Page 20

L auren

The hostess led Lauren and Allison through DiNardo's toward the private room reserved for the team dinner. White tablecloths, warm lighting, and the rich aroma of garlic and tomato sauce filled the upscale Italian restaurant. Her fingers fidgeted with the strap of her purse, stomach fluttering with unexpected nerves. This wasn't just another dinner—this was official integration into Jax's professional world.

She hesitated at the double doors. The memory of those fans' hostile comments still stung fresh. Neutered him. Turning our enforcer into a goddamn pussy. She took a deep breath. What if the team felt the same way?

"The guys will be a while with media and treatment," Allison said. "Are you okay?"

Lauren mustered a smile. "Just realizing how official this makes things."

"Team dinners are definitely a milestone," Allison agreed, linking her arm through Lauren's with easy confidence. "Come on, I'll introduce you to the WAG hierarchy. Fair warning—some of them have been with players for years and think that gives them special status."

She pushed open the double doors. The private room was already half-filled with women clustered in tight groups. They were all stylishly dressed, laughing over cocktails and clearly comfortable in this setting. Several of them glanced over at Lauren with obvious curiosity before resuming their conversations.

"Don't mind them," Allison said quietly, leading Lauren to a small table away from the main group. "I've only been married to Kane for a year, which apparently means I'm still a rookie in their eyes, team captain's wife or not."

A server appeared with wine offerings, and Allison snagged two glasses, handing one to Lauren. "The practical librarian in me says to get some alcohol in your system before the testosterone brigade arrives."

"How long have you known Kane?" Lauren asked, grateful for the buffer between her and the group of girlfriends who kept stealing glances in their direction.

"We met when I moved into his apartment building during a snowstorm," Allison said with a reminiscent smile. "I was a children's librarian trying to escape hockey players, and he was a captain trying to break a losing streak. The universe has a sense of humor."

Lauren sipped her wine, allowing herself to relax slightly in Allison's straightforward company. "Thank you again for what you did at the game. With those fans."

"Hockey culture takes some getting used to. And not all parts of it are worth preserving. The fighting, the casual violence—I've been around hockey my entire life, and I still struggle with parts of it."

Lauren felt like she found a kindred soul. They settled into easy conversation, Allison sharing stories about her grandfather's hockey legacy and her initial resistance to dating Kane. Lauren found herself laughing more than she expected, her initial nervousness gradually fading.

Nearly forty-five minutes and a second glass of wine later, the doors finally swung open. The players filed in—freshly showered but still riding the high of victory, some sporting visible ice packs and athletic tape. The energy in the room immediately shifted, conversations growing louder as the team arrived, their playoff-clinching mood elevating the collective atmosphere. Three more games to go, was the general consensus.

Three more games of this. Lauren wasn't sure her nerves were going to be able to take it.

At least when they were on the road, she could mute the obnoxious commenters.

Kane spotted them first. He came over and kissed his wife thoroughly before turning to her. "Hey Doc, you made it."

"Lauren, please," she corrected with a smile. "Thank you for the invitation."

"You're practically team at this point," he said, lowering his voice. "Figured it was time to make it official."

"Congrats on another impressive win," she said, feeling much better about things. It could have been the wine, but Allison and Kane's welcome had a lot to do with it too.

"Couldn't have done it without your man." Kane gestured behind her.

Lauren felt Jax's hand settle at the small of her back.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, his deep voice sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. "Medical wouldn't let me leave without extra treatment for the ribs."

Lauren turned, automatically assessing his condition. He'd changed from his game-day suit into dark jeans and a charcoal henley that somehow made him look both more approachable and more imposing. The careful way he held himself, particularly when turning, told her everything the team doctors wouldn't say.

Their eyes met, and in that brief moment of connection—amid the noise and bustle of the team celebration—Lauren felt a surge of emotion that transcended the room, the game, even the pain he was clearly masking. It was as if they'd created their own private world within the public one, a silent understanding that needed no words.

"How bad?" she asked directly, maintaining that gaze.

