Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 207

Addy and Layla are laughing about something when I walk back into the shop, the kind of laughter that only ever means trouble. They both stop when they spot me.

Addy tilts her head, eyes narrowing playfully. “What was that about? Zig grilling you for using too much ink?”

Layla chuckles, leaning against the counter. “Or are we getting sacked one by one and I should start polishing my resume? Because if that’s the case, I call dibs on all the clients.”

Addy scoffs. “Please. At least you've got a hot rich boyfriend. If I lose this job, I’ll have to start selling friendship bracelets on the sidewalk.”

I huff out a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “Relax. It was nothing. But you should both mentally prep for house calls after Paris.”

Addy groans and grabs a paper towel from her station, crumpling it into a ball before hurling it at me. “I can’t believe you actually pitched that fucking idea to Zig!”

I catch it, toss it lazily back at her. “We should’ve done it ages ago. Look at us now, just sitting around.”

Layla rolls her eyes. “You’re way too fucking dedicated sometimes, you know that? It’s like you’re trying to win ‘Tattoo Artist of the Year’ or something.”

Addy nods in dramatic agreement. “Yeah, we’re artists, Xander, not corporate robots. Where's your sense of freedom?”

I shrug. “Doesn’t matter what you two think. Zig’s on board, so we’re doing it.”

Addy groans louder this time and mutters something about staging a coup.

“Anyway,” Layla says, settling back on the couch. “It’s good you’re back.”

I narrow my eyes a little, already sensing the setup. “Uh huh.”

She exchanges a look with Addy, never a good sign, and continues, too casually, “We actually wanted you to settle something for us.”

Here we go. “What?” I ask, slow and wary, because these two.....

They glance at each other, both biting down laughter, then turn back to me like synchronized trouble.

“What?” I repeat, because I’m not liking the way they’re smiling.

Addy clears her throat, trying for serious but failing miserably. “So, we were wondering...” she starts, voice deceptively innocent, “between you and Jax, who’s driving the car and who’s riding shotgun?”

I blink once. “Christ,” I say immediately, “I’m officially done with this conversation.”

“Come on,” Layla whines, grinning. “It’s been eating at us. Who’s...” she gestures vaguely, “.... who's the spark and who’s the outlet?”

I stare at her. “Do you hear yourselves right now?”

“It’s a valid question,” Addy says, all fake sincerity. “Because, I mean, we know the kind of guys you used to reel in before Jax, so it’s just hard to picture you–”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” I cut in, warning her with a finger. She doesn't care.

“It’s true! We can’t. But even more so with Jax, he’s just so...” She trails off, eyes widening slightly as color floods her cheeks.

I should keep quiet, not ask. But I do. “He’s so what?”

She runs a hand through her hair and laughs under her breath. “You know. He’s so fucking Daddy material....every time he glares at me, it just makes me want to drop to my knees and crawl to him.”

“Okay,” I put my hands up. “I’m deleting both your numbers.”

She goes to add something when the familiar rumble of a motor breaks through the shop. The sound is smooth and dark, like thunder that knows exactly where it’s headed.

“Speak of the devil,” Layla murmurs, peering through the glass with narrowed eyes.

My heart kicks up instantly in that reckless, traitorous rhythm that never learns. I can feel it in my throat, in the pit of my stomach, everywhere. I swallow hard, try to steady it, but it’s useless. He's a lot earlier than I'd expected. Still, I can’t lie, I’m really glad he’s here.

I turn to the two of them. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your mouths shut.”

Before they can answer, the door creaks open. And there he is.

His eyes find me in an instant. The curve at the corner of his mouth is small but enough to gut me. Addy, because she’s incapable of self-control, starts with, “Hi, Da...” then clears her throat violently, “...Jax! Hi, Jax!”

I shoot her a look that says ‘you're dead’. Jax frowns, clearly confused but not pressing it. “Hey,” he mutters, then his gaze drags back to me. “Can we talk?” A pause. “In private.”

My stomach twists just slightly, that churn of worry starting to bloom. I nod, trying to keep my voice steady. “Yeah. Uh, backroom okay?”

He nods once, stepping inside, and I follow him, every nerve in my body on alert. I push the door to the room open, let him walk in first. He moves like he always does....with quiet and controlled movements. The kind of silence that says more than most people’s words. I close the door behind us, fingers finding the light switch. The bulb spilling soft amber light across the walls.

I lean back against the door, crossing my arms. My chest feels like the air’s gone heavier all of a sudden.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stands there, a few feet away, watching me. Those dark eyes pin me to the spot. I meet his stare, try not to fidget. Silence with Jax is never empty. It’s always loaded. It’s the kind of quiet that feels like it’s bracing for something to break.

And I can tell, I’ve known him long enough now to feel it.....something’s gnawing at him. It was there yesterday too, that faraway look he gets when he’s fighting thoughts he doesn’t want to say out loud.

I push off the door and take a step forward. Then another. My pulse is an uneven drumbeat in my throat. “Jax,” I start quietly, eyes never leaving his. “What are you thinking?”

I almost tell him he's starting to freak me out but don't. He moves before I can blink. That last bit of space between us disappears like it was never there. His hand comes up, warm and rough against the back of my neck. Then he pulls me in against him.... no hesitation or warning.

My eyes go wide for a second before I let out a slow breath, one that sounds a lot like a laugh. My arms come up automatically, finding their place around him. I hold him back just as tightly.

His chest is solid, but I can feel the exhaustion, the weight of whatever he’s carrying pressing into me. I breathe him in, then I tilt my head against his shoulder, voice muffled in the space between us.

“You really did miss me, huh?”

He doesn’t answer at first. I lean back just enough to see his face, my fingers curling into his shirt, bunching the fabric at his sides. And it hits me how tired he looks. Not just physically, but in that quiet way he gets sometimes.

“What is it?” I whisper, eyes searching his. His hands moves, slipping beneath my shirt until his palms find my skin. Like always, he holds me like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go, fingers pressing against the base of my spine.

“I’m fine,” he says finally, his voice rough like it’s been dragged through gravel. “I just really needed to see you.”