Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 227

The phone’s pressed to my ear as I walk towards the building. I stayed at the farm a lot later than usual today. I kept hauling, lifting, fixing things that didn’t even need fixing. Anything to keep my body moving until my mind went quiet. I needed to tire myself out, drain every bit of energy I had left until I didn’t have the strength for anything else. Sam’s voice is too sharp for this hour, slicing through the silence outside.

“What the fuck do you mean you’re not coming back?”

“I mean exactly that,” I say, harsh conviction in my voice. “I’m done.”

He scoffs loud enough to make me shake my head. “You can’t just up and leave, Jax.”

I reach the door to the building, push it open and head inside. “And why the hell not? We sign some binding contract I didn’t know about?”

“There’s a thing called loyalty,” he fires back. “It’s one thing for you to show up whenever you want, do things your own damn way, but it’s another to dip without warning.”

I stop for a second, drag a hand through my hair, feeling the grit at my scalp. “I'm not in the mood for this, I only picked up to tell you I'm out so you can quit calling me every fucking hour.”

He exhales, frustrated. “What’s the problem? Money not good enough? I got antsy people asking for you every damn night, Jax. I’m running out of excuses here. You had people willing to bet triple...*triple,* on you, and you just up and walk?”

My chest tightens, not from guilt, but from the kind of ache that knows it’s done something permanent. “What part of done don’t you understand?”

There’s a pause. A heavy one. I can hear him trying to pull another argument out of his throat, but he’s out of ammo.

“Where else you gonna find a job that pays that well, huh?” he finally asks, voice lower, almost a plea. “All you gotta do is show up and throw a few punches.”

I laugh, tired and humorless. “If it’s that simple, Sam... why don’t you do it?”

Then I hang up.

The silence after feels too big. I slip the phone into my pocket and stare at the metal doors of the elevator as they slide open. The Pit had been my cage and my home. The rush, the roar of a crowd that only knew my name when I was bleeding....it was the only place I knew how to breathe. And now I’ve walked away from it permanently. It should feel like freedom, but it still doesn’t. It feels like losing a part of myself I hated, yet still needed.

I step inside the lift, it hums low like it’s carrying the weight of my choices. I lean back against the wall and close my eyes.

It’ll take time. That’s what I keep telling myself. Time to unlearn the chaos that used to keep me alive. I just have to take this one day at a time. Today’s over and I didn’t go back there. Didn’t answer the pull, didn’t let it win. That has to count for something.

I exhale and tell myself I’ll do the same tomorrow. And the day after that. Until that dark urge that used to own me becomes nothing more than a ghost.

I finally exit the elevator and head towards the apartment. The door clicks shut behind me, and there he is. On the floor, back resting against the couch, his laptop balanced on his thighs. The glow from the screen paints soft light over his face, catching in his hair. He turns the second I walk in, eyes locking on me before that small, quiet smile spreads across his lips.

It’s already past nine.

I shrug out of my jacket and toss it on the coffee table, my keys clattering beside it. My whole body aches...I drop flat on the couch behind him, muscles sighing in protest. Xander cranes his neck to look at me, dragging his gaze over me in that lazy, assessing way of his. “What’ve they got you doing up there on that farm,” he asks, “....that you’re coming home this late?”

I close my eyes, let out a long breath that sounds more like a groan. Then I reach out, dig my fingers into his hair, and tug until he gets the message. He winces but still moves, setting the laptop aside and climbing up onto the couch....onto me.

He smells like soap and something faintly sweet. I tuck my face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in until the last of the day starts to dissolve. His weight against me feels like peace I didn’t know I needed this bad. After a moment, he lifts his head, eyes flicking between mine. “Tired?” he asks quietly. “You look exhausted.”

“Yeah,” I murmur, voice rough. “There was a lot to do today.”

He hums softly, fingers tracing idle lines along my jaw before he leans down and kisses me. It’s slow, and the world stops spinning for a second. When he pulls back, he doesn’t move far, just stays there, breath ghosting over my lips.

Then, quieter still, he asks, “How was it? The session?”

I flick my thumb over the skin on his back. “It was fine.”

A small subtle smile tugs at his mouth. “That’s good.”

He shifts until his head is resting on my chest, and I let my eyes fall shut. My arms find their way around him on instinct, like they always do. The exhaustion’s dragging me under, but his weight keeps me tethered.

“She’s nice,” I add, voice thick. “Easy to talk to.”

He hums, smiling against my shirt. “That's a relief.”

I nod faintly, but I don’t let myself drift. If I do, I’ll be out in seconds. Instead, I open my eyes again. He’s looking off to the side, lashes low. There’s something about the angle, the quiet curve of his mouth and the stillness that just undoes me a little.

I take in a slow breath. There’s one thing I haven’t told him. And now, with everything finally feeling right between us, I want it out. No shadows left hanging, no ghosts breathing down our necks.

“I found him,” I say quietly.

Xander frowns, tilting his head up. “Found who?”

I swallow hard, my mind doing that thing it does where it protests me drifting to the past. “The guy who shot Joe.”

His expression stills, like he’s not sure he heard me right. I keep my eyes on the ceiling. “Found him a few months after it happened,” my voice is flat. “I was angry. Too angry to think straight.”

I let out a shaky breath. “I tackled him. Right there in the middle of the street. Broad daylight. Took three guys to drag me off him. I beat him up until he was barely recognizable,” I say, the words rough in my throat. “I was choking him when they pulled me off.”