Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 183

We’re seated side by side at the kitchen island, the food's not just good....it’s Jax good. Which is to say, the best I’ve ever had.

Jax barely touches his, he’s too busy tracking every motion I make. There’s something weighted in it that feels like possession and prayer tangled together.

Neither of us says anything, and the silence stretches too long, until it starts pressing against my ribs, and I finally decide to cut through it....if only to breathe again.

“So,” I say after another bite, “What do you wanna do today?”

He lifts a shoulder in an unhurried shrug, turning his head toward me. “Stay in? We don’t have to do anything.”

I give him a look. “You always say that.”

He leans back on his stool, scanning the room like it’s something he built from scratch, then lets his gaze settle on me steadily. “Yeah. Because I’ve got everything I want right here.”

His eyes linger on me. It’s the kind of look that settles low in my chest and burns slow. I feel my pulse trip over itself, then do what I always do when I don’t know how to handle the weight of him. I scoff and look away.

“Real smooth,” I mutter softly.

“Who said I was trying to be?”

His voice is warm and rough around the edges, and I hate how much it slides under my skin.

I clear my throat. “Hey, remember that lady we met at the farmer’s market? The one with the handmade jewelry? I took her number.”

He pauses, brows knitting slightly like he’s dragging the memory forward. “Yeah. What about her?”

“I was thinking of calling her. I wanna get something for my mum and sister. For when I visit.”

There’s a flicker across his face...small, but there. Then just a noncommittal sound before he goes back to cutting through his food.

“You’ll come with me?” I press.

He nods once, curt. “Sure.”

I tell myself I don’t want to start getting paranoid because of everything he’s just told me, not when he’s trying. But optimism feels like a luxury I can’t quite afford anymore. Yesterday was proof enough, just a few hours apart and everything unraveled faster than I could catch it. With Jax, the ground shifts differently. Things are fragile in ways I don’t always understand, like walking barefoot through glass and pretending it’s fine. The trip’s barely two days, but leaving him alone already feels wrong again. The shadows seem to have a way of finding him the second I look away.

Before I can spiral too far into it, something clicks in my mind.

“Nate told me you kicked him out.”

Jax’s fork stills. He looks at me sharply, frown pulling tight across his forehead. “When did you talk to Nate?”

“Yesterday.” I lean back a little. “He came by the shop.”

His reaction is immediate. “He what?” His voice suddenly cuts through the room, sharp and pissed.

“He wanted me to give you something,” I explain.

I push away from the counter and stand. His eyes follow me the entire time, tracking each step. I crouch by the backpack I left by the door and pull out the cream colored envelope.

When I turn back, he’s sitting on the stool but no longer relaxed. There’s a tension in his shoulders now, drawn tight like a bowstring.

“Here,” I say, holding it out.

He takes it slowly, like he’s bracing himself for whatever’s inside. His fingers graze mine for a split second, colder than they should be.

I drop back onto my stool, watching him closely. “Did you tell him where I work?”

He shakes his head, eyes still on the envelope. “No.” A beat of silence. Then, quieter, almost under his breath, “He shouldn’t have gone to your job.”

Something flickers in his face....anger, yes, but also something darker beneath it. Something protective and dangerous.

He stares at that envelope like it’s got teeth. And I can’t stop looking at him. The way the light carves his features into something both soft and lethal.

He opens the envelope cautiously. The paper crackles softly as he pulls out a stack of photos, corners too crisp. They look new, fresh off a printer.

His face shifts almost immediately. Something in his expression shutters like he’s been blindsided. I lean closer, and my chest tightens when I see it. I’ve only seen Andrew in the faded photo Jax keeps tucked in his wallet. But it's him.

The edges of his face still holding on to innocence. There’s an older man beside him, heavyset....one hand on Andrew’s shoulder, the other holding a folded newspaper mid-conversation. Andrew’s smiling, a small shy smile.

For a moment, I wish I’d looked inside that envelope first. Just so I’d have known to wait before giving it to him.

Jax flips to the next picture, eyes scanning fast, like he’s afraid of what’s coming but can’t stop himself. Then he stops, a small startled sound slips from his throat, too quiet to be anything.

I glance down, it's the same man, holding a belt midair. His face twisted with anger. His other hand gripping the collar of a younger guy he's got pinned to the floor. The boy’s face is turned away, just dark hair and hands held up to block his face.

“Joe?” I ask softly.

Jax nods once, doesn’t look up. “Yeah...Nate took this.” His voice is steady in that way that means it’s not. He taps the photo. “That’s Kieran. Joe caught Nate drinking when he was ten. Nate said Kieran gave it to him.”

“Did he?” I ask before I can stop myself, a weak attempt to pull him from whatever he’s seeing.

A humorless chuckle escapes him. “Probably. K and Dorian were shitty role models. And Nate followed them around everywhere like a shadow. Guess that’s why he’s out there now, mixed up in God knows what.”

He slides the photos back into the envelope, careful but final, like he’s sealing something off. Doesn’t bother to check the rest of them or whatever’s left inside.

“You still talk to them?” I ask.

He exhales slowly, still not looking at me. “They call sometimes. Haven’t seen them in years.”

“Why not?”

They were all constant fixtures in his life for a significant amount of time. They lived through something that must've left permanent scars on all of them. What happened back then partly shaped the way Jax looks at the world, the way he flinches at happiness. So I'm guessing it affected the others too.

He hesitates. His eyes drift somewhere distant, searching for a reason that won’t hurt to say. “They’re not...” He sighs. “Nate’s trouble. Always has been. He was like eight when I met him, already getting dragged home weekly by cops who knew his full name by heart. But K and Dorian....” He pauses, jaw tight. “They were nice to us, but also.... twisted somehow. And from what Nate’s told me, they’ve only gotten worse.”

His voice threads through the air and tightens around my chest. “That why you kicked Nate out?”

He stabs at his food, takes a bite like he needs to chew through the anger first. Then he looks at me, voice clipped.

“He’s a thief.”

I blink. “What?”

“That’s why those guys showed up looking for him. He stole from their boss or something. He’s out there robbing banks and jewelry stores.” His tone hardens, eyes glaring, “He doesn’t even care what that means after what happened to...”

He doesn’t finish the remark. The words hang there, trembling on his tongue before dissolving into silence. I can see the restless flicker in his eyes. So I let it go.

And I can’t help thinking about The Pit. About how Jax just told me Joe hated that Dorian worked there. But Jax ended up there too.