Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 210

It’s past midnight when we finally hit Michigan. The cold air punches me in the face, making my cheeks sting. Jax’s already grumbling about airports....too many procedures, too many people, too much everything.

I’d fallen asleep on the flight, head on his shoulder, drifting off so deep I didn’t even realize whenever he shifted. Now, standing outside, I realize I ditched a jacket to travel lighter....dumb move, and I'm currently paying for it. Jax shrugs his off, movements lazy and fluid, and then holds it out to me, casual as ever, but there’s that depth in his eyes. Like he’s saying a thousand things without a single word.

I glance up at him, squinting against the cold. “You planning to start holding doors open for me too?” I ask, then tell him to put it back on.

He levels me with that heated look, eyes narrowing slightly, voice flat as stone when he says, “Stop being a whiny little bitch and take it.”

I suck in a slow breath through my teeth, shaking my head. “Maybe work on your language, yeah? Meeting my parents in thirty minutes and all that.”

He doesn’t move. Still holding the jacket. I sigh, grab it, slip it on, and immediately feel warmer. “So you’re just gonna pretend the cold doesn’t touch you?”

He tilts his head, “It does. That’s why you gotta stay extra close. Warm me up a little.”

I shake my head in amusement when a taxi driver comes hustling up, eager as hell. “Where to?” he asks, almost bouncing.

“Ann Harbor,” I say, giving the address. Then, cautiously, I ask, “How much?”

He grins like he's about to sell me a dream. “Twenty-five,” he says, I frown then chuckle at the audacity. “I’m from here. The highest you should charge us is fifteen. If that doesn’t work for you, I’m sure someone else will be happy to take it.”

He huffs, mutters something under his breath, and finally gives in. “Okay, fifteen. Fine.”

We follow him to the cab, and Jax swings the door open for me and gestures inside, arching a brow when I throw him a “really?” look.

“Get in, princess,” he says, all dry humor. I slide in, shaking my head at him. The drive from the airport feels longer than it is. Michigan nights always stretch wider somehow... darker skies, quieter roads, stars that sit closer to the earth. Every mile feels like something familiar peeling itself open again.

Seattle has its own cool rhythm, but it’s never quite home. Not the way this is. When you’re raised on the edge of lakes that freeze into glass every winter, where pine needles blanket the ground thicker than snow, where the air itself smells like rain....it brands you. You leave, you grow, you live somewhere new, but some part of you always aches for it.

Jax is quiet beside me. His hand rests in mine, but his whole body feels drawn tight, like he’s bracing for something he can’t name. I know better than to try and talk him out of it, there’s a stiffness to him that no words could untangle, so I don’t try. I’ll just have to wait for him to meet everyone, get it out of the way so he can breathe easy again.

I texted my dad when we landed. He said Mom was still up. Apparently, she’d just flung a paintbrush across the living room after deciding her half-finished oil painting “offended her artistic spirit.” I told him noted, not at all shocked.

By the time we turn into my neighborhood, I can feel Jax’s tension like it's in the air itself now. Houses blur past until mine comes into view. Stained-glass windows, ivy curling over the old brick walls like time itself refuses to let go.

“They’ll ask questions,” Jax says finally, voice low. “About me. What the hell am I supposed to say?”

I look at him, the glow from a streetlamp brushing his face, softening it. “Say nothing you don’t want to,” I tell him quietly. “They’re curious, but never persistent.”

The taxi slows to a stop. The driver glances back at us, eyes half-tired. “We’re here.”

I pay, thank him and step out into the sharp cold. Jax joins me, shoulders squared, eyes tracing the house from top to bottom. For a long moment, we just stand there. Then he glances at me, voice quieter now. “You grew up here?”

“Yeah,” I answer, eyes still on wide double doors. I reach for his hand and he slides his fingers into mine. Warm and rough and sure. And just like that, we walk up the steps together.

The the door swings open before we even reach it, and a burst of laughter spills into the night.... bright and familiar. I glance up, already smiling, because there’s only one person in the world who laughs like that.

My dad stands just outside, framed by the warm light of the entryway. His hair’s gone silver at the temples, but he still looks unfairly young....that same easy grin, that same spark that never quite dims. He’s wearing navy silk pajamas, barefoot, a half-empty bottle of red wine dangling from one hand. He's obviously a little buzzed.

“Mon fils!” he says, voice full and delighted, then adds with a grin, “You’re finally here!”

He opens his arms wide, and I take the next two steps as one, falling right into him. He smells the same.... cedar, aftershave, and the faintest trace of wine, and for a second I’m twelve again, home after some school trip I swore I didn’t miss him during. He lets out a deep breath, like he's relieved, and when I lean back, he’s smiling that soft, fatherly smile that always undoes me a little.

“Welcome home, son,” he says. “I’m glad you came.”

“Me too,” I admit, and then his gaze shifts past me to Jax. I watch the spark of recognition in his eyes. It’s subtle, but it’s there, a flicker of amused intrigue that glints like light off glass, his grin widening as if he’s stumbled upon a delightful secret. I know for a fact Alyssa and mum have already filled him in on everything.

“Ah,” he says, voice dipping into that teasing warmth only he can pull off. “This must be the lucky man.”

Jax doesn't say anything, he turns to me, as if waiting for my direction. But my dad barrels right through the moment with another easy laugh. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you,” he adds, eyes twinkling. “Thank you for rescuing my poor son from the eternal clutches of singlehood.”

I let out a helpless sigh. He spreads his arms again and takes a step toward Jax, and I instinctively start, “Maybe just a handshake—” but it’s too late. He’s already pulled him into a hug.

For a heartbeat, Jax just stands there, caught completely off guard....then he stiffly taps Dad’s back once before stepping away. His mouth twitches like he’s unsure whether to smile or not, but his voice is steady when he says, “I'm Jax. It’s nice to finally meet you.”