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L auren

Lauren eyed the array of donuts in the glass case, debating between the classic glazed and a maple bacon that was practically calling her name. After the night she'd had, she deserved both.

"The maple bacon is life-changing," said a cheerful voice beside her. "I'd get two if I were you."

Lauren turned to find Barb, her best friend and coworker, grinning at her. With her bright pink hair and sleeve of tattoos, Barb looked more like she belonged in a rock band than in a veterinary clinic, but she was one of the most talented surgeons Lauren had ever worked with.

"I was up until four with an emergency case," Lauren said, pointing to the maple bacon. "Make it two, please," she told the barista.

"Ooh, sounds interesting." Barb said as they moved to the coffee counter. "What else happened? You have that look."

"What look?" Lauren asked, though she knew exactly what Barb meant. Her friend had an uncanny ability to read her moods.

"The 'I'm brooding with my deep thoughts' look." Barb accepted her latte with an appreciative inhale of the steam. "Spill it."

Lauren sighed as they settled into a corner table at Beans & Brews, their favorite coffee shop just two blocks from the clinic. "It wasn't interesting. It was complicated." She took a bite of donut, closing her eyes briefly at the perfect combination of sweet maple and salty bacon. "The big goon from the local hockey team brought in an injured kitten at one in the morning."

Barb nearly choked on her coffee. "Wait, you mean Jackson Thompson? The Mountain? The Sin Bin Specialist? That guy?"

Lauren rolled her eyes at the nicknames. "Yes, that guy."

"The one who practically decapitated that Phantoms player last night? The fight they showed on every sports channel? That guy brought you a kitten?" Barb's voice had risen to a pitch that turned heads at nearby tables.

"Could you be any louder? I don't think they heard you in Hartford," Lauren hissed, though a small smile tugged at her lips. It did sound absurd when put that way.

"Sorry, but holy crap, Lauren. That's like finding out Godzilla rescues puppies in his spare time." Barb leaned forward, abandoning her pastry entirely. "What was he like? Was he all growly and intimidating? Did he have blood on him? Details!"

Lauren thought back to the towering figure in her exam room, the careful way he'd cradled that tiny kitten, the unexpected gentleness in those battered hands. But there had been other details she hadn't allowed herself to fully acknowledge in the moment—the remarkable contrast between his dark eyes and thick lashes, the strong line of his jaw shadowed with stubble, the way his game-day suit stretched across shoulders broad enough to carry the weight of his entire team.

"He had blood on his knuckles," she admitted. "But he was gentle with the kitten. Almost tender." The memory still unsettled her, like puzzle pieces that refused to fit together. "And apparently he volunteers at an animal shelter, so Godzilla does rescue puppies."

"No way," Barb breathed, clearly enthralled. "So he has a soft spot for animals? That's like catnip for you."

"It is not," Lauren protested, though the flush spreading across her cheeks betrayed her. "Besides, you know my policy on men who solve problems with their fists."

Barb's expression softened. "Not every guy with a temper is like Rick. Or your dad."

Lauren stiffened. Her ex-boyfriend's name still had the power to make her muscles tense, a Pavlovian response she'd been working for years to overcome. "It doesn't matter. I'm not interested. I'm just treating his kitten."

"His kitten?"

"It's a stray that he found," Lauren corrected, taking another bite of donut to avoid further discussion. "He's severely dehydrated with a leg fracture. I need to monitor him for at least a few days."

"And does 'The Mountain' going to adopt the kitten?"

As if on cue, Lauren's phone buzzed with a text from her receptionist: Jackson Thompson here about the gray kitten. Says you're expecting him?

She hadn't actually expected him to show up in person. A phone call, maybe, but not an actual visit.

"He's at the clinic," Lauren said, rising from her chair and gathering her things with sudden urgency. "Now."

Barb's eyes widened in delight. "Oh, this I have to see."

"Behave," Lauren said, though she knew it was pointless. Barb was already slinging her purse over her shoulder, abandoning the remains of her breakfast.

"Try and stop me," she said.

"You're the worst," Lauren muttered, but she smiled as they headed toward the door. No matter how unwelcome the complication, having Barb by her side made everything more manageable. Even unexpected visits from confusingly gentle tough guys.

