Page 21

J ax

Jax woke to the gentle press of Lauren's body against his uninjured side, her hair spilling across his chest in a tangle of gold. For a moment, he simply watched her sleep, memorizing the peaceful curve of her lips, the fan of her eyelashes against her cheeks. Something deep and vital shifted in his chest—a feeling he'd been circling for weeks but hadn't fully acknowledged.

He was falling in love with her.

The realization didn't come with panic or the urge to retreat that had accompanied similar moments in past relationships. Instead, it settled into him with a sense of rightness, as natural as finding his position on the ice.

Lauren stirred, her eyes fluttering open to meet his. The sleepy smile she gave him made his heart tighten.

"Morning," she murmured, voice husky with sleep. "Been awake long?"

"Just long enough," he replied, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his fingertips lingering against her warm skin.

She stretched against him, careful of his injured ribs. "Long enough for what?"

"To think about how much I like waking up with you," he said simply.

A faint blush colored her cheeks as she propped herself on one elbow. "Even with my disaster hair and morning breath?"

"Especially then." Jax traced a finger along her jawline, down the soft curve of her neck. "When it's just us."

Lauren leaned into his touch, her hand coming up to cup his as she turned her face to press a kiss against his palm. The simple gesture twisted something in his chest.

"I miss the cats," she said.

The sunlight streaming through her bedroom windows illuminated the reality of their situation—his battered body, their busy day ahead, the weight of last night's conversation about future plans. But for this moment, none of that mattered as much as the way she was looking at him.

He drew her closer, his arm wrapping around her shoulders as she nestled against him. Their legs intertwined beneath the sheets, her toes brushing against his calf in casual intimacy.

Lauren glanced at the clock and sighed. "Surgery at nine. I should start getting ready."

"I've got to catch a flight in a few hours," Jax acknowledged, though neither made a move to separate.

"Text me the information. I like knowing where you are, especially with those ribs."

"I will," Jax promised, his thumb gently stroking the bare skin of her shoulder. "Kane mentioned team brunch Sunday when we're back. You free?"

"I'd like that. Should be available unless emergencies intervene."

Unable to put it off any longer, he reluctantly rolled out of bed. By the time they finished breakfast and gathered their things to leave, Jax found himself unusually reluctant to go. It wasn't just the warm bed or the comfortable apartment. It was her. After years of keeping relationships casual and compartmentalized, the idea of missing someone was nearly foreign to him.

"About last night," he said by the door. "I meant everything I said about looking for something permanent. But I'm not trying to rush anything."

Lauren paused, keys in hand, and met his eyes with steady calm. "I know," she assured him, reaching to touch his arm, her fingers curling around his bicep in a gentle squeeze.

"Good," he nodded, allowing his shoulders to relax. "Just wanted to be clear."

"We're good at that," Lauren observed with a smile. "Being clear with each other. It's one of my favorite things about us."

There it was again—that simple word. Us. It had never sounded so right.

She rose on tiptoes to kiss him goodbye, her lips soft against his. He cradled her face between his hands, deepening the kiss for a moment, trying to memorize the feel of her before their separation.

"Text me when you land and protect those ribs from Wilson," she whispered against his lips.

"Not a problem."

As he drove toward the practice facility, the memory of Lauren's smile kept replaying in his mind. Hockey had been his identity for so long—the enforcer, the protector, the intimidator—that he'd never really considered what else he might be. With Lauren, he was discovering parts of himself he hadn't known existed.

As the Chill boarded their charter for Philadelphia, the plane buzzed with tactical discussions and playoff scenarios. Kane and Marcus debated power play adjustments while rookies Ethan and Oliver studied video on shared tablets. The energy felt different from regular season travel—more focused, more purposeful.

Jax settled into his usual window seat, phone in hand. He pulled up real estate listings he'd been researching—houses with yards for the cats, space for Lauren's home office, guest rooms for teammates who needed a place to crash. Properties with permanence, with futures. With room for two people instead of just one.

His thumb hovered over a particular listing—a renovated craftsman with a wrap-around porch and mature oak trees in the yard. It looked like somewhere you'd build a life, not just store your gear between road trips.

Before he could overthink it, he texted the listing to Lauren with a simple message: Caught my eye. Thoughts?

As the plane accelerated down the runway, Jax felt a similar momentum building in his life—something gathering speed, something with direction and purpose beyond the next game or the next season. Something with Lauren at its center.

Philadelphia awaited with its tactical challenges and playoff implications. But for the first time in his career, hockey wasn't the only thing that mattered.

