Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 273

Steam is still curling off my skin when I drag a towel through my hair, sitting on the edge of the bed in nothing but sweats. My phone buzzes with a text from Nate

*“We’ll be by soon.”*

I freeze.

We?

Jax said Dorian. Singular, he never mentioned anything about Nate.

I text back, asking if he's coming over too.

I stare at the bubbles that don’t appear. Nate’s either asleep, dead, or elbow-deep in something bizarre that he thinks counts as multitasking.

The thing is, I don’t even know how we started texting. I’d messaged him once for The Pit’s address, and then out of nowhere he started dropping the weirdest shit in my inbox, shit like...

*“Do bees have nightmares?”*

Or.... *“If I disappear it's because I hitchhiked with a guy who has a Dahmer sticker on his truck....he claims it's just his brand of humor.”*

The first few times, I genuinely thought he’d meant to text someone else, so I didn’t respond. Then he eventually texted to ask if I was ignoring him.

I caved and texted him back. He’s unhinged. Kinda weird, but not in a bad way. I wait a few seconds more, nothing, then sigh and push to my feet. My hair’s still damp as I walk to the living room and call Jax.

He picks up on the first ring. “Hey. What’s up? Is he there yet?”

“Not yet, but are you sure he's—”

A loud knock cuts me off. Like whoever’s behind the door is knocking on the house, not the door. I turn towards the sound.

“Actually,” I murmur, “...that might be him.”

“I’m almost home,” Jax says. “Five minutes.”

“Okay.” I hang up.

For a second, I just stand there. Heart a little too aware of itself, hand raking through wet hair. Something tight and uneasy moving under my ribs as I walk over and reach for the handle.

The moment the door swings open, the breath leaves me. Because I’m staring at a wall made of a man. The guy fills the doorway. like he was carved out of a glacier. Tall, broad, cold in a way that hits bone. Grey eyes slice down to meet mine, and it’s not curiosity so much as dissection.

My pulse spikes, and it's not that low-grade kind of danger. This is primal, run-for-your-life instinct. I take half a step back before I can stop myself.

And then....

“XAN!”

The guy is shoved aside like he weighs absolutely nothing, which should be impossible, and suddenly Nate is in the doorway, beaming like sunlight aimed directly at my face. He’s holding a giant brown bag in his hand, and before I can react, he wraps his free arm around me, squeezing tight.

“Hi!” he says, like we’re old friends. “Where’s Jax? I got you something.”

He thrusts the bag at me with so much enthusiasm I almost drop it. My heart is still trying to recover from Mr. Arctic Death Stare in the hallway.

I stare down at the bag, shocked when I realize it's full-on groceries. And a huge bag of dog food.

We don’t have a dog.

My eyebrows pull together. “What’s with the dog food?”

Nate inhales, gearing up for some sort of explanation, but before he can unleash it, a deep voice cuts through the air behind me.

“He stole your neighbor’s groceries.”

I turn around and stare at the guy I'm guessing is Dorian. He steps inside like the doorway is just slowing him down. In the pictures Jax showed me, he looked tall, solid. Here in real life...he might as well be a different species.

Nate tells him to shut up, bristling like a chihuahua facing a lion.

“They were outside the door,” he protests loudly. “People leave things outside when they don’t want them. It's a universal sign of ‘please take this, stranger’.”

Dorian’s close enough now that I have to tip my chin up a little. He extends a hand, palm calloused, grip looking like it could crack walnuts.

“I’m Dorian.” His voice is deeper up close. His eyes sweep over me without hurry, assessing. “You must be Xander.”

I manage a nod before I take his hand. “Yeah. That’s me.”

His eyes flick to Nate for half a second, some silent conversation I don’t understand, then back to me. “I’ve heard a whole lot about you.”

I don’t know what to do with that, so I just nod again.

“Jax said to meet here,” he adds.

“Right,” I say, stepping back so he can move farther inside. “He ran out to grab something real quick. He’s on his way back.”

