincing as he presses a hand to his temple. I watch him until he’s sitting upright beside me, both of us angled against the headboard now.

“You went a little overboard with the whiskey last night,” I say, keeping my tone as even as I can. The words feel lighter than I feel. He groans again, reaches for his phone where I'd placed it on the nightstand, and unlocks it. His jaw tightens when he sees the missed calls and unread texts from me.

“Shit,” he mutters, then looks over at me. “I’m sorry.”

I nod once. “It’s okay.”

It’s not. Nothing feels okay right now. But I say it anyway because I don’t know what else to do with the ache sitting in my chest.

I look back at the laptop, finish typing my reply to the client, hit send. I’m about to close it when Jax shifts closer until his side presses warm against mine. The faint scent of whiskey lingers on his skin, threaded through with something familiar. He leans into me like gravity made the decision for him, his arms coming around my waist, pulling me in until I feel his heartbeat against my side.

His gaze flickers down to the screen. “You working?” he murmurs, voice still gravel and sleep.

“Kinda,” I say.

“This early?...On a Saturday?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

I shut the laptop and set it aside on the nightstand. The room feels quieter without the low hum of it. He’s still holding me, and I can’t explain how good it feels....to have him here, warm and solid and close, the kind of close that steals the tension right out of me. When he holds me, it’s always all in. Tight and grounded. A claim and a comfort all at once.

I tilt my head, brush my lips over the top of his head. His hair’s soft against my mouth, and before I even realize it, my arms are around him too.

“Maybe next time you wanna drink,” I murmur against his hair, “...do it in the living room, yeah? I couldn’t find you for a second and it freaked me out.”

He exhales, a slow heavy sound. “Sorry,” he says quietly. “Wasn’t planning on drinking that much.”

I pull back just enough to look at him. “You okay?”

He gives a half laugh, one without humor. “Feel like hell,” he mutters. “Guess I earned it.”

The words hit something tender in me. “Was it our argument?” I start. My chin finds the top of his head again, the gesture automatic. “Is that what made you drink?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans back against the headboard, and I feel the space open up between us. It’s subtle, but it’s enough to make me want to pull him right back.

Then his hand finds mine. His fingers lace through like he’s making sure I’ll stay. He brings our joined hands down to his lap, rests his other hand over them, covering the both of us.

The gesture is small, but it lands heavy. The silence that follows is full of everything we haven’t said yet. The pulse beneath my skin syncs with his, and for a moment, it feels like the only steady thing in the room.

“We don’t have to talk right now.” My voice comes out small and tired, which I am. “There’ll be time for that.”

But Jax shakes his head. His eyes stay down, fixed somewhere between our hands, like the air there is safer. “I did some thinking,” he says quietly. “Yesterday. Once I got back home.”

My pulse stutters. “About what?” I ask, careful, because I’m terrified of the answer.

He hesitates, tongue running over his bottom lip, and when he speaks again, his voice cracks a little. “I don’t know how to be anything else apart from this,” he says. His chest rises and falls unevenly. “What I am now...” He laughs under his breath, but it sounds hollow. “This fucked up mess.”

The words twist in my gut. “You’re not a mess,” I firmly state . “You’re just.... troubled, more than most people. And with good reason.”

He doesn’t fully believe me, I can see it in the way his mouth twitches, in the stillness of his shoulders.

“Yesterday,” I start, swallowing hard, “...you said you hadn’t been going to that Pit because I asked you not to. Was that true?”

He takes his time, jaw clenching once before he nods.

“Did you want to go?”

Another nod. I shift closer, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his skin. “That’s a change, Jax. And I should’ve seen that yesterday instead of letting my feelings take over.” I breathe out, the words rough in my throat. “I should've acknowledged that, same way I should've acknowledged you still coming to talk to me regardless.”

He shakes his head. “I’d have failed,” he says quietly. “Deep down I know it. I’d have ended up back there anyway.”

“Maybe,” I admit. “But that doesn’t erase the effort. Trying still matters. It means something.”

He finally looks at me. And it hits me like a pulse under the skin... the weight of it, the way his eyes drag over my face like he’s memorizing it.

“I just want to do right by you.” I tell him, “Which means taking things slow, as slow as you need. Not rushing, not forcing anything because of all these stupid milestones I made up in my head for us.”

My voice trembles. “You need time. To...”

I stop. He’s watching me again, but there’s something different now, something charged. His head rests against the headboard, eyes darker, softer...unreadable. My chest tightens.

“What?” I whisper.