LAUREN

Lauren's phone rang at 3:17 a.m., jolting her from deep sleep with the particular dread that only middle-of-the-night calls can trigger. She fumbled for the device, heart racing as she registered Kane's name on the caller ID.

"Hello?" Her voice was rough with sleep but rapidly clearing as adrenaline surged through her system.

"Lauren, it's Kane." His voice carried a tension she'd never heard from the usually composed captain. "There's been an incident. Jax is in Philadelphia General."

The world narrowed to a pinpoint of focus as Lauren sat bolt upright, suddenly and completely awake. A coldness spread from her chest outward, familiar and terrifying—the same paralyzing fear she'd felt three years ago when the ER called about Mark.

"What happened? How bad is it?" She forced the words past the tightness in her throat, fighting to keep her voice steady.

"He got jumped after the game." Kane's clipped sentences betrayed his own stress. "Someone recognized him, things escalated."

Lauren's hand tightened around the phone until her knuckles turned white. Not again. Please, not again.

"Is he..." She couldn't finish the sentence.

"Orbital fracture, possible concussion." Kane's voice dropped lower. "Some facial lacerations. They're waiting on a full assessment."

Lauren swung her legs over the edge of the bed, the cold floor anchoring her to reality as her mind threatened to spiral. This wasn't Mark. This was Jax. Different man, different circumstances. She repeated the mantra silently, fighting against the memories flooding back—the hospital corridors, the metallic smell of blood, the police officers with their clinical questions about "prior incidents."

"How did this happen?" She grabbed a pair of jeans from her dresser, wedging the phone between her ear and shoulder. "Where was security? The team?"

"After the win, we went back to the hotel bar. Jax went up to his room early." Kane's voice hardened. "The local fans were waiting for him. We didn't know anything was going on until it was too late."

Lauren closed her eyes, seeing it all too clearly. The looming figures, the escalating voices, the moment when talk turned to violence. She'd witnessed that transformation too many times with Mark, had catalogued the warning signs, had learned to make herself small and invisible when it happened.

"Is he conscious? Can I talk to him?" She was already pulling a sweater over her head, gathering essentials.

"He's in imaging now."

The acid taste of fear filled her mouth.

"The police are involved," Kane was saying, "but witnesses confirm Jax was defending himself after significant provocation."

"I'm coming to Philadelphia," she said. "On the first flight I can get."

"I'll text you the hospital details and meet you there. He's going to be okay."

"Yeah," Lauren said on a shaky sigh. "Please tell him I'm on my way."

After ending the call, Lauren forced herself not to think as she got ready, but her hands betrayed her, trembling as she zipped her overnight bag.

THE PHILADELPHIA AIRPORT hummed with early morning activity as Lauren navigated toward ground transportation, her eyes gritty from the sleepless flight. Every step toward the hospital felt like moving through molasses, her body heavy with exhaustion and dread.

The antiseptic smell hit her as soon as she entered the hospital, sending her mind careening back three years—to Mark's lifeless face, to the doctor's questioning glances at her, to the realization that everyone thought she was responsible for him getting into that fatal fight.

She shook her head, dispelling the memories. Focus on now. Focus on Jax.

Kane was waiting in the hallway outside Jax's room, his captain's composure showing cracks around the edges—shadows under his eyes, tension in his jaw, a coffee cup crumpled in his hand.

"Lauren," he said tiredly. "That was fast."

"How is he?" she asked.

"Awake. Stabilized." Kane ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. "He's pretty banged up. They're keeping him for observation because of the concussion, but expect to release him to us later today."

Lauren took a steadying breath, preparing herself for whatever awaited beyond the hospital room door. "Can I see him?"

Kane nodded, stepping aside. "He's been asking for you. Just...be prepared. The injuries look worse than they are."

Lauren paused at the door, gathering herself before pushing it open. Nothing could have fully prepared her for the sight that greeted her—Jax in a hospital bed, his face swollen and discolored, the left side particularly distorted around his eye. A laceration above his eyebrow had been neatly stitched, and monitors beeped steadily beside him.

His eyes were closed, but opened at the sound of the door—the right one fully, the left limited by swelling.

"You came," he said, his voice rougher than usual.

"Of course I did," Lauren replied, moving to his side. She reached for his hand, finding it bandaged—the knuckles clearly split from impact. The physical evidence of the fight sent her stomach lurching. She gently squeezed his fingers where they peeked out from the gauze, needing the contact to ground herself. "How bad is the headache?"

"Six out of ten. Eight, maybe nine when I move."

Lauren nodded, her thumb brushing softly across his palm in slow, soothing strokes.

"I'm okay. It looks worse than it is."

