Page 24

L auren

Lauren paced across her living room, phone clutched in her hand. She'd texted Jax as soon as her exhausting emergency surgery had ended and she'd heard about the chaos at the game. Her heart had been hammering in her chest ever since sending the message, fear and concern warring with the lingering hurt from their argument.

That had been forty minutes ago. Now every sound in the hallway made her look up, hoping it was him.

As she waited, her mind raced through everything that had brought them to this point. The injured kitten that first night. The service dog program. The late-night conversations. The way he looked at her—like she was something precious, something worth protecting. Her thoughts circled back to their argument, to the pain in his eyes when she'd walked away.

Had she overreacted? No—the fear had been real. Too real. Watching someone she loved risk permanent injury, watching history potentially repeat itself... it had triggered every protective instinct she possessed.

Someone she loved more than anything.

The thought stopped her mid-pace. When had that happened? When had this enforcer with gentle hands and fierce loyalty become essential to her life? She'd been so focused on protecting herself from potential heartbreak that she'd almost missed the obvious—that walking away from him would break her heart just as thoroughly as staying might.

The knock finally came, startling her from her thoughts. Lauren's breath caught. She crossed the room in quick strides and pulled open the door before he could knock again.

Jax stood in her doorway, tall frame held carefully to protect his ribs, the bruising around his eye still vivid but less swollen than yesterday. The relief that flooded her at the sight of him was so powerful it nearly buckled her knees.

"I heard what happened," she said, stepping back to let him in. "Everyone is saying Ethan jumped Wilson at the faceoff."

"Him and Wilson went at it so hard, they both got thrown out of the game," Jax said, moving carefully into her apartment. His deliberate movements spoke of pain he was trying to hide. "Wilson will think twice about trying for the kid again."

Lauren reached for him automatically, professional assessment taking over as she scanned his body. She'd spent the day imagining him getting hit, his orbital fracture worsening, his ribs cracking further—scenarios that had haunted her through every surgery she performed.

"You're in pain," she observed, noticing the tension around his mouth, the shallow breathing to protect his ribs.

"Ribs," he said. "I've made a decision about the next game."

Lauren's breath caught as she waited for the argument, the justification, the insistence that the team needed him anyway. "And?"

Jax met her eyes directly, no evasion, no barriers. "And I'm taking your advice. I've already told Coach I'm sitting out games four and five, regardless of how the series goes."

Surprise flickered through her. After their argument, after his insistence on playing through injury, this was the last thing she expected. "Just like that?"

"Not just like that," he admitted, vulnerability evident in his face. "It took watching Ethan throw himself at Wilson for me to see what I was doing. What I was risking." He took a careful breath. "What I was asking you to watch me risk."

Lauren moved to the couch, heart pounding at what this might mean, gesturing for him to join her. "What changed your mind?"

Jax sat carefully beside her, the effort it took not to wince making her ache for him. She resisted the urge to reach for him, needing to hear him first.

"When Vicky pulled me from the game, I was furious," he began, his eyes fixed on hers. "I'd gotten myself worked up for this big confrontation with Wilson, and suddenly it was taken away from me. I sat in that locker room watching the game fall apart, and all I could think about was you."

"Me?" Lauren asked softly.

"You." He nodded. "Your face when you talked about Mark. The fear in your eyes. I kept thinking about what you said—about choosing between one game and my future." His voice grew rough with emotion. "About choosing whether I wanted to be able to recognize my own children someday."

He reached for her hand, the gesture tentative, uncertain. "I realized I want that future. I want to remember names. I want to be whole. And most of all, I want that future with you."

Lauren looked down at his outstretched hand—those strong fingers that could deliver brutal checks on the ice yet cradle an injured kitten with impossible gentleness. She placed her hand in his, allowing their fingers to intertwine.

"I was so scared," she whispered, the admission costing her. "Not just of you getting hurt. I was scared of falling in love with someone who couldn't—wouldn't—choose his own wellbeing over a game. I watched Mark die because he wouldn't stop fighting. I couldn't bear watching that happen to you too."

"I'm sorry," Jax said, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of her hand. "I got caught up in the moment, in what I thought the team needed from me. In what I thought being a man meant." He shook his head. "I was wrong."

"And now?" Lauren asked, afraid to hope yet unable to stop herself.

"Now I know what matters," Jax said, squeezing her hand gently. "It's this. Us. Whatever future we might build together."

Lauren searched his face, looking for any doubt, any reservation. What she saw instead was raw honesty, vulnerability he rarely showed to anyone.

"I need to tell you something," he continued, his voice dropping to an intimate murmur. "That night in the hospital, when you whispered that you were falling in love with me? I heard you. I wasn't asleep."

Lauren's eyes widened in surprise. "You heard?"

"I heard," he confirmed. "And I was too scared to tell you that I felt the same way. Too afraid of what it might mean to admit how much you matter to me."

He took a deep breath, wincing slightly as his ribs protested. "I'm not afraid anymore. I love you, Lauren. Not just when it's easy. Not just when everything's going well. I love you through the hard conversations, through the disagreements, through the fear."

Lauren's breath caught, tears welling in her eyes. The vulnerability in his confession, the raw emotion in his voice, broke through the last of her defenses.

"I love you," she said, looking directly into his eyes. "That's why it scared me so much. Because I love you, and the thought of watching you risk permanent injury was unbearable." The words left her lighter somehow, a weight lifted after being carried too long.