"Manageable," Jax replied, though the tightness around his eyes betrayed him. "Medical cleared me for tomorrow's practice with contact restrictions."

A shadow crossed his face, so brief that only someone watching closely would notice. Lauren picked up on it immediately. "What aren't you telling me?"

Jax sighed, dropping his voice. "Medical wanted to hold me out of tomorrow's game. I... convinced them otherwise."

The implication was clear—he'd downplayed his pain, perhaps even refused recommended treatment options. Lauren's stomach tightened with worry.

"That was quite a game," she said, switching topics. "Wilson seemed determined to provoke you."

"That was the goal," he grimaced. "At least three more games of this shit."

"You did good. I'm so proud of you," she said.

"That means everything to me," he said.

Their moment was interrupted by Dmitri throwing an arm around Jax's shoulders. "Let's get this party started."

Jax winced almost imperceptibly at the contact, and Lauren noticed how he subtly shifted to protect his injured side—a movement so smooth and practiced that it spoke of years accommodating pain.

"Pretty sure it was well underway before you got here," Allison said dryly.

"Is different with everyone here," Dmitri insisted, gesturing expansively to include Lauren. "Team complete now. Even Ethan is coming, though medical says no booze for his brain tonight."

Concern flashed through Lauren. "How is he? That hit looked brutal."

"Concussion," Jax said. "He'll miss at least the next game."

Kane called everyone to the tables arranged in a U-shape. Lauren was seated between Jax and Oliver, with Marcus directly across.

"First," Kane announced, raising his glass, "to drawing first blood in the second round. One down, three to go before we advance."

Glasses rose in unison.

"Second," Kane continued, "to the people who make this playoff run possible—who handle our moods, our injuries, and still manage to cheer us on despite the chaos. With the series heading to Philly tomorrow, we need your support more than ever."

Jax's hand slipped into hers beneath the table. She glanced at him, caught off guard by the raw gratitude in his expression—nothing showy or performative, just honest acknowledgment that traveled straight to her core.

"And finally," Kane concluded, his expression turning serious, "to playing our game, not theirs. Wilson tried to drag us into the gutter tonight, but we stayed disciplined and took home the win. That's how champions are made."

The captain's gaze rested briefly on Jax, the reference to his restraint with Wilson unmistakable. Around the table, teammates nodded in solemn agreement, the collective understanding clear. They'd maintained composure under Philadelphia's provocations and come away with the crucial first win in the series.

As servers delivered appetizers, the formal toasts gave way to smaller conversations. Lauren was drawn into discussion with Oliver about the service dog program.

"Charlie helped me more than any meditation app," Oliver admitted, referencing the sensitive pit bull who had bonded with him and had been his near constant companion. "There's something about that unconditional acceptance that just resets my nervous system."

And from what Jax had told her, Oliver was being more vigilant about taking his medication too.

"I'm so glad you and Charlie found each other."

Across the table, Jax was engaged in conversation with Marcus and Sven, their discussion peppered with terms like "neutral zone containment" and "modified forecheck pressure." Lauren noticed how the younger players leaned in when Jax spoke, his words carrying weight beyond their tactical content.

"So how does it work tomorrow if Wilson comes out targeting rookies again?" Ethan asked, his voice carrying down the table. The young forward had arrived late, a butterfly bandage above his right eye and a subdued demeanor that spoke to his concussion.

The table quieted slightly, the question cutting to the heart of their game plan. Lauren watched as several players glanced toward Jax, waiting for his response rather than Kane's. The subtle shift in team dynamics wasn't lost on her—they were looking to the enforcer for strategic guidance, not just physical protection.

"We stick to the system," Jax said firmly. "Their goal is to make us react emotionally. Once we do that, we're playing their game, not ours." He took a careful breath, adjusting his position to ease pressure on his ribs. "Philly's counting on a revenge narrative tomorrow. They'll bait us early, try to get us off our game. Our job is to disappoint them."

"What about protecting our guys?" Dmitri asked, his gaze flicking to Ethan's injury.

