Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 263

I almost make a joke, but the sincerity in his face kills it. He clears his throat, shifts again, visibly uncomfortable with how honest he just was.

“What I’m saying is, if you need anything, anything at all....you can come to me. Doesn’t matter what it is. Even if you just want someone to sit around and not say a word.”

He shrugs, softer this time.

“I can do that.”

I thank him quietly, still feeling that weight in my chest. The kind that tells me I should say something before it festers into something else.

“Adam,” I murmur, wiping my hands on the towel. “I’m sorry. For the shit I said the other night. I know your problems aren’t...”

He cuts me off before I can finish, like he’s been expecting it. “It’s fine. Really.”

Then he huffs a small laugh, tilting his head like he’s admitting something he wouldn’t normally say out loud. “I mean, at least we know neither of us is ever gonna let the other screw up in peace. We’ll call each other out every damn time. Saves us a lot of trouble.”

I nod and chuckle lightly, “Yeah. That’s true.”

It eases something between us. Not all the way, but enough for the air to feel less tight. I turn back to the counter and start chopping again. My shoulder loosens with each slice. This kind of silence is easier, the kind that doesn’t demand anything from either of us.

“You staying for lunch?” I ask without looking up.

He shakes his head. “Wish I could. I pushed a few things around to come by. Just wanted to check in on you and make sure you two were okay.”

My chest warms unexpectedly, “We’re fine.”

“That’s good.”

I move on to the peppers. “How’s work? You hire that team you were complaining about?”

He makes this long-suffering noise that tells me the answer before he says it. “Sort of. Finding good help is impossible. I already fired two people. I’m taking my time with the rest of the recruitment. Being careful.”

When I glance at him, he’s watching me. No....watching my hands. The knife. Like he’s surprised by it. He drifts closer, leaning his hip against the counter. “You should thank me, by the way.”

I raise a brow. “For what?”

He clears his throat hard, eyes darting anywhere but at me. “Layla almost bought you a.... uh....dungeon starter kit.”

I frown, trying to figure out what he means. His face goes red as he forces himself to continue. “There were cuffs. And this harness thing I don’t even want to describe.... And, umm...something with straps that looked like it belonged in a medieval museum.”

My brain stalls for a second and I just stare at him, waiting for him to smirk and say he’s messing with me. But he doesn’t, he looks genuinely traumatized.

“Christ,” I mutter. “What kind of kinky shit does she think me and Xander are into?”

I fight a grimace and a laugh at the same time.

“Just, do me a favor,” I add dryly, “...send me the link so I know exactly which website to avoid.”

Adam’s eyes widen like I’ve personally assaulted his peace. He backs up a step, both hands flying up in surrender.

“I’m officially done with this conversation,” he says, already turning away. I choke on a laugh I can’t quite let out. His attention shifts to the open box on the counter, the one full of Xander’s gifts and he walks over to it.

“What’s all this?”

“Xander’s present,” I say, trying to make my voice neutral and failing a little.

He lets out a quiet whistle. “He really went all out, huh?”

He picks up a framed photo first, studies it with something like surprise, then sets it back. He reaches for the cookbook next.

“What’s this?”

“Careful with that,” I say immediately. It comes out sharper than I want it to, but he listens...hands slowing, holding the book like it matters. He flips through it. Then he finds the note I tucked between the pages. The one that came with the chef’s coat.

He plucks it out and reads it.

I frown, half stepping forward. “Put that back.”

He does, hands raised slightly as if to say ‘*I get it, I get it*.’ But he’s still looking in the box, curious, maybe a little too perceptive.

“I didn’t know you were this serious about cooking,” he says as he lightly lifts the chef’s coat, then steps back and shoves his hands into his pockets. And for a moment something inside me wants to shrink from that observation. Like being seen wanting something this badly means I’m daring the universe to take it from me. I hate how instinctive that feeling is, how old. I shake my head a little, as if that’ll knock it loose.

Then I clear my throat. “Yeah,” I say quietly. “I guess I am.”

And it feels terrifying.

Adam wanders back over and picks up the vintage salt shaker that Xander and I found at that antique store. He turns it in his hand like it’s a relic pulled from a dig site.

“Why do you never tell me shit like this?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious.

I blink. “Like what?”

He lifts the shaker. “Stuff that matters.”

Then he gestures vaguely in the air, voice getting a bit theatrical. “You know, according to the unwritten social bylaws of humanity, subsection ‘friendship,’ paragraph ‘don’t be a cryptic asshole’.... friends tell each other things.”

I scoff, though there’s this faint pinch under my ribs. I lower my voice and ask, “Why would you care about something like that?”

His response is immediate.“Doesn’t matter if I care. You do. That’s the point.”

I look at him for a second, unsure what to do with that. Then I look away first. He clears his throat, glances at the counter. “So. You got anything planned?”

“For what?”

He gives me a look that says ‘don’t play dumb,’ then gestures at the counter.....ingredients, spices, the organized chaos of someone who actually knows what they’re doing. “This. All of this. If you’re into it like I think you are, I’m guessing there’s a plan somewhere in that head of yours.”

I finish chopping and start mixing the sauce, pretending the conversation isn’t making my pulse tick faster. I don’t know why it always does, why talking about this feels like stepping on some unstable memory.

It was mine and Andrew’s dream, one I buried with him. Same grave, same dirt. I feel Adam’s eyes on me, still waiting.

I exhale and mutter, “There’s no plan.” I stare at the cutting board. “Plans are...”

I stop. Shake my head. “Forget it.”

He fills in the word himself. “Scary?”

I keep my eyes on the sauce. “There’s that too.” A beat passes before I add quietly, “I quit fighting, for good this time. And I only work weekends at the farm now.”

He nods. “Right. So you’ve got all this free time to plan.”

I huff out a laugh, shaking my head. “Dreams are expensive, Crest. That’s what I’m getting at. I’m technically unemployed. Me and Xander are gonna move in together at some point, I can’t just dump all my savings into something that might crash and burn.”

A short silence settles in....soft and considering. Then Adam clicks his tongue. “You’d make a shitty businessman with an attitude like that.”

“I’m being realistic,” I say. “No offense, but you wouldn't get it. Maybe someday. When I’ve figured my shit out and—”

“Let me help.”

He interrupts me, stepping in closer, voice calm and sure in that Adam way.