Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 57

JAX'S POV

The sound of someone clearing their throat snaps the moment clean in half. I step back fast, jaw tight, like I’ve just been caught doing something I shouldn’t. Xander covers it with an awkward smile and moves aside for the couple wanting to pass, but I can feel his eyes on me. When I meet them, mine are already shuttered, locked down. Safer that way. Doesn’t matter if he saw the crack a second ago.

He hands me the leather jacket I’d tossed aside, like he’s daring me to say something. “You wanna keep looking around?” His voice is light, but I hear the edge of hope underneath.

I shut it down. “Need to get going.”

He doesn’t argue. I pay for the jacket and we step out into the air, the weight of everything unsaid pressing between us. My bike waits like an out, like a line I can draw. I swing my leg over, then sigh and and jerk my chin at him. “Hop on. I’ll drop you.”

He opens his mouth to protest, so I cut him off, shoving the helmet at him. “Just get on.”

And he does. I almost regret it when his arms slip around me. He hesitates at first, but when the engine roars to life and we lurch forward, he grips me tighter, chest pressed to my back. Heat floods straight through my shirt, seeping under my skin, and I hate how easy it would be to lean back into it. His hands grab me tighter when he shouts over the engine.

“Drop me a block away.”

My voice comes back dry, flat, the only shield I’ve got. “Why? Embarrassed to be seen with me?”

He leans in closer, voice cutting sharper than I expect. “I’ll let them know when it’s something real.”

The words gut me. Sharp. I don’t answer. Can’t.

The ride’s short, but it burns. Every curve, every gust of wind presses him against me, a constant reminder of what I can’t let happen. Too soon, I’m pulling up, kicking the stand down. He slips off, tugging the helmet free, and we just stand there, locked in some silent battle. My fingers flex against the handlebars, knuckles whitening, jaw tight enough to ache. He looks like he’s waiting for me to move first. I won’t.

“Pick me up here tomorrow,” he says. “ For lunch.”

“I’m busy tomorrow.” The words are automatic, defensive.

He smiles, because of course he doesn’t buy it. “Find a way. I’ll be here at one.”

I should argue, but nothing comes. Just silence and the weight of his stare.

He hands me the helmet and turns, starts walking off, then pivots back like he can’t help himself. “By the way.....today was technically our first date. So…” His eyes pin me where I sit. His cheeks a little flushed now, like he's summoning courage he doesn't have. “Will you be my boyfriend?”

The air stills. This isn't how things should go, it's not the route I expected our... whatever it is, to veer towards. My mouth opens, then clamps shut. “No.”

He nods slow, like he expected it, almost smiling. “That’s okay. There’ll be more dates. I’ll keep asking. Answer’ll change eventually.”

Something flickers in me then, sharp and dangerous. Want. Fear. Both tangled too tight to separate. I keep my face stone, but inside, I’m anything but. I watch him walk away, every step putting distance where part of me wants none.

I don’t move until he’s gone. His warmth still on my back, and my chest tight like I’ve just let something slip through my fingers I’m not sure I could’ve held onto anyway.

This is..... bad. I know it. I can still hear his voice, that razor-sharp ultimatum. If I walk away, I lose every right to him. No half-measures. No circling back later. Final. And maybe that’s the smart choice. Maybe I should take the hit, cut it clean, keep my distance. Let him go. He’ll be a little hurt, sure, but he’ll recover. He’ll definitely find someone else to kiss those sharp edges smooth. He’ll bounce right back.

Only… I don’t know if I can.

I’m a junkie, and he’s the drug. The high. The ruin. Always clawing for the next hit, the next look, the next burn of his mouth. And it’s never enough. Not once.

Was it ever this strong with…... I don’t think so. I don’t remember ever being swallowed whole like this, dragged under until the surface feels like some distant dream.

Maybe—

Maybe this time—

No. I stop myself before the thought can root. Optimism is a luxury I learned not to touch. Not after the last time I let hope in, stupid enough to believe things could be okay. That blew up in my face and left me bleeding in ways no one saw. Like a rug yanked out from under me, except it was more than a fall.

I can’t afford that mistake again. Not with him.

And yet…here I am.

I watch the direction Xander disappears, the faint scuff of his shoes still echoing in my head long after he’s gone. My gaze tips skyward.

But there’s nothing. Just the kind of quiet that presses in until it’s hard to breathe.

Is this some kind of test? Xander....he’s everything designed to undo me. It's like he's being dangled in front of me, radiant...breathing life where I've got none. Perfect in the way he carries just enough light to tempt me closer, just enough happiness in his eyes to make me think maybe there’s more to this than the wreckage I always leave behind.

He’s hope dressed up in skin and sharp edges, and I keep wanting to touch it, even though I know hope burns worse than fire when it collapses.

Once, maybe, I would’ve tilted my head back like this and thought someone was listening. That maybe there was a reason for all of it, something strung together by invisible hands.

But that was a lifetime ago....before I understood that silence wasn’t absence, silence was the answer.

I remember exactly when I stopped believing, the weight of it, the way it pressed into my bones until I learned not to expect anything but the fall.

And now here I am again, staring at a sky that doesn’t stare back, thinking maybe Xander could be the one thing I let myself believe in.

But the last time I dared to hope.....