Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 195

XANDER'S POV

Jax comes back from the kitchen with two beers, the bottles clinking softly as he drops onto the couch beside me. I can already feel myself unclenching just from him being close.

We’ve got takeout coming from some hole-in-the-wall place he swears by. I’m flipping through movie titles, trying to find something that doesn’t scream 'I overthink every decision.'

“You won’t get in trouble for ditching work early, will you?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Zig didn’t come in today. He’s actually been around less lately. And Layla’s client rescheduled,” I add, “...so she covered for me.”

He nods slowly and takes a sip of his beer. I find the movie I want. “You’re gonna like this one. My siblings and I loved it growing up.”

When I glance over, he’s already looking at me. Not just looking....watching. There’s a weight to it, something molten and quiet. His eyes trace over my face with that signature intensity, but underneath that heat, there’s something softer. It hits me right in the chest, that look. Like I could fall into it and never find my way back out.

I can’t help but smile, leaning in for a quick kiss. Just a brush of lips, but it still sends a small spark through me.

He leans back, stretching his legs out, and I slide between them until my back’s resting against his chest. The moment I settle there, his arms come around me, instinctive and grounding. My whole body lets go....shoulders drop, breathing slows. It’s ridiculous how easy it is to find calm here, like every inch of me finally remembered how to breathe.

“You still heading to the farm tomorrow?” I ask, voice low.

“Yeah,” he says, fingertips drawing lazy circles against my forearm. “Should get there pretty fast on the bike.”

“Excited?”

He huffs a soft laugh against my ear. “Excited?”

“Yeah,” I say, tilting my head to look at him. “You’re trying something new, something you actually seem interested in. You should feel....I don’t know, some level of anticipation, maybe even a little thrill.”

He chuckles quietly. “Guess so. Haven’t really thought about it much. Been too distracted.” His arms tighten around me a little, and that simple gesture says everything about what he’s been distracted by.

“Send me pictures,” I say.

“Pictures?”

“Yeah. I’m imagining you up there, herding goats and shit.” I grin. “It’s feeding into my Brokeback Mountain fantasy.”

He pulls back just enough to look down at me. “Your what?”

I can’t help laughing. “It’s a movie. Picture this....you and me, stuck up on some mountain, camping in the cold. We barely know each other. One night we get drunk, things heat up, and after that....” I glance up at him through my lashes, smirking. “....we just can’t quit each other.”

He stares at me for a second, that faint, crooked smile forming...half amused, half something else entirely.

“Maybe we’ll watch it after this one,” I say softly.

His breath brushes the side of my neck, warm and slow. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my back, the subtle drag of his thumb on my wrist, that’s what I focus on. And when he presses a quiet kiss to the top of my head, everything inside me settles into that single, fleeting moment.... it's perfect and far too easy to get lost in.

I finally press play and hand Jax his beer. “Focus,” I tell him, nudging his knee with mine. “You’re gonna love this one.”

“What’s it called again?” he asks, taking a sip.

“Ratatouille.”

I can practically feel him raise an eyebrow. “Like the dish?”

“Mm-hm.” I hum the response, pretending to keep my eyes on the screen. “Trust me, it’s right up your alley.”

He watches the opening scene for a beat, then scoffs under his breath. “It’s a cartoon?”

I turn my head just enough to look at him. “Of course not! It’s a high-production animated masterpiece about—” I pause, grin tugging at the corner of my mouth. “...a rat with ambition.”

Jax gives me a look like I’ve lost my mind, but there’s a trace of a smile on his lips. I nudge him again, murmuring, “Just watch.”

He does.

And I do too, even though I’ve seen this movie more times than I can count....every frame, every line of dialogue already tucked somewhere deep in my head. But this time feels different. The colors seem warmer, the music softer, like the whole thing’s quietly aware that he’s here beside me.

I steal a glance at him, the faint glow from the TV painting gold across his skin. His focus is steady, a small furrow between his brows. I think about how much I love that expression, the one he gets when he’s letting his guard down without realizing it.

He’s here. He’s trying.

That thought settles somewhere deep in my chest. He doesn’t want therapy, but he said yes....for me. For us. And maybe that’s where it starts, not with perfect willingness, but with the tiniest step forward from someone who swore they couldn’t move at all.

I don’t kid myself that it’ll be easy. It never is. But I’ll be there for every hard part, every jagged edge. Because the hard times are what make the quiet ones possible.

Halfway through, I realize he's really watching. Every so often, he lets out a small distracted laugh, like it slips out before he can stop it. And it does something to me, that sound. It’s so simple, so ordinary, and for a moment it feels like we’re both standing in some small pocket of peace I didn’t know existed. The kind that aches because of how rare it is.

I clear my throat lightly, trying to disguise the way my chest feels too full. “You said you were reconsidering the concert,” I say, keeping my tone casual. “Still not interested in going?”

He’s quiet for a beat. Then, without looking away from the screen, he says, “I’ll go. You already asked for time off, right? You’d be bored to death without me.”

His hand, like always, has somehow found its way under my T-shirt. His fingers trace lazy, absentminded circles on my stomach.

“You’ll like it there,” I tell him, voice a little softer than before.

He finally looks down at me. “You’ve been?”

I narrow my eyes in mock offense. “I'm wounded by how little you know about me.”

He gives a small frown, and I lean my head back against him. “My grandfather’s from there,” I start, eyes on the screen, but my focus on him entirely. “My dad spent most of his childhood bouncing between there and the States, where my grandma’s from. Then he met my mum while she was in Paris for a six-month art internship.” I can’t help but smile at that. They've told us that story a million times. “He always swears it was love at first sight. They started dating, and he’d planned to settle there permanently, but Mum couldn’t stay. So he followed her back to the States. One month later, they got married.”

Jax hums, the sound low against my back. I can feel the vibration of it through my spine.