Page 14

J ax

O'Malley's was packed to the rafters by the time Jax arrived with Lauren, the traditional post-game hangout exploding with playoff-clinching energy. The familiar scent of beer and fried food hit him as they walked in, along with the unmistakable roar of a fanbase celebrating the end of a successful season. Kane had secured their usual corner booth, a large private nook partially shielded from the main floor that offered at least a semblance of sanity amid the chaos.

Jax instinctively placed his hand at the small of Lauren's back, guiding her through the crowd. He noticed several fans doing double-takes as they recognized him, their eyes shifting curiously to Lauren. A few raised their glasses in salute, calling out congratulations on the win. Jax acknowledged them with a nod but kept Lauren close, creating a barrier between her and the more boisterous patrons.

"There they are!" Dmitri announced as they approached, raising his vodka in salute. "The dog whisperers!"

Lauren laughed. "I think you've got that backward. You're the ones who were whispering to the dogs and cuddling them too."

"Technicality," Kane dismissed with a grin, sliding over to make room. "The interview was fuckin' beauty. PR says social's blowing up about the program."

"And other things," Oliver added with a smirk, eyes flickering meaningfully between Jax and Lauren.

Jax felt Lauren shift slightly beside him as a particularly loud cheer erupted from the bar. He watched her jump at the sound of a glass shattering somewhere in the crowd, followed by raucous laughter and stomping. Without hesitation, he repositioned himself, angling his body between Lauren and the rest of the room.

"The program's what matters," he said firmly, shooting Oliver a warning glance that had sent tougher men to the bench. "The dogs and the shelter are doing the real work. That's the story."

"For sure, for sure," Kane agreed, reading the play like he did on the ice. He gave Jax a subtle nod of understanding. "Holy shit, though—we're going to the show! April hockey, baby! Doc, what're you drinking? We're celebrating Jax's series-clinching shutdown in the third."

"Lauren, please," she corrected, wincing as another burst of shouting erupted nearby. "And whatever you're having is fine. Congratulations on making the playoffs."

Marcus shifted to make more room in the booth, positioning himself to block some of the noise from the main bar. The gesture wasn't lost on Jax—silent support from a teammate who noticed everything.

As Kane signaled the server, Jax watched Lauren's reaction to the pub's increasing volume and energy. He'd meant this to be quick – get in, say hi to the boys, get out. Now he was questioning the whole idea. Their own private celebration was waiting.

Oliver leaned forward, his usual anxiety nowhere in sight as he focused on Lauren. "So that German Shepherd—Charlie, right? What kind of training regimen does he have? My cousin trains police dogs in Vancouver."

Lauren visibly relaxed at the change of topic. "His ball drive is insane," she was saying. "Makes training rewards easy."

"Like Dmitri with the puck," Marcus cut in, his deep voice carrying just enough for their table. "Except Charlie probably has better puck-handling skills."

"One time!" Dmitri protested, his accent thickening with indignation. "One time I miss empty net in regular season, and you never forget! Playoffs different story. Dmitri score many goals in playoffs."

"First you have to make it past round one," Marcus replied dryly. "Statistical probability suggests—"

"No statistics tonight!" Kane interrupted, raising his glass. "Tonight we celebrate like we won the whole damn thing. Drink up!"

Ethan, squeezing in beside Oliver, raised his glass shyly. "To Jax's block. That was sick, man."

"To Jax's block!" the table echoed, glasses clinking.

Jax felt his ears warm at the praise, but he appreciated the way his teammates had naturally included Lauren in their celebration. Under the table, he found her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. She returned the pressure, her thumb brushing over his knuckles.

"That block in the final seconds," Marcus said, turning back to hockey. "Textbook positioning. Didn't even have eyes on Sanderson when he got the pass, but you read the play developing. That's what clinched it."

Jax shrugged, the praise making him uncomfortable as always. "Right place, right time."

"Bullshit," Kane countered, taking a pull from his beer. "That was pure hockey IQ. The kind of play makes the highlight reel and gets you into the playoffs. Coach is finally getting through that thick skull of yours."

"Had to happen eventually," Jax said dryly.

Lauren turned to him, her green eyes bright with pride. "It was impressive even to my untrained eye."

"See? Even the doc recognizes defensive brilliance when she sees it," Kane declared triumphantly. "Maybe now Jax'll actually believe us when we tell him he's more than just a fucking goon."

"Been telling him that since juniors," Dmitri chimed in, raising his glass again. "Big man finally listening."

Another crash from the main bar made Lauren flinch, and Jax caught her glancing at a nearby table where fans were loudly reenacting Wilson's hit on Kane, complete with exaggerated violence and colorful commentary about what should have happened to Wilson afterward.

