Page 88 of The Sin Bin

"First," Kane announced, raising his glass, "to drawing first blood in the second round. One down, three to go before we advance."

Glasses rose in unison.

"Second," Kane continued, "to the people who make this playoff run possible—who handle our moods, our injuries, and still manage to cheer us on despite the chaos. With the series heading to Philly tomorrow, we need your support more than ever."

Jax's hand slipped into hers beneath the table. She glanced at him, caught off guard by the raw gratitude in his expression—nothing showy or performative, just honest acknowledgment that traveled straight to her core.

"And finally," Kane concluded, his expression turning serious, "to playing our game, not theirs. Wilson tried to drag us into the gutter tonight, but we stayed disciplined and took home the win. That's how champions are made."

The captain's gaze rested briefly on Jax, the reference to his restraint with Wilson unmistakable. Around the table, teammates nodded in solemn agreement, the collective understanding clear. They'd maintained composure under Philadelphia's provocations and come away with the crucial first win in the series.

As servers delivered appetizers, the formal toasts gave way to smaller conversations. Lauren was drawn into discussion with Oliver about the service dog program.

"Charlie helped me more than any meditation app," Oliver admitted, referencing the sensitive pit bull who had bonded with him and had been his near constant companion. "There's something about that unconditional acceptance that just resets my nervous system."

And from what Jax had told her, Oliver was being more vigilant about taking his medication too.

"I'm so glad you and Charlie found each other."

Across the table, Jax was engaged in conversation with Marcus and Sven, their discussion peppered with terms like "neutral zone containment" and "modified forecheck pressure." Lauren noticed how the younger players leaned in when Jax spoke, his words carrying weight beyond their tactical content.

"So how does it work tomorrow if Wilson comes out targeting rookies again?" Ethan asked, his voice carrying down the table. The young forward had arrived late, a butterfly bandage above his right eye and a subdued demeanor that spoke to his concussion.

The table quieted slightly, the question cutting to the heart of their game plan. Lauren watched as several players glanced toward Jax, waiting for his response rather than Kane's. The subtle shift in team dynamics wasn't lost on her—they were looking to the enforcer for strategic guidance, not just physical protection.

"We stick to the system," Jax said firmly. "Their goal is to make us react emotionally. Once we do that, we're playing their game, not ours." He took a careful breath, adjusting his position to ease pressure on his ribs. "Philly's counting on a revenge narrative tomorrow. They'll bait us early, try to get us off our game. Our job is to disappoint them."

"What about protecting our guys?" Dmitri asked, his gaze flicking to Ethan's injury.

"Best protection is making them pay on the scoreboard," Jax replied. "They take a run at one of us, we score on the power play. We keep our cool, play our game, and they'll get frustrated. That's when they make mistakes."

Lauren watched the team absorb his words. A year ago, based on what she'd heard about Jax's reputation, his answer might have centered on physical retribution. Now, he was advocating for strategic discipline—a fundamental evolution in his approach to the game.

Kane nodded approvingly from the head of the table. "Exactly right. That's veteran leadership right there."

As their main courses arrived, conversation shifted toward team-wide topics.

"Tomorrow's game in their barn is crucial," Kane noted between bites of pasta. "Going up 2-0 in the series before they get any momentum would put us in control."

"Their home record is formidable," Marcus observed. "Win percentage increases 17.3% on their home ice, and their power play efficiency jumps by 4.2 percentage points."

"We'll be ready," Jax stated simply. "Tonight's system adjustments handled their forecheck effectively. We just need to execute the same way on the road, even with their last change advantage."

Lauren noticed a muscle twitching in Jax's jaw as he shifted in his chair—a telltale sign of pain he was trying to mask. The server refilled his water glass, and as he reached for it, Lauren caught the slight tremor in his hand. He was hurting far more than he was letting on.

Allison caught up to her in the ladies room. While refreshing her makeup, she said, "Surviving your first official team dinner?"

"It's better than I expected. It's still hard to see him in pain," Lauren confessed. "What's worse is knowing someone's targeting him specifically."

"That never gets easier," Allison agreed. "And Kane tells me Philadelphia is just the beginning. If we advance, the next round gets even more physical."

Lauren's stomach clenched at the implication. "Three more games."

"Three more games," Allison echoed, "before potentially seven more against an even tougher opponent." She hesitated. "I don't mean to scare you, but... playoff hockey is like nothing else. The deeper they go, the more guys play through things that would sideline normal humans for weeks."

Lauren took a slow breath, absorbing Allison's warning. "He's already pushing through more than he should."

"They all do," Allison said quietly. "But the veterans like Jax and Kane..." She shook her head. "They've learned to hide it better. That's what worries me most—not what they tell us, but what they don't."

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