Page 5

L auren

February 11 th – Countdown to playoffs

The animal shelter smelled of disinfectant and dog kibble, a combination Lauren had always found oddly comforting. She moved down the row of kennels, checking off each animal on her tablet as she completed their examinations. Her volunteer shifts were her refuge—a chance to practice simple, straightforward medicine without the high stakes of emergency cases.

Usually, at least. Today, her pulse refused to settle into its normal rhythm, her eyes darting to the clock far too frequently. He'd be here soon. She deliberately changed her volunteer hours to match Jax's. She entirely wasn't sure why. She told herself it was to check on Penalty and to see how he was with the rescue dogs. But it was more than that.

"You're jumpier than a cat in a dog park," Peg, the shelter manager, said. Nothing escaped her sharp eyes, least of all Lauren's uncharacteristic distraction.

"I'm good," Lauren said, focusing intently on the tabby cat she was examining.

Peg's knowing "hmm" said she wasn't buying it. "Hey Jax."

Lauren's head snapped up so quickly she nearly gave herself whiplash. And there he was, standing in the shelter doorway, looking somehow larger than she remembered. Without the hockey gear or the formal suit from their first meeting, Jax Thompson cut a different figure—no less imposing, but somehow more approachable in jeans and a simple Henley that stretched across his broad chest.

He wasn't alone. Two of his teammates flanked him—the compact Russian she'd met at the clinic and a slender Asian man with stylish glasses and a streak of blue in his dark hair.

"Hey Peg," Jax greeted her with a nod, then turned towards Lauren with a huge smile. "What are you doing here?"

Good question.

One that Peg was waiting for the answer too as well.

"Volunteering," Lauren said lamely.

"On a new day," Peg noted.

Lauren gathered her things up, moving to the next patient. Jax followed, but Peg moved on to other business.

"The doctor wants to see how you treat animals in their natural habitat, yes?" the Russian—Dmitri, she remembered—stage-whispered to Jax. "Like zoo documentary."

"Shut up, Dmitri," Jax muttered.

"I'm Oliver," the other man introduced himself, extending a hand to Lauren. "I've heard entirely too much about you."

"All lies," Jax cut in.

"Oh no, I believe every word," Oliver said with a grin. "Especially the part where Jax spent an hour practicing what he'd say if he saw you again."

Jax's ears reddened. "Don't you two have dogs to walk or something?"

"But this is much more entertaining," Dmitri protested.

"Go," Jax ordered, his voice dropping to that authoritative tone Lauren had heard before. "Now."

Dmitri sighed dramatically. "Come, Oliver. Let's leave lovebirds alone. Is better this way."

"I'll text Stephanie and tell her Jax is making excellent progress with his community service hours," Oliver said with a wink to Lauren. "Our PR director," he added in explanation. "She'll be thrilled to hear Jax is expanding his volunteer work to include wooing pretty veterinarians."

The pair retreated down the hall toward the dog kennels, their laughter echoing behind them.

"Sorry about that," Jax said, running a hand over his shaved head. "They're like annoying younger brothers."

"They seem nice," Lauren said, amused by the team dynamics.

"How was the road trip?" she asked, searching for neutral conversation.

"Two wins, one loss," he replied. "Could have been worse. Toronto's a tough building to play in."

"I wouldn't know," Lauren admitted. "Before last week, I'd never been to a hockey game."

Jax glanced at her, surprise evident in his expression. "Never? Not even in college?"

"I was too busy trying not to fail organic chemistry to care about sports," she explained. "And after that, well I guess I had some preconceived notions."

"About hockey? Or hockey players?" His tone was light, but she could sense the real question underneath.

Lauren hesitated, then opted for honesty. "Both, I suppose. I've always associated contact sports with a certain type of aggressive masculinity."

To her surprise, Jax nodded thoughtfully. "That's fair. There's definitely an element of that in hockey culture. It's changing, slowly, but it's there."

His candid response caught her off guard. She'd expected defensiveness, not acknowledgment.

As they walked down the corridor toward the medical area, a family with two small children rushed through the main entrance, letting the door swing wildly behind them. The door slammed back, nearly catching Lauren's shoulder, but Jax's hand shot out, catching it before it could hit her.

The movement was so quick and instinctive that Lauren barely had time to register what had happened. But the sudden warmth of Jax's body as he moved partially in front of her, shielding her from the door, sent a rush of heat through her chest.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low near her ear.

"Fine," she managed, suddenly aware of how solid he felt, how safe it was in the circle of his presence.

He stepped back, giving her space, but his hand lingered briefly at the small of her back as they continued down the hallway.

Her next patient was an elderly cat who was ensconced in a spacious enclosure that took up most of the coffee table, her orange fur fluffed out as she dozed on a heated pad.

