Page 4

J ax

Jax stepped onto the ice for warm-ups, his skates cutting smooth arcs as he circled the rink. The arena was packed tonight, not surprising for a game against Boston. The rivalry always drew a full barn, the energy electric even before the puck dropped.

He scanned the crowd automatically as he stretched near the boards, a habit formed over years of playing in hostile arenas. Home crowds were friendlier, but after last week's fight with Wilson went viral, he'd noticed a shift. More signs with his number. More jerseys with THOMPSON 67 across the shoulders. More attention than he typically wanted.

His eyes caught on a familiar face in the front row behind the Chill bench, and his rhythm faltered. Lauren sat rigidly in her seat, her blond hair loose around her shoulders instead of in its practical ponytail. Beside her, the pink-haired friend—Barb—was enthusiastically waving what appeared to be a foam finger.

Lauren wasn't wearing team colors, he noted, just a simple black sweater. She looked uncomfortable, like she'd rather be anywhere else. But she was here. The realization sent an unexpected jolt of something warm through his chest.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Kane said, gliding up beside him. The captain followed Jax's gaze, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Or something better than a ghost. Who's the blond?"

"Nobody," Jax said automatically, turning back to his stretches. "Just someone I know."

"Is lady doctor and her hot friend," Dmitri said, skating by.

"She's a sniper."

"Keep it up and I'll tell Allison I caught you looking."

Kane merely grunted in response.

Jax glanced back at Lauren. Their eyes met briefly across the distance, and she gave a small, awkward wave. Before he could respond, Coach Vicky's whistle cut through the air, calling the team in for final instructions.

"Boston wants to drag us into a physical game," Vicky said, her sharp eyes sweeping over each player. "Give them what they want." Her gaze lingered meaningfully on Jax. "But be smart about it. Don't start it, but if it goes, finish it."

As they broke from the huddle, Dmitri nudged him. "Your vet's watching. Try not to disappoint her."

Jax rolled his eyes, but as he took his position for the opening face-off, he was acutely aware of Lauren's presence behind the bench. What would she think about him after seeing what he did up close and personal? Would it confirm her worst suspicions about him, or would she see what he'd been trying to tell her—that what he did on the ice was separate from who he was?

The referee dropped the puck, and all other thoughts evaporated as Jax's world narrowed to the game.

Boston came out hard, as expected, their defensemen laying punishing hits on anyone in a blue jersey. Jax absorbed a particularly vicious check into the boards during his second shift, the impact sending a jolt of pain through his still-tender ribs. He pushed himself up, catching sight of number 44—Ryan Barker, Boston's enforcer and a guy with a reputation for crossing lines.

"What are you going to do Six Seven?" Barker sneered as they battled for position in front of Boston's net. "You're not going to do anything."

Jax ignored the taunt, keeping his focus on screening the goalie while Kane worked the puck along the half-boards. But Barker wasn't finished. He shoved his glove into Jax's face, the leather reeking of sweat and old fights.

"Too scared to drop the mitts anymore?" Barker continued his chirping. "Heard the league is going to sussy you."

Jax felt the familiar heat rise in his chest, the enforcer's instinct to respond with his fists. His hand twitched, ready to grab Barker's jersey. But he caught sight of Lauren over Barker's shoulder, her eyes fixed on him even from a distance. He took a deep breath, forced his fingers to relax.

"Just play hockey, Barker. Might help your plus-minus if you spent less time on your ass in the box."

The whistle blew as Oliver fired a clapper that the goalie smothered. As they reset for the face-off, Jax caught Lauren watching him intently, her expression unreadable from this distance.

The first period ended scoreless, both teams feeling each other out. As Jax settled in the locker room, letting the trainers check his ribs, he wondered what Lauren thought of the game so far. What she thought of him.

"You're distracted," Coach Vicky observed, appearing beside him with her ever-present clipboard. "Something to do with your visitor behind the bench?"

