Page 97 of The Sin Bin

"You look worse than yesterday," she said with blunt honesty, though her eyes held nothing but concern as she set down a bag of groceries and moved immediately to his side.

"Look who's talking," Jax replied, his attempt at humor falling flat.

Lauren's gaze assessed him with clinical precision. "You've been watching that garbage." She nodded toward the muted television still showing freeze-frames of the bar incident.

"Can't seem to stop," Jax admitted, reaching for the remote to finally kill the power.

Lauren's expression hardened with indignation. "They never show the whole story."

"Won't matter tomorrow," Jax said darkly. "Wilson's already telling reporters he's 'disappointed' I might not be in the lineup to 'finish what started in Philly.'"

Instead of responding, Lauren moved to the kitchen, returning shortly with water and his medication. "You're due for another dose," she said, her tone shifting to professional assessment. "The orbital fracture recovery depends on consistent anti-inflammatory protocol."

Jax took the pills gratefully. "They're helping more than I expected."

"Good," Lauren nodded. "When's your evaluation tomorrow?"

The question seemed innocent enough, but Jax knew what lay beneath it. The team doctors would determine his game three availability, and that decision would impact far more than just hockey.

"Ten a.m.," he said. "Coach wants a full assessment before morning skate."

Lauren paused in unpacking takeout containers. "Full assessment meaning...?"

"Meaning they'll evaluate where I actually am in recovery," Jax explained, watching her reaction. "The swelling's down more than they expected this soon."

"Reduced swelling doesn't mean healed bone, Jax."

"I know that."

"Do you?" Her voice had taken on an edge. "Because it sounds like you've already decided to play."

Jax didn't deny it. "I need to know what the actual medical assessment says. If I can play with proper protection—"

"Proper protection?" Lauren's eyebrows rose. "Like what? A cage that'll limit your peripheral vision against guys actively targeting you?"

"I know the risks," Jax interrupted, frustration bleeding into his voice. "This isn't my first rodeo."

"It's your first orbital fracture," she countered, setting aside the food containers and crossing her arms. "And combined with the concussion—"

"Which has improved significantly," Jax added.

"—it creates a risk that goes beyond normal hockey injuries," Lauren finished. "You know what the doctors are going to say. You just don't want to hear it."

The accusation stung because it was true. "The team needs me," Jax said, voice quieter. "We're up 2-0, but Philly's desperate. They'll come out swinging tomorrow."

"So your solution is to risk permanent damage?" Lauren's voice rose. "To put your career, your health, your vision at stake for one game when your team is already winning the series? They could win the next three games and you'd still be in the running to win the finals."

"That's way too fucking close," Jax countered, frustration building. The pain in his head sharpened with his rising anger, but he pushed through it.

"Two more games then. And that's only if the Chill doesn't win. There's a whole team without you, you know."

"You don't understand." The words came out harsher than he intended.

"Explain it to me then." Lauren's voice dropped, the quiet intensity cutting deeper than her raised voice had. "Help me understand why you'd risk everything for one game."

His phone rang with Coach Vicky's distinctive tone, interrupting their increasingly heated exchange. Jax hesitated, then answered, putting it on speaker out of respect for Lauren's presence.

"Thompson," Vicky's voice emerged without preamble. "You watching the pre-game stuff for tomorrow?"

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