At the sound of their entrance, the cat raised her head, her eyes finding Jax immediately. To Lauren's astonishment, the cat began purring loudly, her whole body vibrating with the force of it.

"Hey there, little fighter," Jax murmured, his deep voice gentling as he crouched beside the enclosure. "Looking good."

The transformation was remarkable. The hulking man who could send opponents flying across the ice with a single hit now moved with exquisite care, his massive hands impossibly gentle as he opened the enclosure and stroked the cat. "You should have seen her last week. She was so doped up."

"Careful, you might end up with another cat," Lauren said.

"Nah, this one isn't a stray. Her name is Taffy. She belongs to one of the kids in the neighborhood."

"She's not afraid of you."

"Animals don't forget kindness," Jax replied simply. "Or cruelty." Something in his tone suggested personal experience with both.

Lauren set her medical bag on a side table and pulled out her tablet. "The radiographs look good," she said, keeping her voice professional. "Taffy's fracture is healing well, and there's no sign of delayed complications. We can start gentle range-of-motion exercises today."

Jax nodded. "I'm here to help. I mostly work with dogs, but as you can see. Cat's like me."

Who was she to argue? If Taffy was comfortable with Jax, Lauren was happy to see the big man in action. She walked him through the rehabilitation protocol she'd developed, demonstrating the careful manipulations designed to maintain joint mobility without stressing the healing bone. To her surprise, Jax caught on quickly, his large hands surprisingly dexterous as he mimicked her movements.

"You've done this before," she observed, watching as he expertly supported Taffy's weight while gently flexing the injured leg.

"Similar exercises with rescue dogs," he explained. "Had a pit bull last year who'd been hit by a car. Pelvis shattered in three places. Everyone said he'd never walk normally again."

"And did he?"

A genuine smile spread across Jax's face, transforming his features. "Adopted by a marathon runner six months later. Runs five miles a day now."

Lauren found herself returning his smile, drawn in by the simple pride in his accomplishment. This was a side of Jackson Thompson that few people must see—the patient, gentle healer rather than the fierce protector.

The sound of raised voices from the front of the shelter caught their attention. Lauren glanced toward the door just as Dmitri burst in, half-dragging Oliver, whose glasses sat askew on his face.

"Jax! Come quick. PR lady is here with photographer! She wants shots of you with sad puppies," Dmitri announced.

"What? Stephanie's here?" Jax looked genuinely confused.

"She says league office wants to highlight players doing community service," Oliver explained, straightening his glasses. "Something about 'humanizing the enforcer role for family-friendly marketing.'"

"She's talking to some guy with camera bigger than my head," Dmitri added. "Very intimidating woman. She has checklist."

Jax sighed, gently placing Taffy back on her heated pad. "I should go deal with this. Sorry," he said to Lauren.

"Of course," she nodded, trying not to feel disappointed.

Jax hesitated. "Would you... do you want to come with me? Might be less awkward if you're there."

Something in his expression—a momentary flash of vulnerability—made Lauren nod. "Sure. I could use a break anyway."

As they headed toward the front, Jax leaned down to murmur in her ear. "Fair warning: Stephanie Ellis has been trying to rehabilitate my image since the Wilson fight. She thinks I'm a PR nightmare."

Lauren smiled. "Well, you did feed a guy his teeth on national television."

"Just doing my job," he replied with a wink.

The PR director was a petite woman with a sleek bob and an iPad clutched to her chest. Despite being at least a foot shorter than Jax, she radiated an authority that commanded attention. Next to her stood a photographer unpacking equipment.

"Thompson, there you are," Stephanie said, her voice crisp. "We need to get some shots of you working with the rescue animals. Preferably something that doesn't look staged. We're trying to show your nurturing side."

Her eyes flicked to Lauren, taking in her presence with sharp assessment. "Dr. Mackenzie, right? The veterinarian?"

"Yes," Lauren replied, surprised to be recognized.

"Perfect. We could include you in a few shots too, if you're willing. 'Local vet supervises Chill enforcer's volunteer work' has a nice ring to it."

Before Lauren could respond, Oliver stepped up, flashing a smile. "Stephanie, we didn't know you were coming today. I could have worn something better than gym clothes."

Lauren didn't miss the way the PR director's expression softened almost imperceptibly at Oliver's approach, or how her eyes briefly traveled over him before returning to her professional demeanor.

"Chenofski, you could wear a potato sack and still look like you stepped out of GQ," she replied dryly. "But this isn't about you today."

"Wound me, why don't you?" Oliver placed a hand over his heart in mock offense, but his eyes danced with humor.

Stephanie turned back to Jax. "We'll start with the dog kennels, then maybe get some shots of you with puppies? The internet loves big scary men with tiny animals."

