Page 102 of The Sin Bin

At the door, she paused. "Thompson? Whatever happens tonight, I respect your decision. Just make sure you're playing for the right reasons."

After she left, Jax sat motionless, her parting words echoing uncomfortably. He reached for his phone again, thumb hovering over Lauren's contact. Calling again would just reach her voicemail. Instead, he typed a message:

Medical cleared me to play with protection. I know you wouldn't agree with my decision, but I need you to understand why I have to do this. Not just for the team. For me. Please call when you can.

He hit send, knowing the words were insufficient but hoping they might bridge the growing gap between them. Then he slid off the examination table, steeled himself against the pain, and headed toward the equipment room to begin playoff preparations.

THE FACE SHIELD FELTlike a cage. The face shield felt like a cage.

Jax adjusted it for the tenth time as he sat in his stall, the familiar pre-game rituals of the locker room unfolding around him. Dmitri paced in front of the whiteboard, muttering in Russian. Liam was in his usual corner, eyes closed, visualizing saves. Kane moved systematically through the room, offering personalized encouragement to each player.

"How's it feel?" Kane asked, stopping at Jax's stall.

"Like I'm looking through a fishbowl," Jax replied honestly. "Peripheral vision's fucked. Going to be tough tracking passes on the weak side."

Kane nodded, understanding the technical challenge. "We'll compensate. Ethan's been prepping all day for this. Kid's been watching Wilson footage like it's game film before the Super Bowl."

"What do you mean?" Jax asked, suddenly alert.

Kane shrugged. "Just saying the kid's dialed in. Been unusually quiet, too. You might want to check in on him before we hit the ice."

Across the room, Ethan sat silently taping his stick with careful focus. The rookie's usual pre-game chatter was noticeably absent, replaced by an intensity Jax had never seen before.

Before he could approach, Dmitri dropped onto the bench beside him, his voice low enough that only Jax could hear.

"You don't look right, big man," the Russian said bluntly.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Jax muttered.

"Not talking about your ugly face," Dmitri replied, gesturing to the shield. "Talking about what's behind your eyes. You're conflicted."

Jax glanced at his teammate, surprised by the insight. Dmitri's usual joking manner had been replaced by something more serious.

"I'm fine."

"Bullshit," Dmitri said softly. "I know that look. You're thinking about doctor girlfriend. About what she said."

Jax stiffened. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"My father was boxer," Dmitri continued, ignoring Jax's resistance. "Great champion in Russia. Kept fighting after doctors said stop. Now he doesn't remember my name some days." He tapped his temple. "Brain doesn't heal like bones, Thompson."

The words hit Jax harder than he expected. "The team needs me."

"Team needs you for long run, not just tonight," Dmitri replied. "Sometimes real strength is knowing when to step back." He clapped Jax on the shoulder. "Whatever you decide, we support. That's what family does."

Coach Vicky entered, game notes in hand. The room fell silent.

"Philly's watching tape as we speak," she began without preamble. "They're expecting to exploit gaps in our coverage. They're planning a physical game to test our resolve."

She paused, her gaze sweeping the room. "They're going to be disappointed."

Vicky moved to the whiteboard, diagramming matchups. "Thompson's back, running modified minutes with enhanced protection. We've adjusted the defensive pairings."

She highlighted specific coverage responsibilities, the X's and O's translating to real-world positioning that would need to become instinctive during the speed and chaos of playoff hockey.

"One final thing," Vicky said, her tone shifting. "You've all heard about the service dog program investigation. It's bullshit. Legal's confirmed the complaints were filed by the same Philadelphia connections that coordinated the bar incident. The league's security office is fighting back."

A murmur ran through the room—anger at the targeting of a program that had become important to the team, especially to players like Oliver.

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