Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 289

Jax’s brows pull together. “What?”

I shake my head, my fingers brushing his chest. “Just wondering if you’re sure you want to hear all that.” I try to make it light, but my heart’s beating way too fast for how casual I’m playing it. He gives me this grounded look, it's so genuinely wanting.

“I want to listen,” he says.

There’s a softness under the words. A little hesitation, yeah, but also something warm and hopeful that hits me dead center. But I stall.

I don’t mean to, I just can’t speak yet. My gaze roams over him instead, tracing the lines of his face, the familiar shadows, the mouth that pulls at every rational thought I have. He lifts his brows at me, all expectant confidence.

“Go ahead.”

I shake my head, fighting a smile I can’t quite kill.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” I say slowly, dragging the word out, “...you’re basically asking me to confess every delusion I’ve ever had about us. And I’m not doing that. I’ll freak you out. So no. I’m keeping those to myself.”

It sounds casual, but my pulse is hammering. He doesn’t argue. Instead, he drags his hand down my back and hits that spot. The cursed, ticklish, humiliating spot.

“Jax, don’t!”

He presses once, then again.....then relentlessly. A strangled noise escapes me before I can stop it. I twist, push at his chest, try to roll away, but he hooks a leg around mine and locks me in like he’s a damn trap made of muscle and spite. I’m half-laughing, half-sputtering, trying to bury my face in the pillow and failing spectacularly.

He finally pauses, his hand warm on my waist. “Tell me,” he urges, eyes catching mine. A quiet, sure request. I breathe out slowly, then give a tiny, resigned nod.

He settles us back on our side, pulling me in against him, tucking the covers over me again like he wants me anchored to him. I gently touch his jaw with my thumb, and say, voice soft in the dim light. “But know it’s just what I see when I let myself hope. What plays in my head when you look at me like this. That’s all it is, no pressure.”

He nods... so I start.

“Some years down the line...” My voice is hushed but steady. “You and me.... hopefully married. Living in our dream house.”

He interrupts, soft....curious. “House? Not apartment?”

I huff a quiet laugh. “We’ll start in our dream apartment. But eventually move into a bigger, nicer house. Because you’ll be making crazy restaurant money and we’ll want the kids to have a backyard. Maybe a pool.”

I stop, the air shifts. He’s silent for a beat, gaze searching my face. “How many are you thinking about?” he asks quietly.

Something pulses in my chest. We’ve never talked about the future like this. Not fully. Hints, light jokes, half-formed 'someday' ideas.

But not this.

“Two at least,” I say. “I grew up with siblings, and it definitely mattered. I want ours to have that too. Someone who knows them from the beginning.”

Jax doesn’t speak, but his hand tightens slightly over my hip.

“And we’ll do Christmas in Michigan every year once we're nice and settled. We'll also visit frequently,” I continue, voice dipping into something gentler. “So they can grow up knowing my family. Playing with their cousins.”

A small smile pulls at me as more unfolds in my mind. “And you'll teach them how to cook. You'll be patient because you'll want them to have a piece of you.”

My throat gets tight, I push through it.

“And we'll have moments like this...” I add, watching the way he watches me. Like I'm something carved into his palm, impossible to drop. “When they’ll be asleep down the hall. And you and I will still have this. This feeling like the world gets small enough to hold in one hand when you're near. We'll talk about nothing and everything. And you’ll still look at me like you can’t quite believe I’m yours, even after years of waking up beside me.”

He swallows, eyes flicking over my face like he’s memorizing it.

“And every time you do,” I add, softer, “....it’ll hit me the same way it does right now. That dizzy feeling in my chest that makes me want to protect this with everything I’ve got.”

It’s the kind of truth that feels like peeling my chest open and letting him see what’s been beating there this whole time.

I breathe in because he's still watching me the way he does when everything else in him goes quiet.

Like he’s listening with more than his ears. Like he’s taking every word straight into his bloodstream, waiting to see what it’ll make of him. His hand finds mine under the covers, his thumb brushing over my ring. Then his other hand slides into my hair, guiding me forward just enough for him to press his mouth to my forehead....lingering, like he’s sealing something into me.

“Everything you’ve ever wanted for me...” he says. “Every damn thing I was scared of that you swore would be good.... it has been. All of it.” His thumb sweeps my hairline, tender in that way he probably doesn’t even realize he is. “So I’ll trust you with this too. With all of it. Because I meant what I told you, I want whatever you want, Xander. Whatever future you see for us, I’m in.”

He has no idea what he does to me when he talks like that. He has no idea how impossible it is not to fall even harder. The words are already burning me from the inside out before I even say them.

“I love you,” I breathe, sliding my hand up his spine and pulling him impossibly closer, needing the weight of him, the heat of him. “Too much, probably. Definitely more than I'll ever be able to put into words.”

He exhales and presses his forehead to mine, breath warm against mine. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Nothing else even comes close.”

My chest squeezes so sharply it’s almost painful. He drags in another breath, eyes searching mine, raw in a way that guts me.

“I mean it. I’d still be fucked up, still hurting. Still tearing myself apart if you hadn’t—” His voice breaks off. “You pulled me out of all that. You kept showing up. And I’m so damn grateful for you.”

I hold him tighter, because how else do you respond to someone handing you their whole heart like that?

His breath shudders out against my mouth, like he’s exhaling a lifetime’s worth of ache right into my skin. For a heartbeat, we just hover there, suspended in something quiet and electric, his lips barely brushing mine, his fingers still tangled in my hair like he’s afraid I’ll fade if he loosens his grip.

And then he closes that last inch.

It isn’t a hungry kiss.

It isn’t rushed or heated or desperate.

It’s unbearably slow....like he’s kissing me with every memory he survived, every fear he’s laid down, every piece of himself he chose to hand me instead of hide. His mouth moves against mine with this aching tenderness, like I’m something precious, something fragile, something he’s terrified to break but even more terrified to lose. Like he’s pouring gratitude and hope and love straight into me. And the world narrows to the soft press of his lips, the steady thrum of his heartbeat under my palm, the quiet realization that nothing has ever felt this right.

It feels like a promise. Like a vow neither of us has spoken aloud but both of us already mean.

It feels like home.