JAX

Jax had managed a few hours of fitful sleep after the game, his dreams haunted by the tiny gray kitten and the challenge in Dr. Mackenzie's eyes. When he finally gave up on sleep around nine, he'd sent a text to Coach Vicky saying he'd be late for the optional morning skate.

Her reply had been typical Vicky: Your ribs need the rest anyway. Be at team lunch at 1. PR wants to see you.

Great. More community service ideas to "soften his image." As if hockey fans actually wanted their enforcers soft.

"Mr. Thompson?" The receptionist—Kim, according to her name tag—looked up at him with a smile. "Dr. Mackenzie will be with you shortly. She just stepped out for coffee but is on her way back."

"Thanks," he said, lowering himself carefully into one of the chairs designed for someone at least six inches shorter than him. His ribs protested. Dr. Mackenzie had been right—he was definitely favoring his left side.

His phone buzzed with a text from Dmitri: Coach say you skip morning skate. You okay? Need Russian pain remedy?

Jax smiled. Dmitri's "Russian pain remedy" was just vodka with more vodka. I'm good. Checking on the kitten.

Three dots appeared immediately, followed by a string of heart-eyed emojis and: Tell doctor lady I say hello. She likes you, I can tell.

Jax didn't bother replying. The last thing he needed was Dmitri's romantic scheming. The Russian fancied himself a matchmaker, claiming it was "in his blood," though his track record was questionable at best. If he was lucky, Dmitri wouldn't do an interpretive ballet dance or some other stupid shit in the locker room about this. But he wasn't holding his breath.

A small child and her mother entered the clinic, the little girl clutching a hamster cage. She froze when she saw Jax, her eyes widening to comic proportions.

"You're the scary hockey man," she announced with the brutal honesty only children possess. "My daddy says you have anger issues."

Jax opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure how to respond to that assessment from a six-year-old.

The mother looked mortified. "Lily! That's not polite."

"It's okay," Jax said, offering a small smile to the child. "Your dad's not wrong."

The girl studied him skeptically, then held up her hamster cage. "Mr. Whiskers has a tummy ache. Why are you here? Do you have a pet?"

Something in her innocent curiosity made his usual walls drop. "I found a kitten that was hurt. I'm checking to see if he's okay."

Her face brightened. "You saved a kitty? Like a superhero?"

Before Jax could correct this wildly inaccurate characterization, the clinic door opened, and Dr. Lauren Mackenzie walked in alongside a woman with vibrant pink hair and an impressive array of tattoos.

Dr. Mackenzie stopped short when she saw him, and for a moment, Jax thought he glimpsed something like panic flash across her face. It was quickly replaced by her professional mask, but not before he caught it.

She was, if possible, even more attractive in daylight. Without the exhaustion of the late-night emergency, he could better appreciate the intelligent gleam in her green eyes, the sprinkle of freckles across her nose, the way her blond hair curled stubbornly at her temples despite being pulled back in a practical ponytail.

"Mr. Thompson," she said, her tone carefully neutral. "You're here about the kitten."

"Jax," he corrected automatically, rising from his chair with a suppressed wince. "And yes, I wanted to check on him."

Her companion with the pink hair was staring at him with undisguised fascination, her eyes traveling from his face to his hands and back again. She elbowed Dr. Mackenzie subtly, earning a warning glare that made Jax bite back a smile.

"The kitten's stable," Dr. Mackenzie said, all business. "He's responding well to fluids, and the radiographs show a hairline fracture to his leg, but it should heal well with rest. No surgery needed."

Jax felt a wave of relief wash over him. "That's good news."

The little girl tugged at his jacket. "You did save a kitty. Can I see it?"

Dr. Mackenzie's expression softened instantly, the professional veneer melting into something warmer that made Jax's chest tighten inexplicably.

"Hi there," she said, crouching to the girl's level. "Is this Mr. Whiskers? I've heard he's not feeling well."

The girl nodded solemnly. "My daddy says the scary hockey man hurts people, but he saved a kitty, so I think he's actually nice."

Jax watched as Dr. Mackenzie's eyes flicked to his, something unreadable passing across her face.

"Sometimes people surprise us," she said carefully. "Kim will help you check in Mr. Whiskers, and I'll be with you shortly, okay?"

The receptionist led the mother and daughter to the counter, leaving Jax facing Dr. Mackenzie and her pink-haired friend, who was making no effort to hide her interest in the situation.

