Page 71 of The Sin Bin

Jax traced a finger along Tripod's missing limb, his expression softening. "She reminds me of myself in a way," he said quietly, almost to himself. "Injuries change you, but they don't define you. She's adapted—learned to move differently, but still moves forward."

The unexpected vulnerability in his voice made Lauren's breath catch. For a moment, she glimpsed how deeply his own injuries—physical and emotional—had shaped him.

"Should we introduce them here or wait until we get home?" Jax asked, his casual use of "we" and "home" in the same sentence sending an unexpected thrill through her.

"Here is better," she advised, slipping into professional mode. "Neutral territory. And we can supervise the initial interaction."

Carefully, Jax placed Tripod on the examination table at a comfortable distance from Penalty's carrier. The tortoiseshell balanced easily on her three legs, her missing limb—the result of being struck by a car before arriving at the shelter—seeming to cause her no difficulty as she sniffed cautiously in the kitten's direction.

Lauren opened the carrier door, allowing Penalty to emerge at his own pace. The gray tabby stepped out warily, studied Tripod for a long moment, then chirped a greeting that sounded almost like a question.

"That's a good sign," Lauren murmured as Tripod responded with a rumbling purr. "Vocalizing is positive."

They watched as the cats engaged in careful mutual investigation, circling and sniffing with increasing comfort. When Penalty playfully batted at Tripod's tail and she responded by grooming his head rather than hissing, Lauren knew the match was successful.

"I think they'll be fine," she said, smiling up at Jax, who watched the interaction with evident fascination. "Penalty sees her as a potential playmate rather than a threat, and Tripod has maternal instincts despite never having kittens."

"Instant family," Jax observed with a hint of wonder in his voice. "Something they both needed. Something I needed too, I guess." He glanced at Lauren, then back to the cats, a flash of vulnerability crossing his features before he masked it.

Mrs. Peterson excused herself to complete the adoption paperwork, leaving them alone with the increasingly comfortable feline pair. Penalty had flopped onto his side, inviting Tripod to continue grooming him, which she did with devoted attention.

"They both needed someone, and now they'll have each other when I'm on the road," Jax said, his voice low and thoughtful. "Two broken little creatures making each other whole."

"And you?" Lauren asked, the question emerging before she could consider it fully. "Who do you have when you're on the road?"

"The team," he said. "They're family in their own way. But it's not the same as..." He gestured toward the cats, then between them, letting the implication hang unspoken.

Lauren's heart hammered in her chest. The wordsI love yourose to her lips, startling in their clarity and certainty. But she swallowed them back, not yet ready to voice what her heart already knew. Instead, she reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his.

The moment stretched between them, weighted with unspoken feelings. Then Penalty meowed loudly, breaking the spell.

"He always knows when to interrupt," Lauren observed, grateful for the moment's levity. "Let's get these two home and settled."

It took the rest of the afternoon to establish Tripod in Jax's apartment. Lauren had brought supplies—a second litter box, additional food dishes, toys designed for cats with mobility issues—and together they created spaces that accommodated both felines' needs.

Watching Jax arrange cushions to create easier climbing options for Tripod, Lauren marveled at the transformation in how she saw him. How had she ever thought him one-dimensional?

"You know," Jax said, adjusting a pillow for Tripod's benefit, "it's strange how these two represent us in a way. Penalty—all energy and mischief, getting into trouble and needing rescue." He glanced at Lauren with a small smile. "And Tripod—weathered, a little damaged, but still giving. They found each other through us. Like we found each other through them."

The parallel sent warmth spreading through Lauren's chest. "Our little family," she said softly, testing the words.

"Yeah," Jax agreed, his expression open and vulnerable in a way she rarely saw. "Our family."

The moment was interrupted by Jax's phone buzzing insistently. He grimaced apologetically as he checked the screen. "Coach," he explained. "I should take this."

Lauren nodded, turning her attention to Penalty and Tripod, who had discovered the window perch and were sharing it with surprising amicability. She could hear Jax's side of the conversation from the kitchen—brief responses, a few questions, his tone shifting from personal to professional.

When he returned, his expression had tightened, the relaxed openness of moments before replaced by a more controlled demeanor that Lauren had come to recognize as his "hockey face."

"Everything okay?" she asked, keeping her tone light despite the obvious shift in his mood.

"Team meeting tonight," Jax explained, running a hand over his short hair. "Playoff strategy. Coach wants everyone there."

"You need to go," Lauren concluded, understanding immediately.

Jax nodded, regret evident in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I know we planned to have dinner here, get Tripod settled..."

"She'll be fine with Mr. Collins," Lauren assured him, moving to gather her purse. "Cats are adaptable, and they have each other now. The team needs you."

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