A strangled laugh escaped her at the obvious understatement, given his significantly distorted facial features and confirmed fractures. "That doesn't exactly reassure me, Jax."

"So much for my GQ photoshoot," he said.

Lauren wrapped her arms around herself. "Did they catch the guys who did this?"

He gave a nasty smile. "Yeah, they were on the floor around me."

"Oh god."

"All five of them."

She was not going to throw up.

The door opened, admitting a doctor in surgical scrubs and a white coat, tablet in hand. "Mr. Thompson," he said. "I'm Dr. Levine, the attending physician. I see you have a visitor."

"My girlfriend," Jax said. "Dr. Lauren Mackenzie."

Despite the circumstances, her heart still jolted in happiness at being called that.

"Dr. Mackenzie," the physician acknowledged with professional courtesy. "Would you like to step out while I discuss Mr. Thompson's condition and treatment plan?"

"She stays," Jax stated before Lauren could respond. His hand turned in hers, fingers weakly interlacing. "Anything you need to tell me, she can hear."

Dr. Levine nodded. "Very well. You have a clean orbital fracture, which is fortunate. No surgical intervention is required at this time, though we'll want follow-up imaging in seven to ten days to confirm proper healing progression. The concussion is mild based on our assessment protocols, but with your history of previous head injuries, we're being cautious."

Lauren listened with focused attention as the doctor continued detailing treatment protocols, medication schedules, and follow-up requirements. Throughout the clinical discussion, Jax's fingers remained tangled with hers, his thumb occasionally brushing against her wrist in small, grounding movements.

"From a purely medical standpoint," Dr. Levine concluded, "you could potentially return to play in a week or so if the healing progresses well and concussion symptoms fully resolve. However, I would strongly advise against it. The orbital bone needs proper time to heal, and another impact could cause significant complications."

"I understand," Jax said after a moment, his voice steady. "Thank you, doctor."

After Levine departed, silence hung heavy in the room—the weight of playoffs, career impact, and their unresolved tension was uncomfortable.

"You're thinking about playing," Lauren said finally, the realization dawning with cold certainty. It wasn't a question.

Jax didn't deny it. "The team needs me. Especially now. All we have to do is win two more games."

"Even if it risks permanent damage?" Lauren said.

"This is what I do," Jax replied simply. "Philly's team is out for blood and I need to be there to protect my guys. They're my family."

The words stung more than Lauren wanted to admit. "And what about us? What about everything we've been building?"

Jax met her gaze, conflict evident in his expression. "You're my family too. But this is the playoffs, Lauren. Everything we've worked for all season."

"Everything you've worked for," Lauren corrected quietly, the distinction important. "Not everything we've worked for."

Before Jax could respond, the door opened again, admitting Kane and Coach Vicky, the latter's expression controlled but tension evident in her rigid posture.

"Hi Lauren," Vicky said before turning her attention to Jax. "I got the prelim report. Not what we wanted to hear, but it could be worse."

"I can still play next game."

"Whoa, pump the brakes there, bud," Kane interjected, surprise evident in his expression. "Doc might've said you could play, but he also advised against it."

"We need to be smart about this," Vicky added, her shrewd gaze assessing Jax's condition. "Rushing back for Game three doesn't help if you're out for Games four through seven."

"I can handle it," Jax insisted, with a stubborn set to his jaw. "The system needs me. Marcus needs his partner."

"System can adapt," Vicky countered, though Lauren noted she didn't outright refuse Jax's declaration. "Medical clearance is one thing. Game readiness is another."

Lauren felt herself fading into the background as the hockey conversation intensified, terminology and strategic considerations flying back and forth. The sense of exclusion was both familiar and painful—the same feeling she'd had with Mark when his teammates gathered and the conversation turned to sports and violence and things she couldn't understand.

"The media?" Jax asked, the question pulling Lauren back to the present.

"Stephanie's handling it," Kane supplied. "Official statement emphasizes you were attacked while attempting to leave, multiple witnesses confirming you acted in self-defense only after significant provocation."

Vicky's expression hardened. "League security is involved now. This wasn't random bar violence. It was calculated retribution."

"The team's position is clear," Kane said. "We support your actions—both on the ice and off it."

"Thanks."

"The charter leaves at noon," Vicky concluded. "Medical's arranged transportation from here directly to the plane. Lauren, I assume you'll be joining us?"

The question—phrased as assumption rather than inquiry—brought Lauren back into the conversation with jarring suddenness. She hesitated, glancing at Jax, their earlier tension still unresolved.

"Yes," she confirmed finally. "Thanks for the ride."

Vicky nodded, satisfaction evident in her brisk acknowledgment. "Good. Thompson will need a babysitter for the flight."

