Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 80

I step past him, toward my door, slotting the key in the lock. “What do you want?”

He pushes off the doorframe, slouching against the wall beside me like it’s all a game. “May or may not have gotten myself into a bit of trouble.”

I twist the key, hear the faint click of the lock giving way, and glance sideways at him. “What sort of trouble?”

That smile...half awkward, half the same reckless spark he’s always carried, slides onto his mouth. He shrugs like it’s nothing, like it’s weather he couldn’t control. “Got framed for something I didn’t do. Had to skip town. Need somewhere to lie low. Just for a bit.”

I’m already shaking my head, the door hanging open but my body holding the line. “No. Call your brothers. Go to them instead.”

“Jax, don’t be that way.” He leans in, grin fading, voice lowering just enough to crawl under my skin. “Remember that time—”

“No.” The word slams out before I can stop it, sharp and final. My chest tightens like I’ve been punched there. I don’t care what time he's about to bring up. I don’t want to remember it. Any of it.

The hall goes quiet. He stares at me, long enough for the silence to feel like an open wound. Then his shoulders drop, his mouth pulling into something closer to defeat than charm. He sighs, nods slowly. “Okay.”

For a second, I almost believe that’s the end of it. But then his eyes catch mine again, softer this time. “I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t serious, Jax. You know me.” He pauses, then adds, “And you know my brothers. Chances are, if I stay with them, I’ll end up in more trouble than I already am. Kieran's out there playing bandit with some psycho gang and Dorian's pretty much a hired hit man.”

For a second I just stare at him, words hanging in the air like smoke I can’t clear. Bandit. Psycho gang. Hired hitman. None of it shocks me...not really. The three of them had always been wired wrong, the kind of restless that gravitated to knives and shadows instead of books and classrooms. Still, my gut tightens, not from surprise, but from the quiet confirmation that they’d leaned all the way into the madness.

My phone buzzes again in my pocket. And for a second it's like the past and present are colliding in the space of a heartbeat.

The door creaks under my hand as I get in and hold it half-shut, my body the barrier between Nate and everything I’ve tried to scrape together for myself.

“You can’t stay here,” I tell him flat, no room for discussion.

“Why not?” he asks, like it’s the most innocent question in the world.

And for a split second, I see him how he was when I first met him...thirteen years old, restless limbs, a mouth that never shut, always pulling tricks like the world was his playground. But that was then. Now his grin’s sharper, his eyes older. Chaos grown into skin.

“You just can’t,” I say. My voice is harder this time, but it still doesn’t land the way I want.

He exhales, slow, shoulders sagging like I just kicked his puppy. “Okay,” he says softly. Starts nodding, all sad-eyed and wounded. And because he’s Nate, he twists it into something else entirely. “Guess I’ll just go hand myself over to the cops. Let them cuff me, toss me in a cell. With my record, they’ll probably throw away the key. But hey...maybe since I turned myself in, they’ll be real merciful about it.”

He turns, dragging himself down the hall in a performance that would’ve earned him a standing ovation on some grimy stage.

“Christ,” I mutter under my breath. “Wait.”

He spins around so fast you’d just know been waiting for it. His smile is instant, bright, wolfish. A sign he knew I’d fold.

I shake my head, already regretting opening my mouth. “What exactly did you do, Nate? And don’t feed me shit. I know you’re not being framed. Tell me the truth, then I’ll decide if you get to stay.”

His confidence wavers, cracks around the edges. He shifts his weight, chuckles, rubs at the back of his neck. “Okay, fine. I was a little high… broke into one of those shiny boutiques in uptown LA . Found this bracelet on the ground—”

I pin him with a look.

He snorts, gives himself up. “Alright, alright. It wasn’t on the ground. It was displayed in some glass box. I may have introduced a fire extinguisher to the mix and, you know, helped myself."

"You stole a bracelet?"

"A bracelet, maybe a watch. A couple other shiny things. Nothing major.”

My grip tightens on the doorframe. “Since when are you a fully pledged thief?”

He shrugs like it’s a new hobby. “Couple years.” Then he catches himself, waves his hand. “No..shit..just that one time. And I was high. My dealer gave me something stronger than I thought.”

I lift a hand, cutting him off. “You’re really not helping your case here.”

He grins anyway, teeth flashing like he can charm his way out of a crime sheet. “So… can I stay? Just for a bit. I was literally just released for some other dumb shit. If they book me again, I’m screwed.”

Every instinct screams no. Shut the door. Tell him to deal with the fire he started. But there’s this ghost of a memory, him and his brothers once dragging me out of my own wreckage when I couldn’t see a way out. A debt that still lingers in my bones.

“One night,” I say, forcing the words out.

“Three, max,” he shoots back instantly.

“One.”

“You won’t even know I’m here,” he promises, like the devil making deals at the crossroads.

Before I can argue, he’s already stepping forward. “Thanks, Jax.” His arms spread like he’s going in for a hug.

I throw my hands up, pushing him back. “Don’t.”

He just laughs, bright and careless. “Right. Forgot you’ve got that whole allergy-to-affection thing.” He claps my shoulder instead, light, familiar, and infuriating. “Thanks, man.”

And then he’s inside, breezing past me like he owns the place. I stand there in the doorway, watching him move through my apartment like a storm that doesn’t belong, and I already know, I’m going to regret this.