Jax's arm instinctively moved to the back of the booth behind Lauren, creating a shield around her. Kane, ever observant, caught the gesture and checked his watch.

"Don't you have early recovery tomorrow? Coach was talking about ice baths for anyone who took contact."

Jax nodded gratefully at the captain's assist. "We should head out," he said during a lull, squeezing Lauren's hand lightly. "Early recovery session tomorrow. Ice baths and all that fun shit. Coach wants us rested for the playoff prep."

Kane looked disappointed but nodded. "Man's got priorities, boys. Got to heal up for round one."

"You take care of our boy, Doc," Dmitri said, reaching across to pat Jax's shoulder. "He play like brick wall tonight. Tomorrow he feel like hit by truck."

"I'll make sure he ices properly," Lauren promised, her medical instincts visibly kicking in as she glanced at Jax's shoulder where he'd taken the hardest hit.

"See? This why team need veterinarian," Dmitri declared with a broad grin. "Know how to handle animals."

"You calling me an animal, Volkov?" Jax challenged, though his tone held no heat.

"If shoe fits, big man," Dmitri replied cheerfully. "Is compliment! Best animals on ice."

Oliver laughed, his eyes bright with admiration as he looked between Jax and Lauren. "The shelter is really grateful for the program. Charlie's already doing better with crowds."

"Speaking of," Kane said, "we need to set up that team visit. PR wants photos of the whole squad with the service dogs."

"For calendar," Dmitri added. "Dmitri call dibs on puppy for December photo."

"Is that a real thing?" Lauren asked, looking surprised.

"Not yet, but we're pitching it," Marcus explained. "Team calendar with service dogs. Fundraiser for the shelter. We figure public response would be good after tonight's announcement."

Jax watched Lauren's expression soften at his teammates' genuine enthusiasm for the shelter program. If his teammates suspected the real reason for their departure, they were tactful enough not to chirp him with Lauren there. No doubt, he'd get it double tomorrow.

Goodbyes were exchanged, with Kane insisting Lauren join them for the first playoff home game, Dmitri declaring her "honorary team veterinarian for playoff run," and Oliver extracting a promise about bringing Charlie to their pre-playoff practice. Even shy Ethan gave her a fist bump.

"Welcome to the family, Doc," Kane said as they stood to leave. "Anyone important to Jax is important to us."

The simple statement, delivered without fanfare, hit Jax harder than any check he'd taken that night. This was his family—the teammates who'd seen him at his best and worst, who ribbed him relentlessly but had his back without question. And they were welcoming Lauren as if she already belonged.

As they stepped into the cool night air, Lauren exhaled slowly.

"Sorry about that," Jax said quietly, keeping her close to his side as they walked toward his truck. "It's usually rowdy, but playoff celebrations are next level."

"I'm fine," she assured him, though something in her tone suggested otherwise. "They're nice guys. I just..." She trailed off, looking up at the night sky instead of at him.

"Just what?" he prompted, leading her toward his truck.

Lauren was quiet until they reached the vehicle. "It's a lot," she finally said, leaning against the passenger door. "Not just the noise. The way everyone was celebrating violence. Did you hear those guys at the next table? Talking about how Wilson deserved to get his face smashed in, how disappointed they were that you didn't drop the gloves after he hit Kane."

"That's just hockey talk," Jax said, choosing his words carefully. "But I get that it's jarring if you're not used to it. And playoff fever makes everyone a little crazier."

Lauren nodded. "I had a boyfriend in vet school who played rugby. Chris. He was all charm until his team lost, then suddenly I was walking on eggshells, waiting for the explosion." She paused. "After that was Mark, a boxer who swore he could separate the violence in the ring from real life. Until he couldn't."

Something cold settled in Jax's stomach. "Lauren—"

"I'm not comparing you to them," she cut in quickly, meeting his eyes. "That's not what I'm saying. I love watching you play hockey. I even understand the strategy behind the physicality. It's just the celebration of violence that's hard for me. Hearing people disappointed you didn't fight, like that's the only thing that matters."

The implication of what she wasn't explicitly saying hung heavy between them. Jax kept completely still, afraid that any movement might be misinterpreted.

"None of us on the team would ever hurt a woman," he said finally, his voice low and steady. "Never would. No matter what happens on the ice. Playoffs or not." He paused, searching for the right words. "And me especially, Lauren. Not ever. Not you."

"I know that," Lauren said softly. "Logically, I know that. If I didn't, I wouldn't be here. But old fears don't always listen to logic."

Jax nodded, processing. This explained her reaction to the fans' bloodthirsty commentary, her tension whenever fighting came up. He wanted to pull her close, to physically demonstrate how secure she was with him, but he resisted, giving her the space she needed for this conversation.

"We don't have to do team outings," he offered. "That was my bad, especially on a night like this."

