Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 206

XANDER'S POV

Zig’s sitting behind his desk like a high school principal about to hand down judgment. I’m not sure what I did wrong. Or if I did anything at all.

He’s just watching me, elbows on the armrests, eyes narrowed like he’s waiting for me to confess to something. I shift in my seat, hands clasped loosely between my knees. I’ve got about four hours before my flight and no clue why I’m here.

I’m about to ask if everything’s okay when Zig beats me to it.

“So,” he says casually, “how’s work been? Everything good?”

I blink. “Uh....yeah. It’s been fine. A little slow lately, but I’m sure it’ll pick up.”

He nods like he already knew that answer. “I’ve been thinking about your idea. The one you mentioned for after your little European vacation.”

I tilt my head. “The house calls?”

“Yeah.” He leans back, crossing his arms. “I like it.”

A grin tugs at my mouth. “I'm glad, I figured it's better than working weekends when we only have a few appointments and we're not even sure if walk-ins will show up. Plus I think it'll give the shop a bit of an edge. People love convenience.”

“Yeah,” he says. “And the other idea too, the one about offering design consults for people who aren’t ready to commit to ink yet. Sketch sessions, mock-ups, a little taste of what we do. Smart way to reel in the cautious types.”

I nod, feeling that quiet spark of pride in my chest. “Glad you agree.”

He hums in response, and for a second, I think that’s it. But then he clears his throat, sits back deeper in his chair.

“You’ve probably noticed I haven’t been around much lately.”

“Yeah,” I say slowly. “We all did. Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. Actually, better than fine.” He pauses, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “A couple of my old buddies from the early tattoo days and I, we’re starting something new.”

My brows rise. “Something like what?”

“A studio,” he says, the word carrying obvious excitement. “Half tattoo shop, half training space. A place where young artists can learn the ropes....machine work, design, hygiene, all of it. We’ll run it like a real shop, just.... more open, more community-focused.”

“Wow,” I shake my head, smiling. “That’s a great idea, Zig. Seriously. Congrats.”

“Thanks.” He scratches his beard, eyes softening a bit. “We already found a spot uptown. Old auto garage. Needs a lot of work, but we’ll fix it up ourselves.”

“So that’s what’s been keeping you busy.”

“Yeah,” he admits with a small laugh. “It's good, getting to catch up with them through something like this.”

I chuckle. “Sounds wonderful.”

Then he leans forward again, linking his fingers on the desk. The air shifts. He looks at me with a steadiness that makes something in me tighten.

“The reason I called you in,” he starts quietly, “....is because I can’t run both places. Not the way I need to. Which means I need someone to take my place here.”

The words hit, soft but heavy, like a tattoo needle pressing into skin. When they land, I just.....sit there. I don’t know what expression I’m wearing, but it makes Zig frown. I swallow, lean back a little in the chair, trying to get my bearings.

“What?” he asks, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re not up for it?”

“It’s not that,” I say quickly, shaking my head. “I just....”

My eyes flick toward the door, like I might find some kind of answer there. “Do Addy or Layla know about this?” I already know they don’t, but I need to hear it.

Zig shakes his head. “Not yet. I wanted to talk to you first. I’ll make it official once you agree.”

I nod slowly, but there’s a heaviness in my chest. He’s still watching me, and I can tell my face isn’t doing what it’s supposed to, it’s not lighting up the way he probably expected it to.

“You don’t look as excited as I thought you’d be,” he says finally.

He picks up a folder from his desk and flips through it, his voice taking on that calm, even tone he gets when he’s about to drop facts.

“I’ve been going through the reports. You’re leading in almost every metric that matters.... client retention, custom design commissions, post-session satisfaction. Your socials are pulling the most traffic to the shop, even if it's for completely different reasons. You’re consistent, reliable,” he gestures vaguely with his pen, “....and you already handle most of the management crap anyway.”

He gives a small shrug. I glance toward the door again and he notices.

“You’re worried about what Layla and Addy will think,” he says softly.

I don’t even bother denying it. I exhale, rubbing the back of my neck. “I’ve only been here two years, Zig. Layla and Addy...” I stop, scoff under my breath. “You literally trained Layla yourself when she was a teenager.”

He nods. “Yeah. And she’s good. Great, even. So’s Addy.”

He leans back again, crossing his arms. “When it comes to pure talent, none of you outshine the other. You all bring something different to the table. But I’m not looking for the best artist here, Xander.”

His gaze meets mine, steady and knowing, the kind that doesn’t flinch.

“I’m looking for someone who can run this place. Someone with the right mix of heart and head. Balance,” he says after a beat, his voice quieter now, thoughtful. “You’ve got that. You know when to speak and when to listen. You pull people together. That’s what makes this place work. That’s what makes you right for it.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I look down at my hands, the faint stain of ink still on my knuckles from earlier this morning. Zig must see something flicker across my face because his voice softens again. “Think about it. Don’t answer now. But I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t already know you could do it. I think this place has way more potential, and you've got what it takes to get it there.”

I nod once. Zig watches me for another beat, then he exhales.... that thoughtful, heavy sound that always comes before something practical.

“If it helps,” he adds, leaning forward a little, “....this promotion comes with a pay rise.”

That earns him a small look from me. He smiles. “Yeah. Don’t get too excited, it’s not billionaire money, but it’s a step up.”

He pauses, fingers tapping the desk once. “There’s just too much raw talent out there to let it rot because the kids can’t afford some overpriced training program. Me and the guys already have the connections to make sure anyone who works hard and deserves a shot gets set up right. So, if you say yes to this,” he nods at me, “....you’ll be helping us too, taking this off my shoulders so I can focus on that.”

I lean back, letting the words settle, feeling them thread through me like something that’s found its mark but isn’t sure if it should stay there. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” he says. “But don’t think too long.” He gives me a wry grin. “I want to make the announcement by next Wednesday, so think carefully but fast.”

“I’ll have an answer by then.”

He nods once, satisfied. “That’ll be all for now.” He starts scribbling something in the margins of a form, then glances up again. “And don’t mention any of this to Addy or Layla yet, yeah?”

“Yeah, I won’t.”

And for some reason, that promise sits in me like guilt. I stand and head for the door. My hand’s on the handle when Zig calls after me, “You’re still flying home tonight?”

I turn halfway, nod. “Yeah.”

“Safe flight,” his tone softens. “Say hi to the family for me.”

“Will do,” I reply.

Then I push the door open and step out. I feel like I’m carrying something I don’t quite know how to name.... part excitement, part wariness.