Page 40 of The Sin Bin

"I know the feeling," Jax said. "During the season, nutrition becomes functional rather than enjoyable."

They ate in shared quiet for a few moments, the fatigue of the long evening settling over them both.

"Thank you for inviting me tonight," Lauren said finally. "I enjoyed it more than I expected."

"Even the awkward team interrogation?" Jax asked wryly, thinking of how his teammates had practically lined up to meet her.

Lauren laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Even that. They care about you. It's nice to see."

"They're nosy," Jax corrected, though there was no heat in it. "But yes, they're also protective. We spend more time together than with our families during the season."

"Your hockey family," Lauren observed, perceptive as always.

"Exactly." Jax studied her across the table, struck again by how right this felt—talking with her, sharing a meal, existing in the same space without pressure to fill every moment with words. "What about you? You've mentioned Barb, but are you close with your family?"

A shadow crossed Lauren's face. "Not particularly. My mother passed away when I was in college. Cancer. My father..." she hesitated, then continued with careful neutrality, "we speak occasionally, but we've never been close."

Jax recognized the deliberate distance in her tone—the same way he spoke of his own father on the rare occasions the subject came up. "I'm sorry about your mother," he said quietly.

"Thank you." Lauren's smile was tinged with sadness. "She would have liked you, I think. She had a soft spot for people who appeared tough on the outside but were gentle inside."

"Like you with animals," Jax observed.

Lauren looked surprised, then thoughtful. "I never considered that parallel, but yes, I suppose so."

"Is that why you became a vet?" he asked. "Because of your mother?"

"Partly," Lauren acknowledged. "She volunteered at animal shelters when I was growing up. Taught me to see the personality behind the fear, the potential behind the aggression. When she got sick my sophomore year, I switched majors from photography to pre-vet. It felt like a way to honor her."

The simple explanation carried weight, revealing layers to Lauren he'd only glimpsed before. Jax wanted to know more—every experience that had shaped her, every story behind her choices.

He rubbed his thumb over a small scar on the back of his hand, a nervous habit he'd developed years ago. "Was your father supportive? Of the career change?"

Lauren's expression hardened slightly. "No. He wanted me to finish the photography degree. Said veterinary school was too expensive, too competitive." She took a sip of her juice. "What he meant was that it was too ambitious for his daughter."

Jax waited, sensing there was more.

"My father..." Lauren began, then paused, seeming to choose her words carefully. "He had very specific ideas about what women should and shouldn't do. My mother's illness changed him. Made him more controlling." She twisted her napkin in her hands. "He never hit us, but there was a... volatility to him. Things would break. Doors would slam. Words became weapons."

The familiar description made Jax's throat tighten. He reached across the table instinctively, his hand covering hers.

"After Mom died, I applied to vet school without telling him. When I got accepted, he told me I was on my own." Lauren gave a small shrug that didn't quite hide the hurt. "And I was. Scholarships, student loans, three jobs. But I made it."

"You're remarkable," Jax said softly.

Lauren turned her hand beneath his, their fingers intertwining. "What about you?" she asked, her eyes meeting his. "How does a boy become an NHL enforcer?"

Jax considered how to answer, how much to reveal of a past he rarely discussed. "By being big early," he said finally. "I was always the tallest kid in my class, and hockey coaches saw that as an asset. But I was also clumsy with the puck, so they put me on defense and taught me to use my size."

"And the fighting?" Lauren prompted gently.

Jax stared out the window at the city lights, memories surfacing that he usually kept buried. "That came later. Junior hockey. I had... anger issues as a teenager. Coaches channeled it into something useful on the ice. Gave it rules, boundaries."

"Control," Lauren said softly, understanding immediately.

"Exactly." Jax met her gaze, finding no judgment there, just quiet comprehension. "Fighting in hockey has codes, expectations. It's contained violence, not chaos. That distinction mattered to me."

He took a deep breath, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of her hand. "My father was a mean drunk. Unpredictable. Some nights he'd come home and it would be laughs and presents. Other nights..." His jaw clenched. "My mother took the worst of it. Until I got big enough to step between them."

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