Jax's head jerked up in surprise. "How did you—"

"Kane told me," she said with a shrug. "And Dmitri wouldn't shut up about the 'pretty animal doctor' who's stealing your heart."

Heat crept up Jax's neck. "She's not—it's not like that. She's just the vet who's treating the kitten I found."

"Uh-huh." Vicky's skepticism burned. "Well, whatever she is, keep your head in the game. Boston's looking to get under your skin specifically." Her expression softened slightly. "That said, I like how you've been playing lately. More controlled. Using your size effectively without crossing lines."

The praise caught him off guard. Vicky wasn't known for handing out compliments. "Thanks, Coach."

As the buzzer sounded for the second period, Jax steeled himself. Boston would push harder now, looking to break the deadlock. Sure enough, the hits came faster, the play more physical. Midway through the period, Jax found himself defending against a two-on-one rush, Barker bearing down on Ethan with clear intent to deliver a punishing hit.

Time seemed to slow as Jax assessed his options. The old playbook would have been simple: take Barker out, consequences be damned. Protect the kid at all costs. But with Lauren watching, with the league scrutinizing his every move, with the league P.R. rep all up in his Kool Aid, he tried something different.

Jax timed his movement to get his stick in the passing lane while positioning his body to shield Ethan. The puck deflected off his blade and out of the zone, the dangerous rush neutralized without a single body hitting the ice.

As they skated back to the bench, Ethan bumped his glove against Jax's. "Sick play, big man. Saved my bacon there."

Jax's eyes found Lauren again, and this time, he thought he detected approval in her expression. Something lightened in his chest, a feeling so unfamiliar he almost didn't recognize it as pride—not in the fear he could instill, but in the skill he'd demonstrated.

The moment was short-lived. On his next shift, Jax had just cleared the puck when Barker caught him with a blindside hit, driving his elbow into Jax's temple. The impact sent him sprawling, his vision momentarily blurring as his head connected with the ice.

The crowd erupted, boos raining down as Jax pushed himself to his knees. Something hot and familiar ignited in his chest—the enforcer's instinct, honed over years. His eyes found Barker, who was watching with a satisfied smirk, already skating away.

Jax was on his feet, closing the gap to Barker in three powerful strides. He grabbed a fistful of the Boston enforcer's jersey, spinning him around.

"Let's go, you piece of shit," Jax snarled, dropping his gloves.

Barker's smirk vanished as he realized what was coming. He barely had time to drop his own mitts before Jax landed the first punch—a solid right that snapped Barker's head back. The Boston player recovered, throwing a wild haymaker that Jax easily ducked.

Three more punishing blows, each one landing with a viciousness born from years of practice. The final uppercut sent Barker down to one knee, blood dripping from his nose onto the ice.

The crowd was on its feet now, the Chill faithful roaring their approval as Jax stood over his fallen opponent. The linesmen moved in, separating them as Barker struggled back to his feet.

"Come back anytime you want more," Jax growled as they were escorted to their respective penalty boxes.

As Jax took his seat in the sin bin, he caught sight of Lauren. Unlike before, her expression was a mixture of shock and something else—not approval, certainly, but not the disgust he might have expected either.

From the bench, Kane gave him a subtle nod. No words needed—the captain understood perfectly. Some lines couldn't be crossed without consequences, and Jax had just reminded the entire Boston team of that fundamental hockey truth.

Five minutes for fighting. A fair price for setting the tone.

Two shifts later, with Boston still leading 1-0, Jax had a clear lane to the net after a sauce pass from Marcus. With Barker closing in, Jax feinted left, then cut right, using his body to shield the puck. As the goalie committed, Jax slid the biscuit to the far post where Dmitri was waiting to tap it home.

The arena exploded as the goal light flashed. Instead of his usual celly, Dmitri skated straight to Jax, throwing his arms around him. "Beautiful apple. Like Gretzky, yes?"

As the team celebrated around him, Jax shot a glance toward Lauren. She was on her feet with the rest of the crowd, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips as her friend bounced excitedly beside her.

