Page 65 of The Sin Bin

The man behind her scoffed. "We didn't pay to watch him play smart. We paid to watch him do his job."

"His job is to play hockey," Lauren snapped, surprising herself with the heat in her voice. "Not satisfy your bloodlust."

Barb's eyebrows shot up. "Easy, tiger. These are the same guys who'll be buying those service dog calendars next month."

Lauren subsided, but her eyes remained locked on Jax. Between whistles, she caught him scanning the crowd. Looking for her? The thought sent an unexpected flutter through her chest.

With three minutes left, the deadlock finally broke. Marcus snatched a pass at the Chill blue line, then launched the puck up-ice to Kane who streaked in alone. The captain's hands moved in a blur—backhand, forehand—before the puck whistled into the top corner.

Revenge was sweet.

The arena detonated. Bodies jumped and swayed around Lauren as Kane was mobbed against the boards, his teammates piling on him in a frenzy of blue jerseys and flying gloves.

"That's hockey, baby!" Barb shouted over the din, high-fiving a stranger to her right.

The Phantoms yanked their goalie with a minute left, sending five attackers swarming into the Chill zone. Lauren's nails dug crescents into her palms as the puck pinballed between sticks and skates. Sixty seconds suddenly stretched like hours.

It looked like the Philly offense was taking a team picture in the Chill crease. They battled, skated, passed the puck out to the center who was waiting for it.

Lauren's breath caught. The crowd's roar faded to a dull throb in her ears. Philly's center's stick rose, Sven lunged desperately—

And then there was Jax, launching himself across the ice in a horizontal dive, his stick extended like a javelin. The puck deflected off his blade, skittering harmlessly away as the buzzer wailed.

The crowd exploded, their earlier frustration forgotten in the ecstasy of victory. All around her, strangers hugged and high-fived, the arena vibrating with collective joy.

Lauren cheered with them, her throat raw and her heart thundering. On the ice, Jax was buried beneath his teammates, only to emerge seconds later, scanning the stands until his eyes found hers.

Even from thirty feet away, his smile hit her like a freight train, stealing what little breath she had left. His gloved hand came up in a subtle gesture—fingers to his heart, then pointing toward her. Not a showman's move, but an intimate acknowledgment meant for her alone.

She returned the gesture, aware of the eyes watching them, of the phones likely capturing the moment, and finding she didn't care. Let them look. Let them whisper.

Some victories didn't show up on the scoreboard.

As the teams lined up for the traditional handshake, Lauren watched Wilson approach Jax with obvious reluctance. Whatever words passed between them were too distant to hear, but Jax's posture remained composed, professional despite what must have been significant provocation.

"I've never seen players clear a path like that for anyone," a woman nearby commented as Jax made his way down the handshake line. "It's like they're afraid to get too close."

"That's respect," her companion replied. "Thompson could end any of their seasons with one hit, and they know it."

The casual assessment of Jax's power on the ice—not just physical strength, but the authority his mere presence commanded—struck Lauren with new clarity. This wasn't just intimidation; it was a form of earned respect, even from opponents.

When the players finally headed toward the locker room, Lauren gathered her things, preparing for the now-familiar wait while Jax completed his post-game routine. Her phone buzzed with multiple notifications, including one from a sports blog already analyzing the game:

Thompson's Restraint Proves Decisive in Chill Victory

The subtitle caught her eye:

Has hockey's most notorious enforcer turned over a new leaf? Sources close to the team cite veterinarian girlfriend's influence as potential factor in Thompson's evolving play style.

Lauren frowned, unsettled by the narrative being constructed around them. Before she could read further, another text arrived, this one from Kane:

What's up, Doc? Great interview tonight. A few of us are grabbing a quick drink at O'Malley's to celebrate. Any chance you and Jax could join? Team would love to thank you properly for the service dog program.

Lauren hesitated, uncertain how to respond. She and Jax had scheduled their own private celebration, but she didn't want to deprive him of his team's celebration.

Before she could decide, another text arrived, this one from Jax:

Kane's asking about O'Malley's. Absolutely no pressure. We can stick to our original plan if you prefer.

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