"This is Dr. Barb Danvers," Dr. Mackenzie said with obvious reluctance. "She's a vet here too."

"And I'm her best friend." Barb added, extending her hand with a grin. "I'm a huge Chill fan, by the way. That fight last night? Epic."

Dr. Mackenzie's expression tightened. The reminder of his on-ice violence clearly didn't sit well with her. And why would it? She spent her life healing injuries, while he made a living inflicting them.

"The kitten," he said, steering the conversation back to safer ground. "What happens to him now?"

Dr. Mackenzie crossed her arms, her white coat shifting to reveal a simple blue blouse underneath. "He'll need about two weeks of restricted movement for the fracture to heal, then some rehabilitation. After that, as I mentioned last night, the shelter will—"

"I'll take him," Jax interrupted, the words tumbling out before he'd fully processed the thought.

Both women stared at him with varying degrees of surprise.

"You want to adopt the kitten?" Dr. Mackenzie asked, as if confirming she'd heard correctly.

Jax shrugged, ignoring the twinge in his ribs. "Why not? I found him. Seems right."

Barb's face split into a delighted grin. "That's adorable. The Mountain wants a tiny kitten."

"I have experience with rescue animals," he added, feeling oddly defensive under Dr. Mackenzie's skeptical gaze. "And I live alone. Plenty of space."

"Your travel schedule—" Dr. Mackenzie began.

"I live in an apartment building filled with people who'd help," he countered. "Mr. Collins loves cats. And the road trips aren't that long during regular season."

Dr. Mackenzie's professional demeanor faltered slightly, revealing genuine concern. "A kitten is a fifteen to twenty-year commitment. It's not a decision to make on impulse because you feel responsible for finding him."

Something in her tone—the assumption that he hadn't thought this through, that he was acting on some misplaced guilt—irritated him. It was the same tone Coach Vicky used when she thought he was being too emotional on the ice.

"I understand commitment," he said, his voice dropping lower. "I've been with the same team for eight years. I've been volunteering at the same shelter for five. I don't do impulse."

He saw her throat work as she swallowed, her eyes widening slightly at his intensity. Good. Let her see that there was more to him than what she'd witnessed on her television screen.

Barb broke the tension with a low whistle. "Well, I'm convinced. Lauren, why don't you show Jax his new kitten while I help Kim with Mr. Whiskers?"

Dr. Mackenzie shot her friend a look that promised retribution, but she nodded stiffly. "Follow me," she said, leading the way through a door marked "Staff Only."

Jax followed, acutely aware of the narrow corridor and how his broad shoulders nearly brushed the walls on either side. Dr. Mackenzie maintained a careful distance ahead of him, her posture rigid.

"His leg will require strict carrier rest," she said over her shoulder, all business again. "Remember, no jumping, running, or climbing for at least two weeks. After that, gradual introduction to normal activity."

"I can handle that," Jax replied, wondering why she seemed so determined to talk him out of this. "I've worked with injured animals before."

She stopped so abruptly that he nearly collided with her. Turning to face him, she seemed to gather herself, as if making a decision.

"Why are you really doing this?" she asked, her green eyes challenging him directly for the first time. "Is it a PR move? Your teammate mentioned the shelter volunteering, and now you want to adopt a kitten. Is this all about softening your image after that fight went viral?"

The accusation stung more than it should have. Jax had long ago accepted that most people made assumptions about him based on his size and his role on the ice. But for some reason, Dr. Mackenzie's judgment felt worse.

"I don't give a damn about my image," he said quietly, holding her gaze. "I like animals. Always have. They don't care what I do for a living or how many penalty minutes I rack up. They just care how you treat them."

Something shifted in her expression—not quite softening, but a flicker of uncertainty replacing the rigid judgment.

"The shelter where I volunteer has a policy," he continued, the words coming easier now. "Any animal I bring in, I'm responsible for until it finds a home. But this little guy—" he gestured toward the treatment area where the kitten was presumably recovering, "—he found me. Seems like maybe he already chose his home."

Lauren—and in his mind, she was suddenly Lauren, not Dr. Mackenzie—stared at him for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, a small smile curved her lips. It transformed her face completely, softening the professional mask into something genuine that made his pulse quicken.

"That's... actually kind of nice," she admitted, as if the words were being pulled from her reluctantly. "But I still think you should consider the long-term commitment. Especially with your profession."