The rest of the game passed in a blur of intensity. With five minutes left in the third period, the score still knotted at ones, Jax delivered a clean hit that separated Barker from the puck at a crucial moment. Kane scooped it up, breaking in alone on the Boston tendy before roofing a backhand for the go-ahead goal.

When the final horn sounded, cementing the Chill's 2-1 victory, Jax was glad they won when Lauren was watching. As the team filed off the ice, though, Jax saw that Lauren's seat was empty, she and her friend already gone. Disappointment settled in his chest.

"Looking for someone?" Kane asked, falling into step beside him as they headed toward the locker room.

Jax shook his head, refusing to give his captain more ammunition for chirping. "Just scanning the crowd. Habit."

Kane's knowing smile said he wasn't fooled. "Well, whoever you're not looking for is waiting by the staff exit. Dmitri spotted her on his way in."

Jax's head snapped up, earning a laugh from Kane. "Shut up," he muttered, but there was no heat in it.

"Go on," Kane said, nudging him toward the corridor that led to the staff parking lot. "I'll cover for you with the media vultures."

Despite himself, Jax felt a surge of gratitude. "Thanks, Cap."

"Just don't do anything I wouldn't do," Kane called after him, then paused. "Actually, disregard that. My standards are questionable at best. But if you wheel that vet, I want full details tomorrow, you beauty."

Jax flipped him off without looking back but smiled as he headed for the showers.

He dressed quickly, hoping she would wait around a bit. He didn't see her at first when he pushed open the door to the staff exit. But then standing awkwardly by a bench, was Lauren, her hair whipping around her face in the winter wind.

Alone. Her friend was nowhere to be seen.

"I didn't expect to see you here," he said.

She startled slightly, as if she'd been lost in thought. "I—Barb had to leave early. Work emergency." She hesitated, then added, "How's Pen settling in?"

"He's adjusting. My neighbor Mr. Collins is cat sitting tonight. Did you enjoy the game?"

"I... it was..." she trailed off, looking away briefly before meeting his eyes again. "That fight. With number 44."

Jax tensed. Here it comes, he thought. The judgment, the disapproval. The confirmation of her worst suspicions about him.

"He hit you first," she said, surprising him. "With his elbow. I saw the replay on the jumbotron."

"Barker and I have history," he said with a shrug that did nothing to hide his still-aching ribs. "Part of the game."

Lauren studied him, her green eyes complex with emotions he couldn't read. "I don't like violence," she said carefully. "I've seen enough of what it does to understand why I should keep my distance from it."

The words hung in the air between them, laden with meaning. There was something in her tone—a personal history that made him wonder what, or who, had taught her that lesson.

"But there seemed to be rules to it," she continued, surprising him again. "The way everyone acted, like there was an understanding. I've never seen that before."

Jax nodded slowly. "Hockey has a code. He took a run at me with a dirty hit. I answered. Now he knows there's a price to pay if he tries it again. It protects other players—my teammates—from worse injuries."

"A necessary evil?" she asked, not quite skeptically.

"I wouldn't put it that way," Jax replied. "It's part of my role. Just like sometimes you have to cause pain to an animal to fix a broken bone."

Lauren's eyebrows rose slightly at the comparison. "Except I have my patient's consent through their owners, and I'm healing, not hurting."

"Fair enough," he conceded. "But the principle isn't entirely different. Sometimes you have to do hard things to protect others."

A small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "That's surprisingly thoughtful."

"Besides, hockey players know what to expect. It's part of the game. That's why we wear protective gear. It's not like the old days."

"Injuries still happen."

He nodded. "And the league closely monitors us so it doesn't go too far."

"Do you go too far?"

Jax would have liked to lie to her, but he couldn't. "Sometimes," he admitted.

At her slow nod, he clarified.

"I'm a work in progress."

An awkward silence fell between them, broken only by the distant sounds of traffic.

"You're bleeding," Lauren said suddenly, stepping closer and reaching for his hand.