After Vicky departed, Kane lingered briefly. "You scared the shit out of us, man," he said.

"Sorry about that."

"The boys are pissed," Kane continued. "Not at you—at those Philadelphia goons. Dmitri wanted to go find the Phantoms last night. I had to physically stop him."

"Tell him I appreciate the thought," Jax said with a ghost of his usual smile. "But I handled it."

"Damn right you did," Kane agreed, though his glance toward Lauren suggested he sensed her discomfort with the conversation. "Look, we've got your back. Every single guy. What happened was complete bullshit."

After Kane left to coordinate travel arrangements, silence settled between them again—heavy with unresolved tension and conflicting perspectives.

"You don't approve," Jax said finally, when the silence had stretched painfully thin.

"I don't," Lauren replied, her voice soft but firm. "And I need to know—does my opinion matter when it comes to your health? To your future?"

Jax shifted in the bed, wincing at the movement. He reached for her hand, his bandaged fingers seeking hers. "Of course it does," he said, drawing her closer to the edge of the bed. "Everything hurts too much to think clearly. I know the team needs me for playoffs. But I don't want you to think I don't value your opinion."

Lauren placed her other hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath her palm. "I need you to hear me, Jax. Really hear me. Not just the doctor part of me, but the woman who cares about you. Who's terrified of losing you to this."

His hand tightened around hers. "I know I can play through this."

"At what cost, Jax? Another concussion? Permanent damage to your orbital bone? Your vision?"

"It's Philadelphia," he repeated, as if those words explained everything.

And to him, she realized, they did. They justified any risk, any sacrifice. It was a world she would never fully understand, no matter how many games she attended or terms she learned.

"Look, my ex, Mark, was a boxer. He died in the ring. He got into a lot of fights outside of it. He took a lot of head shots. The last one was too much."

"I'm sorry."

She nodded. "He was loud. Violent. Out of control."

"Sounds like someone I know," Jax said with a sheepish grin.

"I thought so too. Until I got to know you."

"The last fight, I actually convinced him to use his boxing to get out his aggressions."

"What happened in the ring wasn't your fault."

"I couldn't stop it."

"No, you couldn't, so it wasn't your fault."

"Sometimes I believe that," she said.

"I'm not Mark," Jax said, his uninjured eye holding hers steadily.

"I know that," Lauren replied, meeting his gaze directly. "Logically, I know that. But emotionally? When Kane called and said you'd been in a fight? All those old fears came rushing back."

Jax was silent for a long moment, processing her words. His thumb traced gentle circles on the back of her hand, the tender gesture at odds with his battered appearance.

"I can't promise I'll never fight again," he said finally. "On the ice or off it. Not in this world, not with my job."

"And I can't promise I'll ever be completely comfortable with that," Lauren countered, equally honest. "Not with my history."

The admission hung between them, neither able to offer the reassurance the other needed.

"So where does that leave us?" Jax asked quietly, the question weighted with genuine fear. For all his physical courage, this uncertainty clearly terrified him more than any opponent.

Before Lauren could respond, a hospital attendant arrived to coordinate his discharge preparations, the conversation necessarily tabled as medical logistics demanded attention. Lauren stepped back, allowing the staff space to work while remaining present, her silent support an anchor amid the institutional bureaucracy.

As the nurses went about their tasks, Jax's gaze kept returning to Lauren, something shifting in his expression with each glance. When they were briefly alone again as papers were being processed outside, he spoke.

"Lauren, I—" he started, then paused, clearly struggling with the words. "I don't know how to balance this. The team, the playoffs, everything hockey's been to me... and now you." His battered face contorted with the effort of articulation. "For the first time, I'm afraid of losing something more important than hockey."

The simple admission struck Lauren with its vulnerability.

"I want to fight for us," he continued, his voice low and strained. "But I don't know if that's fair to you. Maybe you deserve someone who doesn't bring all this..." he gestured to his injuries, "into your life. Someone who makes you feel safe, not scared."

Lauren stepped closer, carefully taking his face between her hands, mindful of his injuries. "I don't want you to fight for me, Jax. I want you to fight for yourself. For your future. A future that includes more than just the next game or the next season."

Jax's good eye closed briefly, leaning into her touch. For a moment, he seemed to let the weight of playoffs and team expectations slide away, revealing the man beneath all the layers of enforcer, protector, hockey player.

"I just don't know," she said when they were alone again.

"Let's just wait and see, then," he replied, his uninjured hand covering hers where it rested against his face. "I'll listen to the doctors."

Lauren wasn't sure she believed him, but what other choice did she have?