Page 105 of The Sin Bin

Relief washed over him. She was reaching out. The door wasn't closed.

Never actually played. Long story. Can I see you tonight?

Her response came quickly:I'm at home. Come over when you can.

Chapter Twenty-four

Lauren

Lauren paced across her living room, phone clutched in her hand. She'd texted Jax as soon as her exhausting emergency surgery had ended and she'd heard about the chaos at the game. Her heart had been hammering in her chest ever since sending the message, fear and concern warring with the lingering hurt from their argument.

That had been forty minutes ago. Now every sound in the hallway made her look up, hoping it was him.

As she waited, her mind raced through everything that had brought them to this point. The injured kitten that first night. The service dog program. The late-night conversations. The way he looked at her—like she was something precious, something worth protecting. Her thoughts circled back to their argument, to the pain in his eyes when she'd walked away.

Had she overreacted? No—the fear had been real. Too real. Watching someone she loved risk permanent injury, watching history potentially repeat itself... it had triggered every protective instinct she possessed.

Someone she loved more than anything.

The thought stopped her mid-pace. When had that happened? When had this enforcer with gentle hands and fierce loyalty become essential to her life? She'd been so focused on protecting herself from potential heartbreak that she'd almost missed the obvious—that walking away from him would break her heart just as thoroughly as staying might.

The knock finally came, startling her from her thoughts. Lauren's breath caught. She crossed the room in quick strides and pulled open the door before he could knock again.

Jax stood in her doorway, tall frame held carefully to protect his ribs, the bruising around his eye still vivid but less swollen than yesterday. The relief that flooded her at the sight of him was so powerful it nearly buckled her knees.

"I heard what happened," she said, stepping back to let him in. "Everyone is saying Ethan jumped Wilson at the faceoff."

"Him and Wilson went at it so hard, they both got thrown out of the game," Jax said, moving carefully into her apartment. His deliberate movements spoke of pain he was trying to hide. "Wilson will think twice about trying for the kid again."

Lauren reached for him automatically, professional assessment taking over as she scanned his body. She'd spent the day imagining him getting hit, his orbital fracture worsening, his ribs cracking further—scenarios that had haunted her through every surgery she performed.

"You're in pain," she observed, noticing the tension around his mouth, the shallow breathing to protect his ribs.

"Ribs," he said. "I've made a decision about the next game."

Lauren's breath caught as she waited for the argument, the justification, the insistence that the team needed him anyway. "And?"

Jax met her eyes directly, no evasion, no barriers. "And I'm taking your advice. I've already told Coach I'm sitting out games four and five, regardless of how the series goes."

Surprise flickered through her. After their argument, after his insistence on playing through injury, this was the last thing she expected. "Just like that?"

"Not just like that," he admitted, vulnerability evident in his face. "It took watching Ethan throw himself at Wilson for me to see what I was doing. What I was risking." He took a careful breath. "What I was asking you to watch me risk."

Lauren moved to the couch, heart pounding at what this might mean, gesturing for him to join her. "What changed your mind?"

Jax sat carefully beside her, the effort it took not to wince making her ache for him. She resisted the urge to reach for him, needing to hear him first.

"When Vicky pulled me from the game, I was furious," he began, his eyes fixed on hers. "I'd gotten myself worked up for this big confrontation with Wilson, and suddenly it was taken away from me. I sat in that locker room watching the game fall apart, and all I could think about was you."

"Me?" Lauren asked softly.

"You." He nodded. "Your face when you talked about Mark. The fear in your eyes. I kept thinking about what you said—about choosing between one game and my future." His voice grew rough with emotion. "About choosing whether I wanted to be able to recognize my own children someday."

He reached for her hand, the gesture tentative, uncertain. "I realized I want that future. I want to remember names. I want to be whole. And most of all, I want that future with you."

Lauren looked down at his outstretched hand—those strong fingers that could deliver brutal checks on the ice yet cradle an injured kitten with impossible gentleness. She placed her hand in his, allowing their fingers to intertwine.

"I was so scared," she whispered, the admission costing her. "Not just of you getting hurt. I was scared of falling in love with someone who couldn't—wouldn't—choose his own wellbeing over a game. I watched Mark die because he wouldn't stop fighting. I couldn't bear watching that happen to you too."

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