Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 61

Not much gets said after lunch. He tries, here and there....little remarks about the food, a comment about the waitress’s accent....but it fizzles before it starts. I can tell he’s searching for the right words and coming up empty. That’s fine by me. Silence sits better.

Once we're done, we leave and I pull the bike to a stop a block from Zig’s, it's becoming a routine now. The engine cuts, quiet takes over. He climbs off, pulls the helmet from his head, hair sticking up where it flattened. When he hands it back, I reach for it.

But his other hand closes around my wrist.

I freeze, glance down. His grip isn’t hard, but it pins me there. When I look up, he’s already watching me. Not pity. Something worse. Something I don’t know how to stand under....concern.

“Thanks,” he says, voice even. “For telling me. About your parents. I know that wasn’t easy.”

My first instinct is to pull free. I give a slight tug. “I already told you, it’s not a big deal.”

But he doesn’t let go. His fingers tighten just enough to stop me from slipping away. His eyes don’t shift, don’t blink. “For what it’s worth,” he says, softer now, “I think you turned out pretty okay.”

That one lands too close. I look away fast, jaw tight, shoulders stiff. The air feels thin. His grip changes...tightens, then eases....pulling my attention back whether I want to or not. He’s still looking at me, steady, too steady.

“Act how you used to around me,” he says suddenly.

I frown. “What the hell’s that mean?”

“You didn’t care what you said. Or how you came off. Now it’s like you’ve shut everything off at once.” His brows pull together, mouth flattening as he says it. “Even when you got on my nerves before… I didn’t hate it. I’d rather that than this. I’m not trying to make you do or say anything you don’t want to. So relax, yeah?”

The words aren’t flashy. They’re not dressed up like a line. They’re just… honest. And they wedge under my ribs before I can block them out.

He steps in closer, close enough that I feel the brush of his jacket near mine. The helmet gets set down between my legs, his hand dragging away slow. Then his eyes lift back to mine.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asks. “With the questions. All of it.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes. It’s not discomfort, not really. Discomfort would be easy. This is something heavier, darker. Dread. Like I already know where this road ends, and he doesn’t.

My gaze drags back up to his. “I think you’ve got this idea in your head,” I tell him, voice rough. “About how this goes. But it’s not that simple.”

He tilts his head, searching my face like he can peel the layers back. “You keep saying that. Why isn’t it? What’s so complicated?”

I shake my head, jaw tight. No answer. No way to give him one he’ll understand.

He studies me another beat, then lets go of my wrist. His hand falls back to his side, deliberate. “Tell me this, then,” he says. “Earlier. Before I stopped you. Were you about to tell me to quit? To stop pursuing this?”

I sit there, silent, engine ticking as it cools. I roll the thought over, slow, heavy. Finally, I shake my head.

I look up at him. “No. I wasn’t. But I should’ve.” The words drag out of me like gravel. “You’re so set on knowing me, Xander. But did it ever cross your mind....you might not like what you find?”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t answer either. His mouth curves, not a smile exactly, more like a decision settling. “I’ll text you later,” he says simply. Then, with a pointed look, “Quit leaving me on read. This is starting to feel like payback for how I used to ignore you.”

And just like that, he steps back, leaving me with the ghost of his hand on my wrist, and a weight in my chest I can’t shake.

My phone pings. Not Xander....he’s still fading into the distance, I drag the phone out anyway.

A message. Dorian.

"We wish we could be there tomorrow,,,,get them some flowers on our behalf. Hope you’re ok."

My throat tightens, hard and sharp, like swallowing glass. The words blur on the screen until they’re just shapes, ink bleeding into each other. I blink, once, twice, but it doesn’t clear. Doesn’t matter. I already know what they say.

I check the date.

Tomorrow.

Of course.

My hand goes to my hair, dragging through it, like maybe the pain will loosen if I tear at the roots. It doesn’t. This....this is exactly what I don’t need. The reminder. The weight. The proof that caring is just a countdown clock, and it always runs out too fast.

And all I can think about now is Xander...easy, unguarded, pulling me somewhere dangerous. I should’ve told him to stop. Should've shoved the warmth away before it seeped into me, before it started to feel like I could actually breathe.

I should’ve kept the walls high and the ground firm.

But I didn’t, it's almost like the universe is reminding me to be careful, before I fuck it all up again.

I dial Sam. He picks up after the third ring, his tone sharp.

“You’ve got some nerve calling me. You ditched right before my fight, Jax. Do you have any idea how much that cost me?”

“Get over it,” I cut in, voice flat. “I need you to fit me in tonight. And tomorrow. However many you’ve got, stack them. Doesn’t matter.”

There’s a pause, then a long, tired sigh. “Knew it. I was waiting for this call.” His tone softens, just barely. “You do this every year, Jax. Like clockwork. Thought maybe you’d skip it this time.”

I grit my teeth, fingers tightening around the phone. The fights are a distraction, sure....but they’re never enough. Not to drown it out. And this time… this time I feel even more fucked up.

" Just do it. "

“ I don't know man. Last time you—”

I hang up before he can finish, the sound of the dial tone buzzing against the hollow in my chest.