Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 69

JAX'S POV

Light slips in through the blinds like thin blades, slicing the room into strips of gold and shadow. I blink against it, throat dry, and for a moment I forget where the hell I am. Then I feel it...weight, warmth. His face pressed against me, breath ghosting steady against my ribs.

His hair is a mess, dark strands sticking every which way, jaw slack in sleep. He looks softer like this, untouched by the wreckage the rest of us drag around. My pulse jumps, betrays me, hammering so damn hard it’s a wonder it doesn’t wake him.

Every year, around this time, it’s the same. Like drowning. Like something invisible pressing on my chest until my lungs scream. I can keep it at bay most days....the voices in my head are background noise then, cruel but low. But now? They’re a roar. They chew me up. They whisper things sharp enough to carve bone, tell me I deserve every hell I’ve crawled through. And maybe they’re right.

I told myself I wouldn’t touch him. Wouldn’t drag him into the undertow with me. He deserves someone who isn’t…this. And I was holding the line, I swear I was. Then The Pit happened. Blood, fists, the blur of lights. I could feel myself slipping.....seconds from blacking out, and for a sick heartbeat, I wanted it. Wanted to disappear into nothing.

But this raw, desperate need cracked through me instead. To breathe. To hold on to something that wasn’t pain.

So I ended up here. On his doorstep like some reckless bastard begging for air. And now…this. His arm curled against me. His chest rising and falling, calm as if the world hasn’t ended. I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do with it.

With him.

With me.

I don’t move. Can’t. I just lie here, half-afraid the moment will vanish if I breathe too loud.

I should feel calm, lying here with him pressed against me, but instead there’s this low-grade panic simmering beneath my skin. Doubt slipping in like smoke. Did I fuck this all up by showing up here? By taking what I wanted without thinking what it could cost him?

Selfishness has a way of bleeding onto anyone close enough to care, and he’s the first person in eight years who’s managed to make me feel something real. Alive.

I glance down. His breath is warm against my chest, steady and slow. My hand hesitates before I let it rise, fingers tracing lightly along the line of his back, the dip of muscle and bone. He stirs, shifts, but doesn’t wake.

The light leaking through the curtains cuts across his face, soft and uneven, but enough for me to see him. And fuck...he looks unreal like this. Lashes dark against skin, lips parted just enough to tempt. There’s something fragile about it, but not weak. Beautiful in the kind of way that guts me.

My throat tightens, and I can’t look away. I’ve seen men die, I’ve seen blood pour, I’ve seen the worst of this world and felt nothing. But this...him...it undoes me.

His lashes flicker, eyes half-opening, heavy with sleep. He catches me staring.

“You watching me sleep?” he murmurs, voice hoarse, lazy, the ghost of a grin tugging at his lips. “You must really be into me.”

Heat crawls up the back of my neck, but I don’t look away. I don’t know how to.

He sighs and lets his head drop back down on my chest, eyes sliding closed again. For a beat, I think he’s gone under completely. Then his voice drifts up, soft, slurred, almost careless.

“I think I'll skip the gym today,” he says, like it’s some great sacrifice. “Went twice yesterday anyway.”

His eyes fall shut again and I almost believe he’s gone, drifting back under. I start to breathe easier. But then..slow, reluctant, those lashes lift. He looks at me through the dim light, and I can tell before he even says anything that I’m caught.

There’s hesitation in the way his gaze lingers this time, narrowing, like he’s trying to focus on a shadow that won’t sit still. Then he pushes himself up against the headboard, bare shoulder brushing mine. Sleep-heavy but alert in that sharp way that belongs only to him.

“What’s wrong?” His voice is low, rough from sleep.

I roll to my back, stare at the ceiling. “What do you mean?”

He tilts his head, studying me like I’m some half-finished sketch that both fascinates and scares the crap out of him. Like he’s trying to catch something in between the cracks I thought I’d sealed. There’s dread in his eyes, faint but unmistakable, and the longer he looks the more it needles at me. Another thing about him....how easily he reads me. Like I’m transparent, and he’s the only one who knows it.

I don't like that, can't get used to it. It's why I told him he scares me.

“You look like something’s bothering you,” he says quietly.

My chest tightens with the urge to smooth that fear out of him, to make it vanish before it grows. To scrape it clean before it roots too deep and grows claws that’ll tear him apart. But I don’t know how. All I’ve got are rough edges and bad habits, nothing soft enough to keep him safe.

Still, I force a crooked grin, try to lighten the weight pressing down on us.

“Was just thinking about breakfast,” I mutter. “Then I realized I’m in your place, not mine. And as skilled as I am, I don’t think I can do much with… half a loaf of stale bread, a jar of olives, and I'm guessing a bottle of ketchup.”

He lets out a scoff, shaking his head. “God. Who do you think I am?”

I let my mouth twitch, just a fraction. “Someone who hasn’t seen the inside of a grocery store since he realized he can order everything online.”

He rolls his eyes, drags a hand through his hair, then says, “For your information , I also have an endless supply of instant ramen. The fancy kind. So don't insult me.”

That drags a small laugh out of me, quiet but real, and something in my chest eases. The room is dim, but I see the way his mouth softens when I laugh. The way the tension in his eyes unwinds, even just a little.

I watch him for beat too long. Letting the room fill with that tiny shift...the one where he forgets he was afraid, even for a second. And it’s stupid, but that’s enough.