Jax looked down, surprised to see fresh blood seeping from the knuckles he'd split on Barker's helmet. "It's nothing. Happens all the time."

Lauren frowned, taking his hand in hers. Her touch was professional yet gentle, her fingers warm against his cold skin as she turned his hand over to inspect the damage. "These need to be cleaned properly or they could get infected."

Jax stared at their joined hands, struck by the contrast—her smooth, careful surgeon's hands against his battered, scarred ones. Her fingers were surprisingly strong as they probed the wounds, somehow managing to be both gentle and firm at once.

"I’ve got a first aid kit in my car," she said, not releasing his hand. "Come on."

He allowed her to lead him to her sedan, struck by how natural it felt to be in her care. She kept hold of his hand as she unlocked the trunk with her free one, then pulled out a professional-grade medical bag.

"You always carry that?" he asked, amused.

"Vet emergencies happen at inconvenient times," she replied, setting the bag on the hood of her car. "Sit."

Jax perched on the edge of her bumper, watching as she pulled on nitrile gloves with practiced efficiency. She took his hand again, this time cradling it in her left palm as her right hand worked.

"You had your chance to hurt that player worse tonight," she said casually as she cleaned the wounds with antiseptic. "When he was down on his knees. You stopped."

Jax winced, both at the sting and her observation. "You noticed that, huh?"

"I was watching you," she admitted, her focus remaining on his hand. "Earlier too, when he tried to provoke you the first time. You chose not to engage."

Her fingers moved methodically over his knuckles, her touch both clinical and intimate. Jax was acutely aware of how his massive hand rested in her smaller ones, how easily he could close his fingers around hers.

"Hockey's about choices," he said finally. "When to hit, when to fight, when to walk away. I don't always get it right."

Lauren applied antibiotic ointment to each cut, her touch so gentle it barely registered. "No one always gets it right," she said quietly, a note in her voice that suggested she wasn't just talking about hockey.

She began wrapping his knuckles in gauze, her fingers brushing against his palm, his wrist, the sensitive skin between his fingers. Each touch sent tiny sparks along his nerve endings.

"You're good at this," he observed, voice rougher than he intended.

Lauren secured the bandage with medical tape, but didn't immediately release his hand. "Years of practice on patients who can't tell me where it hurts."

Their eyes met, and something unspoken passed between them. Her fingers still rested lightly on his wrist, above the bandage, where his pulse thrummed steadily beneath her touch.

"I'm glad it's not broken," she said, her voice softer than before. "Your hand."

"Hockey players have hard heads," Jax replied, trying to lighten the suddenly charged atmosphere.

Lauren smiled, finally releasing his hand. As she did, her index finger traced an almost imperceptible line along his palm—so brief he might have imagined it, yet so deliberate it seemed impossible to mistake.

"I should go," she said, stepping back and packing away her supplies. "You probably have post-game things to do, and I have an early surgery tomorrow."

Jax nodded, oddly reluctant to end the moment. "Thanks for coming to the game," he said. "Even if parts of it were uncomfortable to watch."

"The game itself was more exciting than I expected," she offered. "When you're not... the skating and passing, I mean. That was impressive. I don't know a lot about the game."

"Maybe next time I can explain the rules," he suggested, the words out before he could consider them. "If you come to another game, I mean."

Lauren tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes meeting his with surprising directness. "Maybe I will." A small smile played at her lips. "Just keep those hands clean. Doctor's orders."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, raising his newly bandaged hand in a mock salute.

She laughed then, a genuine sound that transformed her face, making her look younger and freer than he'd seen before. "Goodnight, Jax," she said finally, turning to go.

"Goodnight, Lauren," he replied, watching as she walked to her car door, her figure silhouetted against the parking lot lights.

As she drove away, Jax looked down at his bandaged hand, still feeling the phantom touch of her fingers against his skin. A quiet voice in the back of his mind whispered that this small moment—her hands cradling his damaged ones with such care—might mean more than either of them realized.