"I love you too," he replied, his voice breaking with emotion. "More than hockey. More than the team. More than the only identity I've ever known."

The words washed over her like a healing balm, soothing all her fears. Lauren's free hand came up to cup his cheek, careful of the healing orbital fracture, needing to touch him, to confirm this was real.

"I chose wrong yesterday," Jax admitted. "I won't make that mistake again. You matter more than any game, any fight, any moment of proving myself on the ice."

"And the team?" Lauren asked, knowing how much they meant to him.

"The team will be fine. Ethan showed me that today." A small smile played at his lips. "He did exactly what I was planning to do—took on Wilson to protect the team. And all it did was hurt our chances. Sometimes the brave thing isn't throwing the punch; it's walking away from the fight."

Lauren's heart swelled at this evidence of his growth. This wasn't the same man who had insisted on playing through injury just yesterday. This was someone who had reflected, learned, evolved.

"I've been thinking about Mark a lot," she admitted. "About how I blamed myself for pushing him to fight. How I've been terrified of making the same mistake with you."

"You didn't make a mistake with Mark," Jax said firmly. "And you weren't making a mistake with me. You were trying to protect me from myself."

Her tears spilled over at his words. He understood—truly understood what she had been through, what she had feared.

"When you walked out yesterday," he continued, "I felt like I'd lost something I didn't even realize I needed until it was gone. Something more important than hockey, more essential than breathing."

He reached out, brushing a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "I don't ever want to feel that way again. I don't want to lose you, Lauren."

Her lips found his in a kiss that started gentle, mindful of his injuries, but quickly deepened as weeks of tension and longing surfaced. His hand came up to tangle in her hair, holding her close as though afraid she might disappear.

"Stay tonight?" she asked softly, need building within her despite her awareness of his injuries.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be," he replied, his voice husky with desire that matched her own.

Lauren stood, offering her hand to help him up. He took it, wincing slightly as he rose. She led him toward her bedroom, each step deliberate, giving him time to change his mind. His fingers tightened around hers, his intent clear despite his pain.

In her bedroom, soft lamplight cast a warm glow over the space. Lauren turned to face him, reaching for the hem of her shirt with hands that trembled slightly. Jax caught them in his own.

"Let me," he said, his voice low, reverent.

Slowly, carefully, he undressed her, his touch both tender and urgent. Lauren returned the favor with equal care, easing his shirt over his head to reveal the vivid bruising along his ribs, the map of his hockey journey written across his skin in purple and yellow.

She bent to press her lips to a particularly dark bruise, a silent acknowledgment of his sacrifice, his devotion to his team. His breath hitched as her lips traced a path upward, finding the sensitive spot below his ear that made him groan.

"I need you," she whispered against his skin. "But your ribs—"

"We'll be careful," he assured her, guiding her back toward the bed. "I've thought about this too many times to stop now."

They sank down together, finding a position that protected his injuries without diminishing their connection. Lauren moved above him, setting a gentle pace that soon gave way to more urgent need. Jax's hands memorized every curve, every sensitive spot, his focus entirely on her pleasure despite his own desire.

When they came together, Lauren's name on his lips and his on hers, it felt like completion in a way neither had experienced before. Not just physical release but emotional connection, the final barrier between them dissolving in shared vulnerability.

After, Lauren lay carefully beside him, her head on his shoulder, mindful of his ribs. Jax's fingers traced lazy patterns on her skin as their breathing slowed.

"I got a call from Stephanie this morning," Lauren said, breaking the comfortable quiet. "They've cleared the service dog program completely. We knew the allegations were bullshit and now so does everyone else."

Jax's fingers stilled for a moment. "That's amazing news."

"They want to expand the program," she continued, propping herself up to look at him. "More dogs, more training opportunities. They're getting corporate sponsors interested."

"That's great," Jax said with obvious pride. "You know, that program changed everything."

"How so?"

"It showed me I could be more than just the enforcer," he explained. "That I could contribute something positive, something that would last longer than a win streak or playoff run." He brushed her hair back from her face. "It brought me to you."

Lauren settled back against him, her head finding that perfect spot on his shoulder, careful of his healing ribs. It struck her then - how a single injured kitten had changed everything. Had Penalty not needed help that night, had Jax not shown up at her clinic, they might never have found this. Found each other.

"What are you thinking about?" Jax asked, his fingers playing gently with her hair.

"How sometimes the path forward appears when we least expect it," she answered honestly. "I was so afraid of repeating past mistakes that I almost missed seeing who you really are."

"And who am I?" he asked, vulnerability in the question.

Lauren lifted herself to look into his eyes. "You're the man who cares for broken creatures. Who protects what matters. Who's brave enough to change." She traced the edge of his jaw with her fingertips. "You're the man I love."

His eyes gleamed with emotion in the low light. "I don't deserve you."

"You do," she contradicted gently. "We deserve each other."

His lips brushed her forehead. "I want a life with you, Lauren. Not just now, not just next season. A real future."

"I want that more than anything."

Lauren lifted her head to meet his eyes, finding in them everything she'd once been afraid to want. No more words were needed as his hand cupped her face, drawing her into a kiss that spoke of promises and tomorrows. They'd found something rare in each other—not just passion or companionship, but a truth that transcended their differences. As sleep began to claim them both, wrapped in each other's warmth, Lauren knew that some journeys were worth every step, every challenge, every moment of doubt. And this one had only just begun.