As they followed Stephanie toward the dog area, a large rescue mutt came bounding down the hallway, having escaped its handler. The dog was heading straight for their group, its enthusiasm unchecked. Without hesitation, Jax stepped smoothly in front of Lauren, his body a solid barrier between her and the oncoming canine.

"Whoa, buddy," he said, his voice firm but gentle as he caught the dog's collar. "Easy there."

The handler, a teenage volunteer, came running up, face flushed with embarrassment. "I'm so sorry! He just pulled the leash right out of my hand."

"No harm done," Jax said, calming the dog with a few expert strokes along its back. "He's just excited to meet new people."

Lauren watched the exchange, struck by how naturally protective Jax was, not just with her but with everyone around him. It wasn't performative or controlling—just an instinctive shielding of those who might be vulnerable.

Once the dog was safely returned to its handler, Jax turned back to find Lauren watching him. A strand of her hair had fallen across her face during the commotion, and without thinking, he reached out, gently tucking it behind her ear. The casual intimacy of the gesture sent a jolt through her, his fingertips briefly grazing her cheek.

"Sorry," he said immediately, dropping his hand. "Habit from dealing with my niece."

"It's okay," Lauren replied, her voice coming out slightly breathless.

They stared at each other for a moment, something unspoken passing between them, until Stephanie cleared her throat.

"If you two are finished having a moment, we have a photoshoot to do," she said, though Lauren thought she detected a hint of amusement beneath the PR director's brisk tone.

The next hour passed in a blur of posed and "candid" photos of Jax working with various rescue animals. To Lauren's surprise, Stephanie included her in several shots, directing them to recreate the rehabilitation exercises they'd been doing with Taffy.

"You're good at this," Lauren acknowledged as they worked. "Better than most vet techs I've worked with, actually."

"High praise from Dr. Mackenzie," he teased, carefully setting Penalty back on his heated pad. "I'll add it to my resume, right after 'professional face-puncher.'"

The self-deprecating joke surprised a laugh out of her. "Is that how you see yourself? A professional face-puncher?"

A shadow crossed his features. "It's what I'm paid to do," he said. "Or at least, it was. The game's changing."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" Lauren asked.

Jax was silent for a moment, absently stroking Taffy's fur as the cat settled against his hand. "Both," he finally said. "The science on concussions is pretty clear. The old-school fighting, the goons who looked to really injure the other player—that's dying out, and it should. But..."

He trailed off, and Lauren found herself prompting him. "But?"

"But there's still a place for physical play, for consequences," he continued, his voice thoughtful. "Hockey at its best is controlled chaos. Without some kind of enforcement—players policing themselves—the truly dangerous plays increase. The cross-checks, the hits from behind, the cheap shots that end careers."

Lauren considered this, surprised by the complexity of his perspective. "So it's not about violence for its own sake."

"Not for me, at least," Jax said with a shrug. "I know guys who love the fighting, who get off on hurting people. I've never been that guy. For me, it's always been about protection."

"The team enforcer," Lauren mused. "Like you did with Ethan, when Wilson hit him."

Jax's eyebrows rose slightly. "You've been doing your homework."

Heat crept up Lauren's neck. "I might have watched some clips online. For context."

"Professional curiosity," he supplied, his eyes twinkling with restrained amusement.

"Exactly," she agreed, fighting a smile.

After the photographer had packed up and Stephanie had whisked Oliver away to discuss some social media strategy, Dmitri lingered behind, watching Jax and Lauren with undisguised interest.

"You look happy, Jax," he said suddenly, his usual joking manner giving way to something more sincere. "Is good look on you."

Jax shifted uncomfortably. "I'm just doing my volunteer work, same as always."

Dmitri shook his head. "Not same. Different. You smile more." He turned to Lauren. "He never smiles this much. Is like seeing bear doing ballet—unexpected but impressive."

"Thanks for that image, D," Jax muttered.

"You welcome," Dmitri replied cheerfully. "I go now. Leave you to flirt with pretty doctor. But remember team dinner at seven!" With a wink at Lauren, he sauntered off.

"Can I ask you something?" Jax said after they'd finished the exercises and were watching Taffy eat her well-deserved treats.

"Sure," Lauren replied, curious about the sudden seriousness in his tone.

"Why are you here on my volunteer day?"

The directness of the question caught her off guard. Lauren considered deflecting but found herself wanting to offer the same honesty he'd shown her.

"I judged you unfairly," she admitted. "Based on what I saw during the game." She swallowed, unused to such candor with someone who was still mostly a stranger. "I'm trying to correct that mistake."

Jax studied her for a long moment, his dark eyes thoughtful. "We all make judgments based on our experiences," he said finally. "I can't blame you for that."