"Best protection is making them pay on the scoreboard," Jax replied. "They take a run at one of us, we score on the power play. We keep our cool, play our game, and they'll get frustrated. That's when they make mistakes."

Lauren watched the team absorb his words. A year ago, based on what she'd heard about Jax's reputation, his answer might have centered on physical retribution. Now, he was advocating for strategic discipline—a fundamental evolution in his approach to the game.

Kane nodded approvingly from the head of the table. "Exactly right. That's veteran leadership right there."

As their main courses arrived, conversation shifted toward team-wide topics.

"Tomorrow's game in their barn is crucial," Kane noted between bites of pasta. "Going up 2-0 in the series before they get any momentum would put us in control."

"Their home record is formidable," Marcus observed. "Win percentage increases 17.3% on their home ice, and their power play efficiency jumps by 4.2 percentage points."

"We'll be ready," Jax stated simply. "Tonight's system adjustments handled their forecheck effectively. We just need to execute the same way on the road, even with their last change advantage."

Lauren noticed a muscle twitching in Jax's jaw as he shifted in his chair—a telltale sign of pain he was trying to mask. The server refilled his water glass, and as he reached for it, Lauren caught the slight tremor in his hand. He was hurting far more than he was letting on.

Allison caught up to her in the ladies room. While refreshing her makeup, she said, "Surviving your first official team dinner?"

"It's better than I expected. It's still hard to see him in pain," Lauren confessed. "What's worse is knowing someone's targeting him specifically."

"That never gets easier," Allison agreed. "And Kane tells me Philadelphia is just the beginning. If we advance, the next round gets even more physical."

Lauren's stomach clenched at the implication. "Three more games."

"Three more games," Allison echoed, "before potentially seven more against an even tougher opponent." She hesitated. "I don't mean to scare you, but... playoff hockey is like nothing else. The deeper they go, the more guys play through things that would sideline normal humans for weeks."

Lauren took a slow breath, absorbing Allison's warning. "He's already pushing through more than he should."

"They all do," Allison said quietly. "But the veterans like Jax and Kane..." She shook her head. "They've learned to hide it better. That's what worries me most—not what they tell us, but what they don't."

The conversation left Lauren with a growing sense of foreboding. What wasn't Jax telling her about his injury? How much worse would it get if they advanced?

It was during dessert that she noticed Jax's increasing discomfort—the way he barely touched his tiramisu, the subtle sheen of sweat at his temples despite the room's comfortable temperature, the controlled, shallow breaths that spoke of someone managing significant pain.

"You need to ice those ribs," she said quietly.

Jax's eyebrows raised slightly. "That obvious?"

"Yeah, we should go home." The simple "we" slipped out naturally.

"Let me just check with Kane about tomorrow's schedule," he said, rising carefully with deliberate control that confirmed her assessment.

Lauren watched him walk away, noting the almost imperceptible unevenness in his gait—compensating for the pain in his side by subtly shifting his weight. The other players wouldn't notice, but her trained eye caught every tell.

As Jax stepped away, Oliver leaned closer with uncharacteristic conspiracy.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "For what you've done for him. For the team."

Lauren blinked in surprise. "I haven't done anything special."

Oliver's knowing smile suggested otherwise. "Before you came along, he was just our enforcer. Now he's become a leader—someone the younger guys actually look to for guidance, not just protection. That's new."

"How so?"

"Jax used to solve everything with his fists," Oliver explained. "Effective, but one-dimensional. Now he's teaching us how to manage confrontation intelligently. How to stand our ground without losing control." He glanced in Jax's direction. "That speech about sticking to our game plan instead of seeking revenge? That's not the Jax Thompson from last season. That's evolution."

"It works both ways," she acknowledged, touched by Oliver's insight.

Jax returned before the conversation could continue. "We've got an early film session tomorrow before practice."

"It'll be an early night," Lauren said.

Their departure prompted a wave of goodbyes. Kane caught Lauren's eye, offering a subtle nod of approval. Coach Vicky similarly acknowledged their exit, her sharp eyes missing nothing of Jax's carefully controlled movements.

