Page 61 of The Sin Bin

"Intense," Lauren admitted, settling into her seat as Philadelphia scored, drawing groans from the crowd. "What did I miss?"

Barb filled her in quickly—the Chill had started strong but given up a goal in the final minutes of the first period. "And your boy is playing like he's got something to prove. No fights, but he's laid out half their forwards with clean hits."

Lauren scanned the ice until she spotted number 67. Jax was at the bench, receiving instructions from Coach Vicky, his size and presence commanding even from a distance. As if sensing her gaze, he glanced toward the stands, his eyes finding hers with unerring accuracy despite the arena's size.

Something electric passed between them—recognition, acknowledgment, relief—before he returned his attention to the game. But that brief connection settled something in Lauren's chest, a reminder of what was real beneath the speculation and public interest.

"There's an article," she told Barb, passing her phone over. "Already making assumptions about us."

Barb skimmed it, her expression darkening. "Well, that's bullshit. 'Softening his image'? Please. Anyone who's seen him with those shelter animals knows it's not an act."

"I know that," Lauren said. "But the rest of the world doesn't."

"So you show them," Barb replied simply. "Starting tonight."

On the ice, play had resumed, and Lauren watched with new eyes as Jax moved through his domain. There was a fluidity to his skating that belied his size, a controlled power in each stride. When he delivered a thunderous check that separated a Phantom from the puck, the crowd around them surged to their feet with a collective roar.

"He's so good," a man behind them said to his companion. "Thompson's playing at another level tonight."

"Best I've seen him all season," his friend agreed. "That hit on Williams was textbook."

Lauren absorbed these casual assessments, struck by the respect in their voices. She'd been so focused on Jax's enforcer reputation that she'd underappreciated his skill as a hockey player—the strategic positioning, the precise timing of his defensive plays, the clean, powerful checks that stayed just within the rules.

During a TV timeout, the jumbotron displayed player stats, and Lauren noted with surprise that Jax had logged more ice time than any other defender—a tangible measure of his value to the team beyond physical intimidation.

"You're doing what?" Barb's voice rose an octave as she stared at Lauren during the break.

"Giving an interview about the service dog program during the second intermission," Lauren repeated calmly, though the butterflies in her stomach belied her composed exterior. "It's a great opportunity for the shelter."

"With Jax," Barb clarified, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "On camera. In front of twenty thousand hockey fans and whoever's watching the broadcast."

"Yes," Lauren confirmed, smoothing her dress nervously. "It's professional, Barb. We're discussing a service dog initiative and highlighting adopting regular dogs for the shelter."

"Uh-huh," Barb nodded skeptically. "And the fact that half the arena already thinks you're dating the team's enforcer doesn't complicate this at all?"

Lauren sighed, unable to entirely dismiss her friend's concern. "Look, we knew this was going to become public eventually. At least this way, the focus is primarily on the dogs."

"So you're officially acknowledging that there's something to become public?" Barb pressed, her expression shifting from skepticism to delight. "Lauren Mackenzie, are you actually admitting you're in a relationship?"

Heat crept up Lauren's neck. "We haven't exactly defined it," she hedged. "But yes, there's definitely... something."

"Something," Barb repeated, her grin widening. "Like, staying-over-at-each-other's-places something? Texting-all-day something? Meeting-the-teammates something?"

"All of the above," Lauren admitted. "But that's not what tonight is about. This is about the shelter dogs."

"Of course it is," Barb agreed with exaggerated solemnity. "Absolutely nothing to do with supporting your mountain man in a critical game against the team whose player he decked in that viral video."

Lauren rolled her eyes, though Barb's assessment wasn't entirely wrong. While the service dog program was genuinely important, she couldn't deny that being there for Jax during what promised to be a challenging game factored into her decision to accept the interview request.

"The service dog announcement is just good timing. A lot of people will be watching the game. Adoptions for the shelter could go through the roof."

"And the fact that you'll be openly associating with Jax in public for the first time is just a coincidence," Barb said dryly.

Before Lauren could respond, her phone chimed with a text from Stephanie with final details about the evening: procedure for the interview, suggested talking points, a reminder to smile.

"This is really happening," Lauren murmured, a flutter of nerves rising in her chest. She was a veterinarian, not a public figure. Her experience with cameras was limited to occasional local news segments about pet health, not arena jumbotrons and sports broadcasts.

"Second thoughts?" Barb asked, her teasing tone softening to genuine concern.

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