Page 14 of The Sin Bin

"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.

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