Page 25 of The Sin Bin

"Is it good for him, though?" Lauren found herself asking. "I saw how some fans reacted when he didn't fight Wilson. They seemed... disappointed."

Oliver made a dismissive noise. "Those aren't real fans. They just want blood. The guys who matter—the team, Coach Vicky—we all noticed what he did tonight. It takes more strength to walk away than to throw punches. But it's gotta be hard when your whole identity is built around being the enforcer."

Lauren considered this. "Does he ever talk about what comes after hockey?"

"Not really," Oliver said. "Most guys have some plan—coaching, broadcasting, business ventures. Jax keeps that part of himself private. I think maybe he doesn't want to hope for too much."

They arrived at his building, a modern high-rise not far from the water. "This is you?" Lauren confirmed, pulling into a visitor's spot.

"Yeah. Thanks for the ride. And for..." Oliver gestured vaguely, encompassing the evening's events.

"Anytime," Lauren said, meaning it despite their brief acquaintance. There was something inherently likable about Oliver, a vulnerability beneath the confident exterior. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

He nodded, then hesitated with his hand on the door handle. "For what it's worth, the fan girls have noticed. They're calling you 'The Mountain Tamer' on the forums."

Lauren groaned, covering her face. "That's ridiculous. And slightly offensive."

Oliver grinned, the expression transforming his tired face. "Welcome to hockey, Dr. Mackenzie. Nothing's ever just a little bit dramatic."

After making sure Oliver got safely into his apartment, Lauren texted Jax as promised:Mission accomplished. Oliver's home safe. How's the meeting going?

She was halfway home when her phone buzzed with his reply:Still ongoing. Liam's MRI tomorrow, but it doesn't look good. Team's on edge.

Without overthinking it, she typed:You did everything right tonight. I hope you know that.

There was a long pause, long enough that she thought perhaps she'd overstepped. Then:It means a lot hearing that from you.

Lauren stared at the message, something warm and unfamiliar settling in her chest. She was in dangerous territory, her carefully constructed professional boundaries crumbling with each text, each shared moment. But sitting in her car at a red light, the night quiet around her, she couldn't bring herself to regret it.

She hesitated, then typed one more message before she could second-guess herself:I missed our post-game talk tonight. Rain check?

His reply came almost instantly:Definitely. Coffee tomorrow? I know a place with maple bacon donuts.

Lauren smiled, remembering their conversation at the shelter where she'd mentioned her weakness for that particular pastry. He'd been paying attention to the little things, just as she'd been cataloging his preferences and habits without fully acknowledging why.

Perfect. Text me the details in the morning, she replied.

Goodnight, Lauren. And thank you. For everything.

As she drove the final miles home, Lauren stared at the empty road ahead, the implications of that simple coffee invitation settling in her stomach like stones. She was good at boundaries. Careful. Professional. Yet here she was, deliberately stepping over lines she'd drawn years ago. What alarmed her wasn't the crossing itself, but how easy it had been—like opening a door she'd always known was there.

Chapter Seven

Jax

The locker room felt like a funeral home. Liam's empty stall loomed like an open wound, the silence heavy with unspoken fears. Coach Vicky stood at the center of the room, her usual commanding presence muted by exhaustion.

"MRI results just came in," she announced without preamble. "ACL tear, grade three. Liam's done for the season."

The news sucked all the life out of the room, even though they'd all been bracing for it since watching their starting tendy helped off the ice. Eight years in the league had taught Jax that momentum could vanish in a heartbeat, playoff dreams derailed by a single twisted knee.

"What's the timeline for recovery?" Marcus asked, ever the analytical one.

"Surgery next week, then six to nine months rehabilitation," Vicky replied. "Best case scenario, he's back for training camp in September."

Kane ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in the gesture. "And what's the office saying?"

"Sven gets the crease tomorrow against Montreal," Vicky said, nodding toward the backup goalie who sat straighter at the mention of his name. "They're looking at trade options, but with the deadline a week away, we're not dealing from a position of strength."

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