Lauren's smile was genuine. "No, it was good to celebrate with them. They matter to you." She hesitated. "And I want to understand your world better, playoff intensity and all. Just... maybe in smaller doses. And maybe somewhere quieter than O'Malley's on playoff-clinching night."

Relief loosened the knot in his chest. "Smaller doses. I can work with that."

As they drove toward Lauren's apartment, the intensity of the evening—the playoff-clinching game, the interview, the team celebration—gradually giving way to something calmer.

"Your teammates really love you," Lauren observed. "It's obvious in the way they talk about you, how they look at you."

Jax glanced at her, surprised by the comment. "They're good guys. Been through a lot together."

"It's more than that," she insisted. "Kane calling me 'family' because I'm important to you. Marcus moving to block the noise for me. Oliver changing the subject when he saw I was uncomfortable. They were looking out for me because of you."

Jax hadn't realized she'd noticed those details. "That's hockey teams for you. You watch each other's backs. On the ice, off the ice."

"Penalty misses you," Jax said after a moment. "Mr. Collins said he's been extra feisty today, like he knows something's happening." He smiled, thinking of the tiny furball who'd somehow changed everything. "I got him a new toy. It jingles when he bats it around."

"You spoil him."

"He deserves it, after everything he's been through."

The words hung between them, laden with meaning that extended beyond the kitten. If not for finding Penalty that night, they wouldn't be here now—driving toward Lauren's apartment.

"I've been thinking about what you mentioned," Lauren said. "About adopting that three-legged tortoiseshell as a friend for him."

"Tripod," Jax supplied automatically. "She's been there too long. Gets overlooked because of the missing leg, even though she's got more attitude than most cats with four."

"I think it's a good idea," Lauren said, her voice warm with approval. "And the timing's perfect, with Penalty fully healed and you clinching a playoff spot. New beginnings all around."

"We could pick her up tomorrow after practice?" Jax suggested, then immediately backtracked. "I mean, I could. If you're busy, that's—"

"I'd like to come," Lauren interrupted. "If that's okay. My afternoon appointments end at three."

"It's more than okay," he assured her, reaching across to take her hand. "Penalty would want his doctor there for the big day."

"Am I just his doctor?" she teased.

Jax glanced at her, taking in the soft curve of her mouth, the questioning look, the vulnerability beneath her smile. "Not just his doctor," he said quietly. "Not for a while now."

When they got back to the apartment, Lauren changed into more casual clothes. He moved through her kitchen, finding glasses for the champagne they'd planned to enjoy in private celebration before the O'Malley's detour.

"Now this is my kind of playoff celebration," Lauren observed as she returned in leggings and an oversized sweater, eyeing the champagne and strawberries he'd set out.

Jax handed her a flute. "To making the playoffs," he toasted. "And to having someone special to celebrate with."

"To evolution," Lauren countered softly, clinking her glass against his. "Both on and off the ice."

They settled onto the couch with their champagne, the intensity of O'Malley's fading with each minute in the peaceful quiet of her apartment.

"Your block really was impressive," Lauren said, tucking her feet beneath her.

"It's my job," Jax demurred, though her recognition warmed him in a way that Coach Vicky's technical approval hadn't.

"You play differently now than when I first watched you. More calculating."

Her assessment caught him off guard—she'd been watching closely enough to notice the subtle shift in his game. "That's the goal," he acknowledged. "To be more than just the guy who throws punches. Especially now that we're headed to the playoffs."

"You already are," Lauren said with quiet certainty.

She leaned against his side, fitting herself naturally into the space beside him. Jax draped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer.

"I was worried when Wilson targeted Kane," she admitted. "Part of me expected you to..."

"Fight?" Jax supplied when she trailed off. "Yeah. Old habits die hard. But there's a difference between protecting teammates and just seeking payback."

"A distinction your fans clearly miss," Lauren noted dryly. "Those guys at the next table were disappointed by your restraint. Something about Wilson 'needing his teeth rearranged before the playoffs.'"

Jax grimaced. "Part of hockey culture. Blood sells tickets." He paused, then asked the question that had been lingering. "Does it bother you? What I've done on the ice? What playoff hockey might mean?"

Lauren considered the question carefully. "I enjoy watching you play hockey," she said finally. "The strategy, the skill, the teamwork—it's beautiful in its way. I don't enjoy watching fights. I probably never will. But I understand better now why they happen." She looked up at him. "And I see that it's not all of who you are. Not even close. Playoffs or not."

The knot in his chest loosened slightly. "The game's changing anyway. Moving toward skill and speed over just hitting. My role with it."

"Hence the defensive positioning and playoff-clinching blocks," Lauren concluded with a smile. "Evolution in action."

