Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 89

XANDER'S POV

I’ve got a guy sitting across from me at my station, a printed photo clutched between his fingers like it’s something fragile. He slides it toward me across the desk and clears his throat.

“His name was Baxter,” he says, voice rough, like he hasn’t said it aloud since yesterday. “I want…something that feels like him. Like he’s still looking at me.”

I glance down at the photo. Baxter’s a golden retriever with cloudy eyes, muzzle gone white with age. He’s smiling and it gets me right in the chest.

I nod, pushing my pencil around on the sketchpad. “We can definitely do realism. You want him exactly as he was here?”

“Yeah” he confirms, tapping the photo. “Make him seem as real as you can.”

“Got it. Now, we talking full color or black and gray?” I ask, leaning back on my chair.

He hesitates. “Color. If that’s okay. His fur… it was kind of his thing.”

“Yeah, I can do that." I say, giving him a half-smile.

“Sorry about your dog,” Addy says suddenly, from where she’s reorganizing inks nearby. She’s got ears like a hawk when she wants. “What happened, if I may ask?”

The guy rubs the back of his neck. “Baxter was fifteen. He couldn’t really walk anymore. Vet said it was time. We…had to let him go.”

The way he says it is so careful, like he’s choosing words he can live with, makes it clear how much this means to him.

“Damn,” Addy says softly. “Fifteen’s a long time. That’s a lot of love.”

He nods, jaw tight.

I flip the pad toward him, quick lines turning into something that’s starting to resemble Baxter’s face. “I’ll work in a soft gradient background, keep the focus on him. That okay? I don’t want him floating in blank space unless that’s what you want.”

“No, that’s perfect,” he confirms.

We settle on placement, upper arm, good canvas for detail, and I transfer the stencil. Then I get the station prepped, gloves snapping, inks lined like soldiers. The normal ritual.

The part that usually gets me in the zone.

But today? My brain won’t cooperate.

I can’t stop replaying last night. Jax walking out. It shouldn’t sting, he did say he’d call. It’s only eleven.

If I knew what he did for work, maybe I wouldn’t be imagining every possible worst-case scenario. Something shady? Something dangerous? My head runs laps around it.

I shake it off, try to anchor myself in the present. The buzz of Layla’s tattoo gun hums from across the room. She’s working two best friends, matching tattoos, one girl already done and glowing, the other biting her lip while Layla leans over her arm, concentration all over her face. That sound should be enough to ground me.

“Alright,” I say to my client, pressing the stencil into place. I then flex my hand, grip the machine, ink loaded. “Let’s bring Baxter back to life.”

He smiles at that, and I lean in, needle buzzing, the first lines marking skin.

And I tell myself to focus. On the fur strokes, the light in those cloudy eyes. On the fact that this matters. On anything but the unanswered questions burning a hole in my chest.

For a long while, the buzz of my machine drowns out everything. When I’m locked in like this, I don’t usually hear the door open, don’t care who’s coming or going. But this time, before I even glance up, I feel it. Like a shift in the air, a tug in my gut that has me already knowing it’s him.

I force myself to keep the needle steady, to finish shading this curve before I risk a look. And when I do, there he is. Jax. Standing just inside the doorway, that broad-shouldered stillness, his eyes already on me like I’m the only thing in the damn room.

Heat licks up the back of my neck. I can’t stop the smile that breaks across my face...small, stupid and soft. Normally, I’d play it cool, keep my head down, act like it’s nothing. But this time, I see no point in pretending. He wrecks my composure too easy.

I duck back to my work, try to find my rhythm again. The machine buzzes, Baxter’s fur slowly coming alive, but underneath the focus I’m buzzing too. So giddy it's ridiculous. I’d meant to tell Addy and Layla today, about Jax...about us, but we’ve been slammed since morning. Not that I mind, less time to overthink.

Still, when I sneak another glance, Jax isn’t just standing there anymore. He’s moving, cutting across the shop towards Layla with a bag in his hand...something fancy. My brain jumps straight to Adam. Probably sent Jax to deliver some gift to her.

Layla’s just wrapping up her second client, wiping down her station while the two girls giggle at themselves in the mirror, wrists pressed together as they snap selfies of their brand-new tattoos.

She claps excitedly, eyes on the bag, her whole face lighting up. “What did he get me?” She clutches her chest like she’s about to faint, but she’s already leaning forward.

Jax doesn’t answer, just reaches into the bag and sets a single takeout container on her table. She pops the lid with all the excitement of someone unwrapping an engagement ring.

“This smells wonderful. I'll send him a picture,” she says dreamily, inhaling the steam.

Then Jax turns, walks over to Addy, and hands her one too.

Addy blinks, then grins as she turns to face Layla. "Can we share him?”

Layla’s head snaps up, mock glare sharp. " Sorry, but I'm kind of addicted to him...and the messes he makes."

Addy rolls her eyes, laughing.

Jax starts toward me, that usual stalking gait of his, all coiled energy and bad intentions wrapped in muscle. But before he makes it halfway, the two girls cut across his path.

One of them keeps going, laser-focused on me. The other hangs back, and Jax slows, then stops right there beside her. He doesn’t say anything yet, just stands close enough that the air gets heavy.

Meanwhile, her friend decides I’m the prize worth the performance. I pause, check my stencil, then flick the machine off. She flips her hair, a glossy curtain catching the light, then leans forward just enough to make sure I’ve got a perfect view down her shirt. Boobs framed like an exhibit.

I lift my eyes to her face.

“Hi,” she says.

I give her my best grin, charming but easy. “Hey. What’s up?”

And yeah, I feel it. That weight. I know without looking that Jax is watching. My gaze flicks past the girl for a second, and there he is. Posture casual, arms crossed, but his eyes are sharp and on me.

The girl leans closer, dropping her voice like we’re co-conspirators. “So, um… my friend’s too shy to ask, but she wants your number.” She tilts her head back toward the other girl, who’s blushing so hard she’s practically vibrating.