Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 193

I don’t even know who moved first, him or me, but somehow we end up standing right in front of each other. Close enough that I can see the faint tension in his jaw, the tired look in his eyes. There’s something off in them, like he’s been carrying too much around all day.

He nods toward my bike. “You going somewhere?”

I follow his eyes for a second, stare at the bike, then at him. “Not anymore.”

We stand there for a second that feels too long. The kind where every breath feels loud. I clear my throat, say, “You’re home early.”

“Yeah.” He gives this small, empty kind of smile. “Fucked up a line at work.”

“A line?”

“Tattoo line,” he rubs the back of his neck. “Fixed it before it turned into a disaster, but still. My head wasn't in it today, figured I should stop before I screwed something up for real.”

I stare at him for a second, taking that in. The idea of him....steady and careful Xander....messing up. It knocks something loose in me. His eyes meet mine. “I texted you.”

I swallow, my eyes darting between his.“Yeah. I saw.”

He nods like he was expecting that, then gestures toward the building. “You wanna head up?”

I don’t trust my voice, so I just turn and start walking. He falls into step beside me, close enough that our arms almost brush, but it still feels like there’s a wall between us....thick and invisible, built from everything we didn’t say when we should’ve. The kind that silence can’t break, no matter how much I want it to. Like we’re both trying to find our way back to the same place but can’t quite meet in the middle yet.

The soft mechanical sound of the elevator fills the space that neither of us seems willing to. Xander’s leaning against the side wall, arms folded, his gaze fixed on me. I’m at the back, pretending I can stand still without fidgeting, pretending I’m not feeling this sharp, hollow ache in my chest. We just look at each other....the whole way up. No words. Just tension thick enough to choke on. I keep thinking I should say something, anything, but I don’t even know where to start. I hate whatever this distance is.

When the doors slide open, I unlock the apartment door and hold it for him. He steps in without a word. I follow, close the door, and watch as he sinks into the couch. He leans back, shuts his eyes, rubs a hand over his face like he’s trying to wipe the day off himself. I want to go to him badly. Every part of me does, but my feet won’t move.

Instead, I stand there and ask, quietly, “Is it because of what I said this morning? The whole control thing? That why you couldn’t focus?”

His eyes open, and there’s something in them I don’t know how to touch without breaking more. It hurts, seeing him like that.

“I didn’t mean that,” I say.

He shakes his head slightly. “Yeah, you did. And that’s okay. It’s how you feel.”

I take a step closer, stop. Adam’s voice is still in the back of my mind....So I try.

“I’m not gonna quit, I can’t. I know I’ve got..... issues.” The word tastes bitter, too small for what I mean. “But trying to make me quit the one thing that keeps me steady, while pushing me into shit I’m not ready for....it just makes everything worse.”

He looks away, and in that half-second before he does, I see how the weight of all this sits heavy in his eyes. There’s a flash of something bruised in them, something that looks too much like surrender, and all he says is, “Okay.”

Just that. Soft and barely there.

Then he stands and says he’s gonna grab a drink. His voice is steady but it’s missing something....whatever makes him him. He walks toward the kitchen without looking at me once.

I stay there for a beat, staring at the spot he just left, wondering how the hell we got here. Then I sigh and follow.

He’s standing by the counter now, shoulders slightly hunched, pouring himself a glass of scotch. I realize I’ve never actually seen him drink like this. Not just to get through.

He holds the glass for a moment, like he’s trying to decide whether to drink it or talk instead. He doesn’t talk. He brings the glass to his mouth, and drinks the whole thing in one go. No flinch. No pause. Just emptiness sliding down his throat.

He sets the glass back on the counter with a soft clink.

Something twists in my chest. So I walk closer until we’re standing on opposite sides of the counter, just a couple feet and a fucking ocean apart.

He’s leaning forward slightly, eyes fixed on the surface like it might have the answers. His hair’s fallen a little out of place. He looks human in a way that breaks me.

“Xander,” I say, quieter than I mean to. He finally looks at me, and the weight of that gaze nearly knocks the air out of my lungs. His eyes are still cloudy, but there’s this flicker of something else there too...hurt, exhaustion, a stubborn kind of love that refuses to fade even when everything else is falling apart.

I grip the edge of the counter, grounding myself in the coolness of it, because if I don’t, I might reach for him. And right now, I don’t know if he’d let me.

“You gonna say something?” I ask

He doesn’t move right away. Then he lifts his gaze to mine. “Something like what?”

There’s an edge to his voice.....a thin, tired crack that feels like it’s holding back everything he doesn’t want to say. He exhales, rubs the back of his neck, and asks, “How can I love you and be okay with watching you hurt yourself? Please tell me how that’s supposed to make sense.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. He doesn’t stop.

“Can’t you just try something else like I asked?” he says. “I know you hate it. I know it scares you, and it feels impossible, but can’t you just, once...try?”

My eyes drop to his hands on the counter, ink-stained and steady, the same hands that have held me together more times than I can count. I want to reach across, take them, but I don’t. I just breathe through the ache and say, “I have been. I’ve tried my fucking best. And it’s...” my voice catches, “...it’s fucking me up even more. And you making me feel guilty about it doesn’t exactly help.”

His head shakes almost instantly. “I’m not trying to make you feel—”

“I know you’re not,” I cut in. “I know you mean well, and I get it, you hate that I’m asking you to be okay with this. But I am asking.”

He looks at me like I’ve said something unforgivable.

“You don’t get it,” I continue, forcing the words out because if I stop, I’ll never finish. “The only way I can even function, the only way I can love you the way you deserve, is through that. You take it away, and there won’t be enough of me left for you to hold onto.”

His throat works, his jaw flexes, and then he says, barely above a whisper, “So what? I’m just supposed to let you go out there and get torn apart?”

I meet his eyes. “Let me?”

For a moment, we just stare at each other, something ugly and wordless hanging between us. Then I shake my head slowly. “That’s what I mean, Xander. Last I checked, we were in this together. But right now, you’re acting like you’re the only one who gets to decide how I live my life, and that’s not okay with me.”

He doesn’t respond right away. His eyes flicker over my face, searching for something I don’t think I can give him. And even as my chest tightens, even as I want to take it all back, I know I won’t, because it’s the truth.

He speaks finally, emotion drowning his voice. “There’s so much more to you, Jax. You know that, right? I’ve seen it myself.”

He lifts a hand, gestures vaguely, frustrated. “And it’s not fair for you to keep limiting yourself to.... that.” He doesn’t say the word, but it sits there between us anyway.

He exhales, shaking his head. “You’ve got dreams. But for some reason, you’ve convinced yourself you’re not allowed to chase them. Like you don’t get to want more. But you do, and you should.”