Page 92 of The Sin Bin

As the plane accelerated down the runway, Jax felt a similar momentum building in his life—something gathering speed, something with direction and purpose beyond the next game or the next season. Something with Lauren at its center.

Philadelphia awaited with its tactical challenges and playoff implications. But for the first time in his career, hockey wasn't the only thing that mattered.

LAUREN

Lauren's phone rang at 3:17 a.m., jolting her from deep sleep with the particular dread that only middle-of-the-night calls can trigger. She fumbled for the device, heart racing as she registered Kane's name on the caller ID.

"Hello?" Her voice was rough with sleep but rapidly clearing as adrenaline surged through her system.

"Lauren, it's Kane." His voice carried a tension she'd never heard from the usually composed captain. "There's been an incident. Jax is in Philadelphia General."

The world narrowed to a pinpoint of focus as Lauren sat bolt upright, suddenly and completely awake. A coldness spread from her chest outward, familiar and terrifying—the same paralyzing fear she'd felt three years ago when the ER called about Mark.

"What happened? How bad is it?" She forced the words past the tightness in her throat, fighting to keep her voice steady.

"He got jumped after the game." Kane's clipped sentences betrayed his own stress. "Someone recognized him, things escalated."

Lauren's hand tightened around the phone until her knuckles turned white. Not again. Please, not again.

"Is he..." She couldn't finish the sentence.

"Orbital fracture, possible concussion." Kane's voice dropped lower. "Some facial lacerations. They're waiting on a full assessment."

Lauren swung her legs over the edge of the bed, the cold floor anchoring her to reality as her mind threatened to spiral. This wasn't Mark. This was Jax. Different man, different circumstances. She repeated the mantra silently, fighting against the memories flooding back—the hospital corridors, the metallic smell of blood, the police officers with their clinical questions about "prior incidents."

"How did this happen?" She grabbed a pair of jeans from her dresser, wedging the phone between her ear and shoulder. "Where was security? The team?"

"After the win, we went back to the hotel bar. Jax went up to his room early." Kane's voice hardened. "The local fans were waiting for him. We didn't know anything was going on until it was too late."

Lauren closed her eyes, seeing it all too clearly. The looming figures, the escalating voices, the moment when talk turned to violence. She'd witnessed that transformation too many times with Mark, had catalogued the warning signs, had learned to make herself small and invisible when it happened.

"Is he conscious? Can I talk to him?" She was already pulling a sweater over her head, gathering essentials.

"He's in imaging now."

The acid taste of fear filled her mouth.

"The police are involved," Kane was saying, "but witnesses confirm Jax was defending himself after significant provocation."

"I'm coming to Philadelphia," she said. "On the first flight I can get."

"I'll text you the hospital details and meet you there. He's going to be okay."

"Yeah," Lauren said on a shaky sigh. "Please tell him I'm on my way."

After ending the call, Lauren forced herself not to think as she got ready, but her hands betrayed her, trembling as she zipped her overnight bag.

THE PHILADELPHIA AIRPORThummed with early morning activity as Lauren navigated toward ground transportation, her eyes gritty from the sleepless flight. Every step toward the hospital felt like moving through molasses, her body heavy with exhaustion and dread.

The antiseptic smell hit her as soon as she entered the hospital, sending her mind careening back three years—to Mark's lifeless face, to the doctor's questioning glances at her, to the realization that everyone thought she was responsible for him getting into that fatal fight.

She shook her head, dispelling the memories. Focus on now. Focus on Jax.

Kane was waiting in the hallway outside Jax's room, his captain's composure showing cracks around the edges—shadows under his eyes, tension in his jaw, a coffee cup crumpled in his hand.

"Lauren," he said tiredly. "That was fast."

"How is he?" she asked.

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