Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 27

It’s noon, and I’m staring at my reflection like a goddamn idiot.

The mirror doesn’t lie—it never has, never will—and right now it’s reflecting a guy who’s lost the plot. Who just took a second shower for no reason other than nerves. My skin’s still damp, steam curling at the edges of the bathroom, and I’ve been standing here like a mannequin for ten solid minutes, holding up shirts like I’m going to a red carpet instead of whatever the hell this is.

Jax sent me an address.

Said, “Be there in an hour.”

The wise thing, the sane thing, would’ve been to ignore it. But no, here I am. Showered. Shaved. Deodorized. Staring down the wardrobe like it personally wronged me.

“Get a grip,” I mutter at my reflection.

I hold up a black button-down. Too stiff. Toss it onto the bed.

White T-shirt. Too basic. That joins the growing pile.

I grab a rust-colored linen one I never wear. Hold it up. Tilt my head.

Another toss.

By the time I settle on a deep navy, short-sleeved shirt that actually fits me right, I’ve already started sweating again. I throw on a pair of blue faded jeans and those new sneakers I bought a month ago but never actually wore. Solid...not too polished, not too try-hard.

I hesitate at the drawer after spraying on cologne. Then grab the chain. A thin silver one, nothing flashy, just enough weight to feel like armor. I add on a couple of rings, subtle ones, and a silver bracelet I haven’t worn in months. Minimalist. Intentional. Which pisses me off.

Why do I care what he thinks?

He’s not a date. He’s not my damn boyfriend. He’s not even a decently nice person.

Still, I dig a cap out of the drawer and shove it on, tugging it low. My hair’s getting out of control, and I don’t have the energy to fight it today.

I catch my reflection again.

“It's just a damn meal,” I tell the mirror flatly. “Not a marriage proposal.”

But my chest says otherwise. There’s a pounding in it that’s not quite fear, not quite excitement, just this…wild, fluttery restlessness I don’t recognize.

I grab my phone, keys, and wallet, shove them into my pockets, and head for the door. My hands are twitchy, my stomach a mess, and somewhere deep in my brain a voice is yelling at me to turn the hell around and stop being so goddamn stupid.

But I don’t. I keep walking.

Because even though I shouldn’t, I want to see him.....

I take a cab...my dad keeps bugging me about buying a car. Says it’s long overdue. But I live close to work, everything I need is either a walk or a ride away, and I’d rather blow my money renting a place with decent lighting and decent plumbing than deal with traffic and oil changes.

The cab drops me off, and I glance around, hands stuffed in my pockets, shoulders tight. There’s not much to see—just a few buildings, random foot traffic, and the kind of lazy, muted energy only Sundays seem to carry. There’s a soft chill in the air, not enough to need a jacket, but just enough to make me wish I’d brought one anyway. The park nearby is dotted with kids on scooters, couples walking dogs, some guy with a guitar strumming something emotional.

I pull out my phone to text Jax and ask where the hell he is, but just as I unlock it, his name flashes on the screen.

" Walk to the park. "

I frown, look up and squint like that’ll help me spot him faster. And then....there. A few feet in, sitting on a bench. He looks relaxed. Legs stretched out, arms draped over the backrest, one foot tapping idly like the ground should be grateful to touch him. He’s wearing dark jeans, a snug shirt with sleeves pushed up to the elbows, exposing bandaged knuckles and those tattoos running down his forearms like some kind of warning labels. His bruises are fading, blooming like watercolors under skin. Still, even from here, the guy looks... good. Too good.

My chest tightens the closer I get. Not just with nerves, but that... something else. That irritating buzz I’ve been trying to mute for days now. I stop a couple of steps away, hands still in my pockets, my voice dry.

" I like the place. Real charming, " I dryly state, scanning the area.

He doesn’t stand. Doesn’t even smirk. Just lets his gaze crawl up from my sneakers to my cap in that slow, lazy way of his. He tilts his head, lips curving just barely.

“Someone clearly put effort into the outfit,” he then says, voice annoyingly amused.

I scoff. “ What the hell are you talking about. I dress like this every day. ”

“Mmh,” he hums, unconvinced, finally pushing himself to his feet. He’s close...too close—and then he lifts his hand and hooks his finger around my chain, the one I hesitated for ten minutes about wearing. He tugs it lightly, drawing me in.

I go. Of course I fucking go.

But I don’t meet his eyes. I look anywhere else—the trees, a kid blowing bubbles, a squirrel. Hell, especially the squirrel. My throat feels tight, my palms feel hot, and this entire situation feels like a mistake I’ve already committed to.

“What are we doing here?” I ask, trying to sound unimpressed. My voice is rougher than I intend, like it’s been dragged through gravel.

He lets go of my chain, finally, and steps back, hands sliding into his pockets. “ I told you, I'm buying you lunch. Ever had birria tacos from a food truck run by a guy named Tito who only accepts cash?”

I blink. “ That sounds awfully specific. And no. ”

His grin returns, lazy and triumphant.

“ Then let's change that. ”

He jerks his chin toward the other end of the park, and sure enough, there’s a ridiculously beat-up food truck parked near the curb, the kind that looks like it might give you food poisoning and a spiritual awakening. People are already gathered around, a guy yelling orders in Spanish through a tiny window. The scent hits me before we’re even halfway there....slow-cooked meat, spices, something warm and wet and ridiculously good.

I follow Jax, trying to ignore the way his shoulder brushes mine as we walk. Trying not to care that he’s grinning like he knows exactly what kind of chaos he’s stirring in me.

It’s just lunch. Just fucking lunch.

So why the hell does it feel like I’m walking into something I’m not ready for?