Page 106 of The Sin Bin

"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—"

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