Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 269

XANDER'S POV

My mum has this belief, she thinks the universe aligns everything on its own timeline. That nothing comes too early or too late. That whatever happens, happens exactly when and how it’s supposed to.

I used to say it sounded too whimsical. But lately, I catch myself thinking about it more than I want to admit. And the more I do, the more it starts to make sense.

Not that the accident was some kind of blessing, it wasn’t. I’d never call it that. It hurt him. It terrified me. I hate what it put Jax through. I hate how much of him it shook loose.

But I also can't deny that something good came out of it.

I think about Jax now, and he’s different in ways I never thought I’d get to see. If he’s feeling low, he tells me. If something’s too heavy, he doesn’t run or shut down, he takes a breath and says so. And when he needs space, he doesn’t disappear into those shadows he thinks I can’t see, he just looks at me and lets the words out.

And God, I love that.

It’s the kind of communication I’d always wanted for us, the kind I didn’t think was possible. Not when everything used to be built on guesswork and tight shoulders and unfinished sentences. Not when I spent so much time worrying he’d never trust the space between us enough to fill it with the truth.

But he does now, on his own. Without me nudging him, without me having to pry anything out. He just steps forward and offers it, like he’s finally realizing it’s safe here. Like I’m safe.

And maybe that's what mum meant. That things fall into place when they’re meant to. That broken pieces don’t have to be forced back together, they just find new edges to fit against. That the universe gives you what you want when you’re finally able to hold it without dropping it.

I think that’s what’s happening. Everything that used to scare him still does, but he faces it anyway. And that feels like the universe shifting a little, aligning something that once felt impossible.

I’d felt too cooped up in the apartment today, like the walls were pressing too close. So I figured I’d go downstairs for a few minutes. Just breathe something that wasn’t recycled air. Just exist somewhere that wasn’t the couch or the bed.

I made it.... maybe half a block. Less, honestly.

My chest started tightening, that dull ache spreading like it was warning me in slow motion, and the exhaustion hit me so fast it felt unreal, so I turned back.

Jax had texted after his session, said he was done and he was swinging by the store for a bit, asked....like he always does, if there was anything I wanted.

Most of my clients have been dropping by, bringing food and flowers and overpriced juices they think people healing from injuries need. So I told Jax I was good. When what I actually wanted to say was '*I just want you.’*

But that would’ve had him abandoning the store aisle and sprinting here in two minutes flat, and he deserves more than being trapped in this apartment with me.

So I kept it to myself.

Now I’m lying on the couch, some mindless show playing, when the door finally unlocks. And I smile before I even see him.... it’s automatic, like muscle memory.

I’m really gonna miss this when I’m back at work. The nearness...him. He steps inside, eyes landing on me, softening just a fraction, then narrowing sharply, like his brain has just caught on something. I frown.

“What?” I ask.

He shuts the door behind him. “There’s dirt on the mat outside.”

My stomach drops, I swallow. “Okay, and?”

“It’s fresh dirt,” he says, giving me a look so focused and stern it makes my heart race. The kind of look that makes me feel like a five-year-old who tried to hide a broken vase behind the curtains.

“Xander,” he says slowly, “...please tell me you didn’t leave the apartment.”

I scoff, shake my head. Try to act casual, innocent and unbothered. Jax is not at all impressed. His gaze sweeps the floor, the room, the corners. Then he holds up a finger, the universal sign for *don't you dare move,* and heads toward the bedroom.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, jaw clenching.

He’s gone for only a minute, and when he returns, he’s holding the soft black slides I wore. I’d tucked them behind the hamper, confident he wouldn’t look there. Clearly, I underestimated him. He lifts one shoe, swipes a finger along the sole, and shows me the faint smear of dirt on his skin like he’s presenting court evidence.

My eyes widen, my soul almost leaves my body.

“Anything you wanna tell me?” he asks.

I exhale, long and defeated. “I swear I didn’t even go far—”

“What the hell, Xander?!” he cuts in, voice a mix of frustration and worry, more worry than anything else. The kind that wraps itself around me and squeezes. I drag a hand through my hair, guilt pooling low in my stomach, but the restlessness still simmering underneath it.

“I honestly don’t think staying in the house is healthy for me,” I say. “Maybe the doctors should’ve taken that into account.”

Jax’s eyebrows lift in that are you kidding me? way that makes my pulse jump.

“Instructions are instructions,” he says, voice low and stern. “Unless you’ve got some hidden medical degree I don’t know about.”

I sigh dramatically, rolling my eyes, which is apparently the wrong move, because his glare sharpens instantly.

I shrug, “I just wanted some fresh air.”

“Yeah? Then next time open a damn window instead.”

He moves toward the couch with that tight, contained anger he only gets when he’s scared. The kind that’s less about fury and more about concern. He’s close enough now that I can feel the heat of his body.

He presses the back of his hand to my forehead, then trails it down to my cheekbone, my jaw, like he’s checking for a fever or checking if my bones are still intact.

“Jax,” I murmur, trying to lean away, “I’m fine.”

“You,” he says sharply, eyes burning into mine, “....are in no position to tell me a damn thing right now. How could you be so reckless?”

I open my mouth, close it.

“Don’t make me take your key and lock you in here whenever I leave.”

“You wouldn’t.”

His silence tells me he absolutely would.

I groan and let myself fall back against the couch cushions. He stays there, one knee on the floor beside the couch, like he’s rooted to the spot by sheer worry. For a second, he doesn’t move at all. Just watches me, breathing a little too fast, shoulders tight, like he’s bracing for something.

Then slowly, so gently it hits me right in the chest, he cups my cheek, thumb stroking along my skin like he’s smoothing out something jagged.

“Hey,” he says quietly, leaning in until I have no choice but to look at him. “I get it. I know you feel trapped. I know you hate this. But for both our sakes, just do what the doctors said. Please.”

His eyes are soft in that devastating way that unravels every inch of resistance I have left. I hold his gaze for a beat, feel the worry radiating off him, feel the love underneath it like a pulse.

Finally, I nod.

“Okay,” I whisper.

And the relief that floods his face makes me feel like maybe staying inside isn’t the worst thing in the world if it keeps him breathing easier.