The living room looks noticeably smaller with him standing in it. I gesture toward the couch anyway. “You can sit while you wait.”

Then I turn to Nate and shove the bag back at him.

“Take it back to where you found it.”

He sighs dramatically, rolls his eyes but picks up the groceries and heads out. The door shuts behind him, and suddenly it’s just me and Dorian. I can feel his gaze on me before I even look up. Heavy, curious and measuring. I pocket my hands just to give them something to do.

“Jax went to grab some beer,” I explain. “But if you want anything now, there’s water, coffee. Juice. Whatever.”

He shakes his head once. “I’m good.”

“You, uh....didn’t mention Nate was tagging along,” I say.

Dorian nods, dragging a hand through his brown hair. His fingers disappear into it like it’s thicker than it looks. “Yeah. I called our other brother, Kieran. Told him I might stop by today, say hi to Jax.” A faint, humorless huff. “And they decided they wanted to tag along.”

I blink. Turn to the door like it might explain something. Then back at Dorian.

“Kieran?”

“Yeah, he said he had something to take care of real quick.” Dorian shrugs, broad shoulders rolling under his shirt. “But he’ll be here soon.”

“Oh.” It’s all I’ve got.

In my head, this was simple, one person from Jax’s past. Now it’s three. Nate I can handle, he’s chaotic but harmless. The other two? Total unknowns. Won’t this be too much for Jax? Coming home to a full house he wasn’t expecting? Seeing Dorian alone was already going to shake him. But the others....

Dorian’s looking around now, taking in the place with that slow, assessing gaze. Then he glances back at me.

“Nice place you’ve got here.”

“Thanks,” I say, because my manners still function even when my pulse is tap-dancing. The silence stretches, awkward in a way I can’t stand, so I add, “We were planning on moving out a while back but it didn’t work out. We’ll try again eventually.”

He actually looks surprised. His eyebrows lift just a fraction. “Together?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s good.” He nods once, sincere. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” My hands shove deeper into my pockets. “Were you nearby?”

“Not necessarily.” His mouth twitches like he finds the question oddly funny. “I was in New York. Decided to fly in.”

“Oh.” I blink again. “It’s been a while since you and Jax have seen each other, hasn’t it?”

Something flickers across his face, tightness, regret. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Too long.”

Before I can figure out a response, the door opens and Nate strolls back in, casually eating an apple. I hate that I’m relieved. He walks straight to the couch and throws himself down. Flat on his back. Then he drops his head onto Dorian’s lap who shoves him off immediately.

He hits the floor with a thud and a muttered curse, but pops back up unfazed, then squints at me. “How’re you doing?” He steps closer, eyes narrowing on my chest. And before I can warn him, he reaches out and touches my surgical scar.

I slap his hand away.

He just tilts his head. Then he looks up at me with that weird spark of curiosity that always feels like he’s halfway between genius and unmedicated.

“So, I heard,” he says, lifting his apple like it’s an extension of his hand, “...that when you get heart surgery, they sometimes remove your heart for a while. Then they rinse it off under a faucet, scrub it, maybe rotate it a bit to check for cracks.”

I blink, but he just keeps going, deadly earnest.

“And sometimes, if they’re short-staffed, a nurse just holds it like a little wet hamster while the doctor fixes whatever’s broken inside you. And then they just put it back in and hope it reconnects on its own.”

He gestures like he’s assembling IKEA furniture, “Did they do that to you?”

I stare at him, completely lost. “What? No.”

His eyebrows lift, hopeful. “Not even the rinsing part?”

“Nate, I didn’t have heart surgery, you know that.”

His gaze drops to my chest, then he squints harder, taking a bite of his apple like I’ve just confirmed a long-running theory.

“Quit bothering him,” Dorian says from the couch. Nate shoots him a look. “I’m not bothering anyone.” Then he turns back to me, expression earnest in a chaotic, off kilter way. “We’re friends. Right?”

I'm about to say ‘sure’ when the door opens.