Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 252

“So,” Nate starts, “....what do you think of our beloved Jax? Anything you wanna tell him on his special day?”

Younger Dorian stares into the camera with that trademark annoyance, jaw tight, eyes sharp and calculating. He looks at Nate like he’s a pest.

“Quit messing around and get that thing out of my face,” he growls, shoving a hand over the lens.

Nate snorts, undeterred. “Just answer the damn question.”

Dorian sighs and finally looks into the camera. “He’s a nicer guy than I’ll ever be,” he says, voice grudging but real. “And I hope it stays that way.”

My chest clenches. Then Nate asks, “And what do you think about me?”

Dorian doesn’t even blink, just flips him off and walks away. Nate laughs behind the camera, bright and unguarded. A sound so familiar it hurts. He keeps bopping around, the camera wobbling at that awful low angle he probably thinks is cinematic. It’s not. It makes me huff out a quiet involuntary laugh. The scene shifts as he pushes open another door....Kieran’s room.

He’s on the floor doing pushups, I scoff under my breath. Nate clears his throat dramatically. “I’m making a documentary for Jax’s birthday,” he announces. Then, “Anything you wanna tell him?” Kieran stops mid-rep, frowns at the camera and starts counting.

“Three thousand and one. Three thousand and two...”

“Oh drop the act K,” Nate deadpans. “You've barely accomplished two hundred pushups in your entire life.”

Kieran scoffs. “What, you think these good looks come from genes or some shit? Nah. If that were the case, I must’ve been put up for adoption by some supermodel couple who ditched me cause they couldn’t handle the attention I’d get them.”

Nate turns the camera on himself and rolls his eyes so hard it’s audible. “God, I *wish* I was adopted.”

Then he turns to Kieran again. “Quit pretending you actually work out and answer the question. What do you wanna tell Jax?”

Kieran exhales, sits back on his heels, hand running through his dark hair. For a beat, he looks thoughtful. He lifts his gaze directly to the camera.

“Jax,” he starts, my name landing heavier than I expect, “...remember that dipping sauce you made the other day? The one you put in the restaurant fridge and said, ‘Nobody touch this’?”

Kieran scratches his jaw, guiltless. “Yeah. I ate it. All of it....but in my defense, I thought it was soup or something.”

A beat. Nate groans loudly. “Say something else,” he insists. “Something that actually means something.”

Kieran sighs like Nate’s forcing him to do hard labor. But then he looks back into the lens, more serious this time.

“Last Saturday,” he says slowly, “..when we went to pick up those groceries, someone asked if you were my brother.”

He pauses.

“And I said you were. Didn’t even think about it.” His voice softens. “Because that’s what you are to me.”

My throat burns. He smiles that easy smile...real. “Happy birthday, man. Can’t wait to see all the crazy shit you’re gonna pull off. Cause you will.”

Nate goes dramatic and soft in the background. “Awwww...”

“Get the fuck out of my room,” Kieran snaps, already dropping back into pushup position. “Four thousand six hundred and one...”

The screen shakes as Nate backs out, laughing. I swallow hard, eyes locked on the slipshod footage. It hits deeper than it should. Nate eventually wanders into the kitchen, humming off-key, the camera bouncing with each step. And the second the lens lands on Andrew and Joe....side by side, decorating a cake....I flinch.

I look away like the sight alone is enough to knock the air out of me. But the quiet keeps pressing in, and after a long breath I force myself to look back. Joe’s scolding Nate for something he still hasn’t done, and Nate fires back some smart-assed reply that makes Joe pretend to lunge at him, big hands swatting at the camera. Nate laughs and says he’s making a “birthday documentary.” Then he asks them the same question he asked everyone else.

He swings the camera toward Joe first, close enough that Joe’s eyebrows fill the screen. Joe shoves the lens back with a grumble, returns to smoothing frosting along the cake’s edge while Nate keeps filming, relentless.

It takes Joe a moment to answer.

Then, “Most days,” he says, still focused on the cake, “I felt cursed. Wondered why God decided to punish me by giving me sons who brought me nothing but grief.”

Nate groans. “Oh, come on, Dad...we’re not that bad.”

Joe gives him a pointed look that suggests very strongly that yes, they are. Then he glances sideways at Andrew.

He’s smiling, just a little. Piping bag in hand. Shoulders loose, eyes soft. There’s flour smudged on his cheek. And my chest twists painfully because I remember that expression....how it crept in whenever he was flustered, how he always bent his head like he was hiding it.

I stare at the frame on the screen, at their faces, and my mind can’t reconcile any of it. How people who existed, who breathed the same air I did, who touched my life in ways I can still feel, could just....vanish. How they can be here one second, and the next they’re nothing but images trapped behind a piece of glass. I look at them and it doesn’t feel possible, doesn’t feel allowed. Like the world should’ve stopped the moment they did. But it didn’t. It kept spinning, pretending it didn’t lose anything at all.

That familiar burn crawls up the back of my throat. Joe continues. “These boys,” he says, “...have done some pretty unimaginable things. Things that are punishable by law, even. But...” Joe's voice gentles, “...they brought me something I never thought I’d have. Sons who actually listen.”

Andrew’s head dips fully now, face pink. Exactly the way he used to look when a compliment caught him off guard. I look away for half a second just to breathe.

Joe continues, and the words hit harder than they should.

“Jax and Andy are like sons to me. And I can’t wait to celebrate even more of their birthdays. All the way ’til I’m too old to dice an onion.”

Nate lets out a soft, “That’s really sweet, Dad.” Then immediately ruins the moment. “So why don’t you ever say stuff like that to me?”

Joe doesn’t even blink. “Maybe because you sold my truck battery for concert tickets.”

Nate mutters something defensive, then turns the camera on Andrew. “Your turn, Andy.”

And that’s where everything in me stutters. My fingers drift to the remote. Hover there. I’m right on the edge...right at that raw, shaking point where it’s too much. Where the nostalgia stops being sweet and turns into a knife. Where watching this life, these people, knowing exactly how it all ended, feels like peeling away my own skin. I don’t know if I can keep going. I’m not sure I should.

Andrew hesitates, shoulders rising just a little as if he’s bracing himself. He glances shyly at the camera...at me, really....and that soft, uncertain smile pulls at his mouth. The one he only ever had when he was trying to say something honest.

Then he speaks.

“Thanks Jax.”

It's quiet and simple. Uncomplicated in a way nothing else in our lives ever was.

“You... you make things easier,” he adds, cheeks tinting as he shifts his weight, eyes flicking away for half a second before returning to the camera. “You always have.”

And then something in him shifts. His face sobers, blue eyes going distant, like he’s remembering something he never said out loud. “You're always watching over me, and you've saved me more times than you realize, ” he murmurs and my throat closes.

“You’ve never hurt me, and no matter what, you'll never fail me. I hope you know how much that matters...”

It’s the last thing I hear before I slam my thumb against the remote, the screen going black so violently the room feels darker than it should. The remote lands somewhere on the couch when I fling it away. And I fold, hands dragging up to cover my face, elbows digging into my knees as I bow forward. My breath shudders out of me, and I bury my head in my hands.