They settled into shared quiet, sipping champagne. Jax became acutely aware of Lauren's warmth against his side, the subtle scent of her shampoo, the weight of her head on his shoulder.

"So," he said finally, giving voice to what they'd both been dancing around, "we're officially out there now. The interview, the team gathering. People are gonna talk, especially with playoff excitement building."

Lauren shifted to look up at him. "Does that bother you? The attention?"

"I'm used to it," Jax replied honestly. "Comes with the territory. I'm more worried about how it affects you. Your practice, your privacy. Playoff media coverage can get intense."

"I appreciate that," she said, her fingers finding his. "But I'm choosing this, Jax. Us. Whatever complications come with it, playoffs and all."

The simple declaration settled something inside him that had been restless since the PR request. Lauren wasn't walking into this blindly. She was making a conscious choice, fully aware of what playoff hockey would mean for his schedule, his focus, and the media attention.

"I'm choosing this too," he said quietly. "Have been since you made me call you Dr. Mackenzie while I was bleeding all over your exam room floor."

Lauren laughed, the sound warm against his chest. "Not my finest moment," she admitted. "Though in my defense, you were intimidating as hell."

"Me?" Jax affected surprise. "I've been told I have a very approachable demeanor."

"By whom? People who've never seen you scowl at an opponent?" Lauren teased, poking his ribs playfully. "You're 6'4" of muscle with 'enforcer' as a job title. First impressions weren't exactly 'teddy bear.'"

"And yet, here we are," Jax observed, tightening his arm around her slightly.

"Evolution in action," Lauren repeated softly, setting her empty champagne flute aside. "For both of us."

The observation carried weight beyond its simplicity—acknowledgment that they had each changed through knowing the other, perspectives shifting, judgments reconsidered.

"I should get going," Jax said reluctantly after they'd sat in peaceful quiet. "Early recovery session tomorrow, and Coach'll have my ass if I'm dragging. Playoff prep starts immediately."

Lauren turned to face him, a sudden intensity in her eyes that made his pulse quicken. "Stay," she said simply, one hand sliding up his chest. "We're supposed to be celebrating."

She kissed him then, her mouth tasting of champagne and possibility. There was nothing tentative about it—her lips moved against his with confident familiarity, her body pressing closer with deliberate intent. Jax responded immediately, one hand tangling in her hair while the other pulled her more firmly against him.

Their previous times together had been learning experiences. The first time had been hesitant and careful, the second urgent and emotional. This was different. It was a blending of tenderness and heat, of affection and desire, that spoke to their deepening connection.

Then his phone played the first few bars of Ride of the Valkyrie, Coach Vicky's specialized text alert.

Lauren felt his hesitation and pulled back slightly, question in her eyes.

"Coach," he explained reluctantly, showing her the screen.

Mandatory 6 AM recovery session for anyone who'd taken significant contact. Which definitely included him. With playoffs looming, there would be no exceptions.

Understanding replaced the desire in her expression. "And you took plenty."

Jax nodded, frustration warring with responsibility. "I should—"

"Go," she finished for him, though her hands lingered on his chest. "I get it. The playoffs come first right now."

The understanding in her voice only made him want to stay more. Jax pressed his forehead to hers. "Rain check on our celebration?"

Lauren smiled, brushing her lips against his once more. "Tomorrow at three," she reminded him. "Don't be late. Tripod has waited long enough for her forever home."

"Yes, Dr. Mackenzie," Jax replied with mock solemnity, even as his body rebelled against the idea of leaving. Lauren gave him a playful swat to his arm, but her eyes conveyed something deeper.

"Next time," she said softly, "when you don't have a six a.m. playoff recovery session."

The implication hung between them, electric and full of promise. Jax nodded, stealing one last kiss before forcing himself to step back.

As he drove home through New Haven's quiet streets, Jax replayed the evening—the block that clinched their playoff spot, the interview that put them in the public eye, the team celebration, the quiet intimacy afterward. For a man who had spent most of his adult life defining himself through the game and his role as an enforcer, the emergence of someone who saw beyond those labels—who wanted the man beneath the jersey, even as he headed into playoff intensity—felt revolutionary.

Even more surprising was how easily she'd fit with his teammates, how naturally the team had welcomed her as an extension of him. Kane's words echoed in his mind: "Anyone important to Jax is important to us." It was the unspoken code of their hockey family, and without fanfare or ceremony, Lauren had been accepted into it.

Penalty greeted him at the door, meowing imperiously at his late return, the formerly injured leg now bearing weight perfectly as he wound between Jax's feet in demanding circles.

"Big day tomorrow, buddy," Jax told the kitten as he scooped him up, feeling the vibration of purrs against his palm. "You're getting a sister. A special one."

Penalty blinked at him with inscrutable feline wisdom before leaping down to trot toward the bedroom, tail held high.