The way she said "profession" carried weight, and Jax understood she wasn't just referring to the travel schedule.

"You mean the fighting," he said bluntly. "You think I'm too violent to take care of something small and vulnerable."

Lauren flushed slightly, but to her credit, she didn't back down. "I think there's a disconnect between what I saw on TV last night and what I'm seeing now. And that concerns me when it comes to placing an animal."

She took a step forward, surprising him with her boldness. "What I saw was a man who looked like he enjoyed causing pain. A man who's made violence his career. You can't just turn that off when you come home from work."

Her words struck a nerve he'd thought long buried. His father's face flashed in his mind – the way rage had transformed his features into something unrecognizable, how it had spilled from the bar into their home night after night.

Jax took a careful step closer, noting how she held her ground despite her obvious discomfort with his proximity. Most people instinctively backed away when he moved toward them, especially after they'd seen him fight.

"What you saw on TV is my job," he said quietly. "It's what I do, not who I am. I protect my teammates because that's what I'm paid for. But I've never—" he hesitated, the words catching in his throat. "I've never hit anyone outside the rink. Not since I was a kid and learned better. And I would never hurt an animal."

He paused, then added in a voice barely above a whisper, "I grew up with someone who couldn't separate the violence from the rest of his life. I swore I'd never be like him."

The confession hung between them, more revealing than he'd intended. He could see her processing his words, the professional assessment in her eyes slowly giving way to something more personal.

"That's exactly what concerns me," she challenged, her voice softening slightly but her stance still firm. "Violence as a job. I see what happens when men get paid to hurt others – it changes something fundamental. How do you compartmentalize that?"

Jax studied her face, recognizing something in her expression that went beyond professional concern – something personal that mirrored his own buried pain.

"With discipline," he answered honestly. "And by remembering that there's a difference between fighting to protect and fighting to hurt."

"Wait here," she said abruptly, turning to continue down the hallway. "I'll get the kitten."

Jax leaned against the wall, exhaling slowly. Something about Lauren set him on edge in a way that had nothing to do with attraction, though there was plenty of that too. It was the way she looked at him—like she was seeing parts of him he usually kept hidden, and not all of those parts he was comfortable with showing.

She returned moments later with a small carrier. Setting it on a nearby exam table, she opened the front to reveal the tiny gray kitten, now looking considerably better than he had the night before. His fur had been cleaned, revealing tabby markings Jax hadn't noticed before, and though one back leg was splinted, his eyes were clear and alert.

"Hey there, little fighter," Jax murmured, reaching a finger carefully through the carrier door. The kitten sniffed him, then butted his head against Jax's finger, a rusty purr emanating from his small body.

"He remembers you," Lauren said, her voice softer than before. As she spoke, her eyes traveled over Jax's face, lingering momentarily on the strong line of his jaw, the fullness of his lower lip, the way his dark lashes framed eyes that watched the kitten with unmistakable tenderness. She caught herself staring and quickly looked away, but not before Jax noticed.

Jax smiled, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease as the kitten continued to purr. "What did I tell you? He chose me."

Lauren watched them for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. "There's an adoption fee," she said briskly. "And you'll need to fill out paperwork. I'll want to do a follow-up exam in one week, and he'll need to be neutered once he's fully healed."

Her clinical tone had returned, but something in her eyes had changed – a wariness tempered with cautious reassessment.

Jax straightened, recognizing the shift for what it was—a tentative truce. "Whatever he needs," he agreed. "I've got a carrier in my truck. I keep one there for shelter emergencies."

Lauren blinked at this revelation, then nodded.

An awkward silence fell between them, broken only by the kitten's purrs.

"Have you thought of a name?" Lauren finally asked, her voice softer than before.

Jax looked at the small creature that had somehow bridged the gap between his world and hers, if only temporarily. "Penalty," he decided. "Pen for short."

A surprised laugh escaped her, the sound so unexpected and genuine that Jax found himself smiling in response. It transformed her face completely, and for the first time, he glimpsed the woman behind the professional mask—warm, vibrant, and unexpectedly appealing.

"Penalty," she repeated, shaking her head with a lingering smile. "Well, it's better than Puck or Hat Trick, I suppose."

"Those were my next choices," he deadpanned, pleased when her smile widened.