Something in his understanding made Lauren bolder. "The way you played was controlled, disciplined. You had opportunities to fight, to retaliate, and you didn't take them."

"Would it have mattered to you if I had?"

Lauren considered the question, wanting to give an honest answer. "Yes," she said finally. "It would have. I've seen what happens when men can't control their anger, when they use their strength to intimidate and hurt." The admission cost her, but it felt important to offer him this truth. "That matters to me."

Understanding dawned in Jax's eyes, along with something else—a protectiveness that should have set off warning bells but instead made her feel oddly safe. "I'm not that man, Lauren," he said quietly. "Not off the ice."

"I'm starting to see that," she acknowledged, holding his gaze.

As they began packing up, Jax's movements suddenly slowed. He kept his eyes on the medical supplies he was arranging, not meeting her gaze.

"I'm probably not what you're looking for," he said quietly. "Someone with my background, my job doesn't exactly scream 'stable relationship material.'"

The vulnerability in his voice caught Lauren by surprise. "What makes you say that?"

Jax shrugged, still not looking at her. "Most women I meet either see the hockey player—the money, the status—or they see the enforcer and get scared off. Neither one is really me." He finally met her eyes. "And someone like you deserves better than a guy who's one bad hit away from being out of a job, with nothing but scars and old game footage to show for it."

The raw honesty in his words made Lauren's chest tighten. "I think I can decide what I deserve for myself," she said gently.

A small, hopeful smile touched his lips. "Fair enough."

"I should wrap up here. I've got a full schedule tomorrow."

"Me too," Jax said, rising from his crouch with unexpected grace for his size. "Morning skate, then a team event at the children's hospital."

"More PR for your image rehabilitation?" Lauren asked, then immediately regretted the words, afraid they sounded more cynical than she'd intended.

But Jax just smiled ruefully. "Been doing the hospital visits since my rookie year, actually. But yes, PR is definitely capitalizing on any opportunity to show I'm not a complete Neanderthal."

"I never said you were a Neanderthal," Lauren protested.

"Not out loud," he countered with a knowing look that made her blush.

"Well, in my defense, you do punch people for a living."

"Only the ones who deserve it," he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "And only while wearing skates and a team jersey."

"That's a very specific ethical code." She smiled, at ease that they could tease each other.

"I'm a very specific kind of guy," he replied, and the way he looked at her made it clear he wasn't just talking about hockey anymore.

The air between them seemed to charge with possibility, until Taffy meowed loudly, demanding attention.

"I think that's our cue," Lauren said, grateful for the interruption before she did something unprofessional like wonder how Jax's lips would feel against hers. "Bring Penalty by for a follow up in a few days."

"I have a home game on Friday, but I could come in the morning," Jax offered. "Say nine?"

"Nine works," Lauren agreed, busying herself with packing up her medical supplies to hide the inexplicable flutter in her stomach. "I'll update his treatment plan based on his progress."

"I have an extra ticket," Jax said suddenly as they reached the shelter's entrance. "For Friday's game. If you wanted to continue your... professional curiosity."

As they stepped outside, a gust of cold wind caught Lauren by surprise, making her shiver. Without hesitation, Jax moved closer, his body blocking the worst of the wind as they walked toward the parking lot.

"I'd like that," she said, warmed by more than just his physical presence.

Relief flickered across Jax's face, quickly replaced by a casual smile. "Great. I'll leave the ticket at will call. It's a good seat—center ice, ten rows up. Best view in the house."

"Not behind the bench this time?" Lauren asked, thinking of her previous vantage point.

"I figured you might want a better view of the game, not just the back of my head," Jax replied with a self-deprecating shrug.

"The back of your head was... fine," Lauren said, then immediately wanted to sink through the floor. Fine? What kind of response was that?

But Jax's laugh was warm and genuine, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should," she replied, pleased to find her composure returning.

As they reached her car, Jax surprised her by opening the driver's side door. The simple, courteous gesture struck Lauren as endearingly old-fashioned.

"Thank you for today," he said, his voice low and sincere. "For giving me a second chance to make a first impression."

"Thank you for being worth the second look," Lauren replied.

As she slid into the driver's seat, Jax closed her door gently, then stood back. Through the window, their eyes met once more, and Lauren felt something shift inside her—a wall beginning to crumble, brick by careful brick.

She started the engine, but instead of pulling away immediately, she rolled down her window. "For the record," she said, "I'm starting to think that behind all those penalty minutes, you might actually be a good guy, Jax Thompson."

His smile was surprised and genuine. "Don't tell anyone. You'll ruin my reputation."

As she drove away, Lauren checked her rearview mirror to find Jax watching her car disappear, his tall figure standing solid against the winter wind, like an anchor in a storm