Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 187

The park looks exactly the same as the last time we were here. Tito’s truck is still in its spot down the path, the air thick with the smell of birria and lime and grilled onions. The tacos we got are sitting next to me, the foil slowly turning greasy from the heat.

Right now, though, my attention’s all on Jax.

He’s sitting still, head tilted a little as I run my fingers along his cheekbone, smoothing a bit of the oil we bought over the bruise there. The color’s still deep purple, fading to yellow near the edges. He winces when I press too close to his jaw.

I blow gently over the spot I’ve just dabbed the oil on, then teasingly murmur, “My poor baby.”

Jax lets out this low, incredulous sound....half scoff, half laugh....and shoves at my shoulder. But he’s already looking away, the tips of his ears turning pink, jaw tight like he’s trying to hold something back. The corner of my mouth lifts.

I dip my fingers in the oil again, working quietly for a few seconds. Then it hits me, the thought that’s been hovering since this morning. “What if those guys come back?” I ask, my voice lower than I mean for it to be, fingers gliding the last bit of oil across his skin.

His gaze flicks toward the open field, the sun throwing amber light across his profile. “They won’t.”

“You don’t know that.” I cap the bottle, watching the muscle in his jaw tick. There’s this measured stillness about him, like he’s trying to make himself believe the words as he says them. But even from this close, I can see the flicker of doubt, the quiet worry he’s trying hard to bury behind that steady tone.

“They’d have to know Nate’s gone by now,” he says finally, eyes fixed on the horizon. “He’s not the type to stick around after something like that.”

I study him for a beat, taking in the edge in his voice that doesn’t quite hide the weariness. “Yeah,” I murmur, “...but maybe they’d think you know where he went. And if they did this, ” I nod toward his bruises, “...they’re definitely capable of worse.”

The silence that follows feels heavy. He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to..... the silence and look on his face is enough.

I finish up, set the little bottle on the bench, then catch his chin between my fingers, tilting his face toward the light. My chest tightens.

“Fucking assholes,” I mutter, my tone seething. “Wish I’d been there.”

He lets out a low chuckle. “Yeah? And what would you have done?”

“Beaten them up, obviously.” I shrug, trying to sound casual, even though I mean it. “No one lays a hand on my boyfriend and gets to walk away like it’s nothing.”

That gets me a look, amusement as well as that quiet warmth that always creeps in when he doesn’t expect it. He shakes his head, lips curving just slightly. I grab one of the tacos, take a messy bite, then drop it back onto the foil. “You were serious?”

He glances over. “About what?”

“The farm job. With Albert.”

“It’s not a job,” he says immediately, leaning back against the bench. “Just helping out. Adam suggested I keep busy. And that sounded like something I could get into.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Farming? Didn't realize you were into that kinda thing.”

After a long beat, he says quietly, “Yeah, I am.” His thumb drags along the edge of his taco, gaze distant. “You can’t beat produce straight from the source.” A small shrug follows. “Guess I’m just curious. Figured it’s worth checking out.”

“I hope it works out,” I say after a beat. “Really.”

What I don’t say is that I need it to. Because maybe it’ll take some of the weight off him. Maybe he’ll stop carrying that tension in his shoulders like it’s welded there. And selfishly, it’d take something off me too. I wouldn’t have to keep wondering what he's up to when he’s not with me.

If he has something that gives him peace, something that isn’t born out of pain, then maybe I can finally breathe a little easier.

That finally gets his attention. He turns to me, eyes steady. He can probably see where my mind’s gone, the fragile little hope I haven’t managed to hide.

“Xander...” he starts, low.

“What?”

He exhales, shakes his head, gives me a lingering look before saying, “It’s nothing.”

But I can tell it is something. He’s holding something back, not because he wants to, but because he knows I won’t like what he’s about to say.

We eat quietly for a while, I’m halfway through my second taco when something whistles past my ear... too close, too sharp, and hits the bench with a hard thunk. I flinch, curse under my breath, jerking to the side before my brain even catches up. “What the–” I twist, scanning the ground, and there's a small, jagged rock sitting near my foot.

“Was that a fucking rock?”

But then I see Jax’s face, and the words die in my throat. His whole expression’s changed... muscles locked, eyes wide, jaw set tight. It’s fear.

Pure, bone-deep fear.

Before I can say anything, two kids come running toward us. Boys...eleven, maybe twelve. One’s out of breath, hair sticking to his forehead, the other’s clutching another rock like he’s not sure whether to hide it or drop it.

“Sorry!” the first one blurts, cheeks flushed. “We didn’t mean to... it just—”

“Flew the wrong way,” the second one finishes, nodding fast.

I exhale, steadying my voice before I speak. “You guys gotta be careful throwing stuff like that, okay? You could seriously hurt someone.”

They both freeze, guilt washing over their faces. One mumbles another apology, the other nods so hard his hair bounces. Then they take off running again, back toward the others.

When I turn back, Jax still hasn’t moved. His gaze is on the ground where the rock landed, shoulders tense, one hand curled tight against his knee. I follow his line of sight, stare at the stupid little thing.... it’s barely bigger than a golf ball. Just came at the wrong speed, from the wrong direction.

“I’m okay,” I say quietly.

His eyes lift to me then, and they’re still sharp, still burning with something I can’t name. His jaw ticks once before he speaks. “That could’ve hurt you.”

“But it didn’t,” I tell him, trying for calm. “And even if it did hit me, the worst I’d get is a black eye.”

He shakes his head, still staring at me like he knows the exact spot the rock would've hit. His throat moves, but he doesn’t say anything. And I get it. I get all of it, what’s sitting behind that look.

I reach for his hand, my voice softer now. “I know.”

He finally blinks, breath coming shallow, and I hesitate..... the words gathering at the back of my throat before I decide to just risk it. “Jax,” I murmur, “I really think you should talk to—”

“Let’s not,” he cuts me off before I can finish. His tone is both sharp and weary. Like he’s locked that part of himself away, and I’m never getting a spare key. His expression says he’s drawn a line there and I should know better than to try crossing it.

So I don’t....for now. I just nod, squeeze his hand once, and stare out at the open field again. Realizing it suddenly feels a little smaller.