Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 47

Once I’ve scraped the last bite off my plate, I push back from the stool and stand, reaching for his and mine. “I’ll do the dishes.”

Jax is up before I can even get to the sink, sliding the plates right out of my hands. “Leave it.”

“I can—”

“I like doing them.”

I arch a brow. “You like doing dishes?”

He shrugs like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Wouldn’t say I liked it if I didn’t. That’d be like… bragging about enjoying dental surgery.”

I can’t help the chuckle. “Right. Because that’s exactly the same thing.”

He walks toward the sink and starts running the water. And I’m standing here, thrown off balance, because… what the hell am I supposed to do with this? I’d already filed Jax neatly into my head as a walking red flag, a guy who thrives on trouble and smirks through the damage. But then he cooks like a professional chef and voluntarily does the dishes? My brain’s short-circuiting.

I clear my throat. “Guess my clothes are probably dry by now. I’ll go shower—”

When I glance back, he’s looking at me. That look. The one that says he’s got about three filthy comments loaded and ready.

“No.” I point at him immediately. “Whatever you’re thinking and planning, don’t. I don’t want the company.”

The corner of his mouth curves slow, deliberate. “Didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.” I step away from the counter before he can bait me further.

And then, like he’s changing lanes without signaling....he says, “Where’d it come from?”

I stop mid-step. “Where’d what come from?”

“The whole… taking things seriously thing. Where'd it come from?”

It feels like someone just swung a spotlight onto me, hot and blinding. My mouth goes dry, my pulse loud in my ears.

“What do you mean?” I ask, trying for defensive but landing somewhere closer to cornered.

There’s nothing playful in his face. No smirk. Just… genuine curiosity.

I swallow hard, my throat tight. My instinct is to redirect, make him chase me through sarcasm until he forgets the question. But that look...steady, expectant...makes it hard to breathe, let alone be clever.

So I stand there, caught between telling him to mind his own business and admitting that I’m not sure I even know the answer.

I listen to the clink of glass, the running water, the scrape of ceramic against ceramic. Jax is still facing the sink, hands buried in suds, like the conversation is just another chore he’s working through.

“You don’t date,” he says flatly, like it’s a fact he’s known for years, like gravity or the sky being blue.

I lean against the counter, arms crossed. “And what makes you so sure?”

He doesn’t even pause. “I am. I know. You don’t do relationships… not like that. So why the hell would you suggest it out of nowhere? With me especially?”

It hits like a teacher catching you lying in class. I hate that tone, hate feeling like a kid on the wrong end of a lecture. “I don’t know,” I mutter. “It just came out.”

He nods once, like he’s tucking the thought away, then suddenly dries his hands halfway through and turns to me. There’s a seriousness in his eyes now… and something else. Something I almost never see in him. Vulnerability, thin and dangerous, like a wire pulled too tight.

“You planning on staying after you shower?” he asks.

“No,” I say, because I already decided. “I saw you weren’t lying. About the drunk calls.” My chest feels tight even bringing it up. Shame chocking me. “I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for them.” I shove my hands in my pockets, glance away. “But don’t worry, it won’t happen again. I had a lot on my mind. It was dumb. You don’t have to worry.”

A few strands of hair fall into my eye. Before I can fix it, Jax steps closer... drying off his hand on a towel, then he brushes them back with his fingers. His hand doesn’t drop....it settles warm and heavy against the back of my neck.

“Stay,” he says.

The way he says it....low, steady...nearly cracks me in half. I want to. God, I want to. But no.

I shake my head. “I can’t.”

“Of course you can.”

I swallow hard. “This’ll just start the cycle all over again. I don’t wanna do that.”

“Right,” he says, tone dipping into that lethal sarcasm. “’Cause you’re so at peace with the distance. It’s not fucking with you at all. Hence the drinking. And the calling me to say you can’t forget me.”

That gets under my skin fast. I take a step back, my pulse starting to jump. “What do you want me to say, Jax? I’m a fucking mess when it comes to you, alright? You screw with my head! There, I said it. Happy now?”

His expression doesn’t flicker. Doesn’t even blink. All he says is, “Then stay.”

“It’s Sunday,” he adds after a beat. “Not like you’ve got anything better to do.”

I let out a sharp laugh, not amused in the slightest. “That’s the only reason you want me to stay? Because it’s the weekend and you’re bored?”

“No,” he says, stepping in again. “I want you to stay because I like having you around. I like having you close.”

My chest aches in a way I wish I could turn off. If we’re laying cards on the table, then fine....I’m throwing mine down.

“Since we’re being so damn open,” I say, voice tight, “is that all you like? My company?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Because I hate this,” I continue, the words coming harder now. “The mixed signals. The push and pull. I just want to know where the hell we stand. At least I can admit it...I like you.” I force myself to hold his gaze, every muscle in my body wound tight. “Do you like me too, Jax?”

The silence between us is thick enough to choke on.