In the parking lot, the spring night carried unexpected chill. "My place or yours?" Lauren asked practically. "Mine's closer, but you might prefer your own space for recovery."

"Yours," Jax decided without hesitation. "If that's okay. Penalty and Tripod are fine overnight with the feeders."

"Of course it's okay. I have better medical supplies anyway."

When they arrived, the familiar routine had developed its own choreography—keys in the designated bowl, shoes by the door, jackets on the hooks on the wall.

"Let me see the ribs," Lauren instructed once they'd settled in her living room.

Jax complied without protest, carefully removing his henley to reveal the spectacular bruising along his left side. The injury had worsened, Wilson's crosscheck having landed on the already vulnerable area. Fresh purple-blue discoloration overlaid the yellowing evidence of the previous impact.

Lauren sucked in a breath. The bruising was far more extensive than she'd anticipated, spreading from just under his armpit down to his lowest rib. The area was significantly swollen, suggesting deeper tissue damage than simple bruising.

"They're actually improving," Jax offered, clearly downplaying the severity. "The blue is new, but the older areas are healing normally."

Lauren gave him a skeptical look as she carefully palpated the area, noting his controlled breathing despite her gentle touch. "By hockey standards, perhaps," she acknowledged. "By medical standards, this is significant trauma that needs proper management."

As her fingers probed gently, she felt something that made her medical instincts flare with concern—a subtle but distinct feel to the bone that suggested hairline fracture rather than simple bruise.

"Jax," she said carefully, "I think you might have a cracked rib here. Not just a bruise."

His expression remained neutral, but something flickered in his eyes—confirmation rather than surprise.

"Medical suspected as much," he admitted, confirming her fears. "But without a complete break, it's just about pain management."

"You're playing tomorrow with a suspected fracture?" Lauren couldn't keep the alarm from her voice. "That's—"

"That's playoff hockey," Jax finished calmly. "It's just pain, Lauren. Pain can be managed."

"Pain is your body's warning system," she countered. "If you push too hard—"

"I know my limits."

"Do you?" The question slipped out before she could stop it. "Because from where I'm standing, you're willing to risk serious injury for—"

"For my team," Jax said quietly. "For the guys who depend on me. For everything we've worked toward all season."

Lauren took a deep breath, recognizing the immovable object before her. This wasn't a battle she would win—not tonight, not with three more crucial playoff games ahead.

"Ice first," she decided, moving toward her freezer. "Then anti-inflammatory gel, followed by specific muscle relaxation."

As she applied the medicated gel, Jax said, "I've been thinking about the future. About what happens after the playoffs. About... us."

Lauren's hands stilled momentarily, her pulse quickening. "What about us?"

"My lease ends in June," Jax said. "I didn't want to commit to a longer arrangement because it didn't seem necessary."

Lauren nodded, understanding that the potential for trades, relocation, or career shifts made long-term housing commitments complicated.

"The cats are settled now," he continued. "And I'm established here. With the team, in the community, with..." He hesitated, then finished simply, "With you."

"Are you looking for a new apartment?" she asked, wondering if he would want to move in with her. Wondering if she was ready to take that next step. She realized, though, that she was ready for that. Ready for that and more.

"I'm considering buying a place." Jax watched for her reaction. Lauren made herself nod calmly and continue to administer the gel.

"Something more permanent. With outdoor space for the cats, guest space for when teammates need somewhere to stay."

"That sounds like a good idea," she said carefully. Her heart was thundering so loud, she was sure he could hear it.

"It is," Jax confirmed. "I'm thinking ahead. Planning for something more permanent than I've allowed myself before. I know we've only known each other three months, but when I get that place, I'd like you to move in with me."

She let out a shaky breath.

"You don't have to answer me now."

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes."

He grinned. "That was easier than I thought it would be."

It would have been easier if he mentioned how he felt about her, but she could wait for that. After all, she hadn't told him how she felt either. She hoped he loved her. Otherwise, she was setting herself up for a whole world of pain.