The moment stretched between them, something shifting in the air. Lauren's eyes drifted to his mouth, just briefly, before she caught herself. Then, as if remembering herself, her smile faded, and the professional mask slipped back into place.

"I'll have Kim prepare the adoption papers while you get your carrier," she said, taking a step back. "And I'll write out detailed care instructions."

Jax nodded, reluctant to break the fragile connection but recognizing her retreat for what it was. "Thank you, Dr. Mackenzie. For everything."

The formality of "Dr. Mackenzie" wasn't lost on her, a small furrow appearing between her brows. "You're welcome, Mr. Thompson," she replied, matching his tone.

As he turned to leave, Jax caught sight of her pink-haired friend watching from a doorway, an unabashed grin on her face. She gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up behind Lauren's back.

Despite the tension still simmering between them, Jax smiled as he headed for his truck. He might have left with more complications than he'd arrived with, but somehow, he didn't regret it.

LAUREN

"Well, that was the hottest thing I've ever witnessed in this clinic, and I once had to treat a show pony that belonged to a Calvin Klein model," Barb declared as they watched Jax's truck pull away, the newly named Penalty securely nestled in a large professional-grade carrier in his passenger seat.

Lauren rolled her eyes, though her cheeks warmed at her friend's assessment. "It was a simple adoption."

"Sure, if by 'simple' you mean 'charged with enough sexual tension to power the entire Eastern Seaboard,'" Barb countered, hopping up to sit on the reception desk. "I thought you were going to spontaneously combust when he started talking about commitment."

"That's not—I wasn't—" Lauren sputtered, grateful that Kim had stepped away to help another client. "I was concerned about the kitten's welfare."

"Uh-huh," Barb nodded skeptically. "And the way you were undressing him with your eyes was purely clinical assessment."

"I was looking at his injuries," Lauren protested, though even to her own ears, the excuse sounded weak. "He clearly has bruised ribs and those knuckles need proper care."

"So thoughtful of you to be concerned about his... knuckles," Barb waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

"You didn't hear what he said about his childhood," Lauren said quietly, turning away to busy herself with straightening pamphlets. "There's more to him than just the hockey goon everyone sees."

"Oh?" Barb's teasing tone softened into genuine interest.

Lauren shook her head, feeling suddenly protective of the glimpse Jax had allowed her. "It's not my story to share."

Barb studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Fair enough. So... did you notice how his ass looks in those jeans, or were you too busy having an existential crisis about his hands?"

"Oh my god," Lauren groaned, but she was laughing despite herself. "Did you finish with the hamster? Impaction or just gas?"

"Gas, poor little guy," Barb replied, graciously allowing the subject change. "But don't think this conversation is over. You're going to see him again in a week for the kitten's follow-up."

The reminder sent an unwelcome flutter through Lauren's stomach. "It's a professional relationship. Nothing more."

Barb's phone buzzed, and her face lit up as she read the message. "Well, this is interesting. Guess who just got us tickets to tonight's Chill game? Front row, behind the bench."

Lauren eyed her friend suspiciously. "Please tell me you didn't."

"Okay, I won't tell you," Barb said.

"Absolutely not."

"They were expensive."

"Find someone else to go with then."

"Don't you think it would be educational to see your new client in his natural habitat?"

"I saw that on TV last night."

"Come on, Mac," Barb wheedled. "When was the last time you did something just for fun? We'll drink overpriced beer, eat terrible nachos, and you can pretend you're not staring at your mountain man's ass in those hockey pants."

Lauren recalled the glimpse she'd gotten of Jax's physique – the way his shoulders filled out his jacket, the strong column of his neck, the way his jeans hugged his muscular thighs. Hockey pants would hide nothing.

"He is not my mountain man," Lauren objected, but she could feel her resolve weakening. It would be fun and he did have a nice ass. "Fine," she sighed, ignoring Barb's victorious whoop. "But I'm not wearing Chill merchandise, and I'm not cheering for violence."

"Deal," Barb agreed quickly. "And just think—if Jax spots you in the crowd, maybe he'll dedicate his next fight to you. Nothing says romance like getting a tooth knocked out in your honor."

"You're the worst friend ever," Lauren groaned, but she smiled despite herself, a strange anticipation building in her chest at the thought of seeing Jax Thompson again – this time in his element, where the brutal enforcer and the gentle giant somehow existed in the same powerfully built body.