Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 203

I shoot Xander a quick text before we head out...*Made it safe.*

His reply comes almost instantly.... *Good. Don't forget the pictures, farm boy.*

That makes me smile, even if I roll my eyes a little. I pocket my phone and follow Albert off the porch. The ground’s soft and I make sure to match his pace. He gestures out toward the wide stretch of land in front of us. Two acres, but it looks like a whole lot more. The kind of open that makes you feel small. “Once had this whole thing filled with corn, beans, squash,” he says, voice rough but proud. “Used to get real good harvests too.”

I glance at him. “You ever think about planting it all again?”

He lets out a quiet laugh. “That’s the plan. Been tryin’ to, anyway. We hire people, they don’t last. After a while, you start wonderin’ if it’s ever gonna happen again.”

There’s something in his tone that makes me look back at the land. I can almost see it the way he does....rows of crops, color, life. It’s hard not to feel the weight of what it must’ve been like when it was alive like that.

Off to the right, there’s a shed leaning slightly to one side, and next to it a long structure that looks like a massive chicken coop. I nod toward it. “How many animals you keep?”

He grins. “Five cows, nine goats, a few sheep.....and a whole lot of chickens.”

I can’t help but chuckle. “A whole lot, huh?”

“Yeah,” he says, amused. “Used to have more. But it’s a lot of work, you know? Had to sell most of them off. Just couldn’t keep up.”

There’s a flicker of something in his voice.... sadness, probably. Affection too. The kind that doesn’t fade, even when it hurts. I look out again, really look this time, and I get it. This place means something to him.

We reach the coop, and the second we step close, the noise starts....clucking, wings flapping, a rush of feathers. The thing’s big enough room for a few hundred of them at least. The smell hits too....earthy, musky and sharp....but it’s not bad. It’s just real.

Albert crouches, reaches into one of the nesting boxes, and pulls out a handful of fresh eggs. “See? Still get plenty. We sell most to a few loyal customers in town. They like ‘em fresh.”

I walk closer, watching. The eggs are warm, still a little dusty with straw. For some reason, it fascinates me. This, right here, is where food actually starts. Not a store shelf. Not a crate, just.... this.

It’s stupid, maybe, but it feels realer than most things I deal with.

The shed’s next, and the second we step inside, the air changes. Warm, earthy, heavy with that mix of hay, feed, and animal. It’s a smell that clings, but not in a bad way. There’s movement everywhere....sheep shifting, goats bleating softly, a couple of cows turning their heads to look at us with those slow, curious eyes.

And then there’s this tiny goat near the corner. Barely standing, still wobbly on its legs. It’s the smallest, dumbest, cutest thing I’ve ever seen. My chest does this weird twist I don’t expect. Albert catches me looking and grins. “Born two nights ago,” he says. “Healthy little thing too. Her mama’s right there.”

He gestures toward a larger goat watching us closely. I crouch, watching the baby stumble closer to her, head-butting at her belly. I don’t know why, but I could stay here for a while, just watching.

Albert breaks the quiet, saying, “I shear the sheep myself. Been doing it since I was a kid. I’ll show you sometime.”

Then he moves to the far side of the shed, grabbing feed from a metal bin. I follow, watching as he pours it into troughs, and start doing the same. The cows shuffle over, snorting and huffing like they’ve been waiting all day.

“You good with tools?” he asks after a minute.

“Yeah,” I say.

“Good. This shed could use a little love. Fences out there too.” He jerks his chin toward the open fields. “Weather gets rough, things break.”

I nod. “That I can do.”

Joe’s face flashes in my mind then....his calloused hands, the way he used to affectionately bark at me to “pay attention” every time I picked up a wrench wrong. I can almost hear the clang of metal in that cramped restaurant.

I shove it all down before it gets too loud. Not here. Not now.

“Just show me what needs fixing,” I say quietly. “I’ll get right on it.”

Albert studies me for a second, like he's sensing something in my tone. “Alright. I’ll show you. You can start tomorrow, if you feel up to it.”

I shake my head. “Today works too. I’ve got nothing better to do.”

He raises a brow. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m sure.”

I need the distraction. The noise, the work, the ache that’ll come with it, it all sounds good.

Albert nods, smiling a little. “Okay then. I’ll walk you through the rest of the farm, explain what’s what. Then I’ll grab you some tools from the house.”

“Alright,” I tell him.

He starts to turn, then pauses, glancing back. “And about your payment....”

I cut in fast. “Don’t worry about that. I’m just happy to help.”

He laughs, shaking his head like I've said something absurd. “Not a chance, son. You work, you get paid. Way of the world, no arguments.”

I huff out a laugh under my breath, but I don’t push it. “Fair enough.”

“Good.” He claps his hands together once, the sound sharp in the quiet shed. “Let’s go then. I’ll show you the rest.”

I pull out my phone before we leave, crouch a little, and snap a picture of the baby goat wobbling toward its mom. The lighting’s perfect....dust motes hanging in a beam of sun, straw scattered everywhere.

I send it to Xander with no caption.

He replies almost immediately with heart emojis. Then he asks...*Can we adopt it or something? Keep it as a pet?*

I shake my head, already smiling. *Yeah, sure,* I text back, *I’ll just tell Albert I'm stealing one of his goats for my boyfriend.*

Three dots appear, then....*You’re not stealing, you're rescuing. Just ask him.*

I huff out a laugh. *You realize it's a farm animal, right? Not a cat with hooves.*

Another message pings in...*I’d make it work. We can brainstorm names later.*

I stare at the screen, thumb hovering over the keys, fighting the grin tugging at my mouth.

I pocket the phone, still smiling to myself. Then I fall in step beside Albert as we head back out toward the fields. The sun’s already high, warm on my back. I squint against it, feel the burn starting to crawl across the back of my neck, and think, Xander was right about the sunscreen.

I drag a hand over my face, and for a second, the thought makes me laugh under my breath. Funny how that works. How lately, every smile, every half-laugh I let slip out....it all starts with him. Even the arguments, the sharp back-and-forth that leaves me pacing the room with my heart hammering, they feel real. Like I’m finally someone who gets to live a normal life, fight about things, make up after, and still want to be there the next day.

It’s wild, the way he’s crept in. Quiet, uninvited, and now he’s in every breath I take. I catch myself thinking about him in the smallest, most insignificant moments. There’s this weight in my chest that doesn’t feel as heavy anymore. It just feels like him.

I look out at the land stretching ahead and realize I haven’t felt this kind of peace in years. And somehow, it all ties back to him. To the guy who kisses me like he's making a promise he’s already decided to keep.

It hits me then, like it always does when I stop long enough to think about it, how deep this runs. How far I’d go for him. There’s so little I wouldn’t do, so few lines I wouldn’t cross, if it meant keeping that light in him alive. It’s terrifying. And it’s everything.