Page 9 of The Sin Bin

Dr. Mackenzie's professional demeanor faltered slightly, revealing genuine concern. "A kitten is a fifteen to twenty-year commitment. It's not a decision to make on impulse because you feel responsible for finding him."

Something in her tone—the assumption that he hadn't thought this through, that he was acting on some misplaced guilt—irritated him. It was the same tone Coach Vicky used when she thought he was being too emotional on the ice.

"I understand commitment," he said, his voice dropping lower. "I've been with the same team for eight years. I've been volunteering at the same shelter for five. I don't do impulse."

He saw her throat work as she swallowed, her eyes widening slightly at his intensity. Good. Let her see that there was more to him than what she'd witnessed on her television screen.

Barb broke the tension with a low whistle. "Well, I'm convinced. Lauren, why don't you show Jax his new kitten while I help Kim with Mr. Whiskers?"

Dr. Mackenzie shot her friend a look that promised retribution, but she nodded stiffly. "Follow me," she said, leading the way through a door marked "Staff Only."

Jax followed, acutely aware of the narrow corridor and how his broad shoulders nearly brushed the walls on either side. Dr. Mackenzie maintained a careful distance ahead of him, her posture rigid.

"His leg will require strict carrier rest," she said over her shoulder, all business again. "Remember, no jumping, running, or climbing for at least two weeks. After that, gradual introduction to normal activity."

"I can handle that," Jax replied, wondering why she seemed so determined to talk him out of this. "I've worked with injured animals before."

She stopped so abruptly that he nearly collided with her. Turning to face him, she seemed to gather herself, as if making a decision.

"Why are you really doing this?" she asked, her green eyes challenging him directly for the first time. "Is it a PR move? Your teammate mentioned the shelter volunteering, and now you want to adopt a kitten. Is this all about softening your image after that fight went viral?"

The accusation stung more than it should have. Jax had long ago accepted that most people made assumptions about him based on his size and his role on the ice. But for some reason, Dr. Mackenzie's judgment felt worse.

"I don't give a damn about my image," he said quietly, holding her gaze. "I like animals. Always have. They don't care what I do for a living or how many penalty minutes I rack up. They just care how you treat them."

Something shifted in her expression—not quite softening, but a flicker of uncertainty replacing the rigid judgment.

"The shelter where I volunteer has a policy," he continued, the words coming easier now. "Any animal I bring in, I'm responsible for until it finds a home. But this little guy—" he gestured toward the treatment area where the kitten was presumably recovering, "—he found me. Seems like maybe he already chose his home."

Lauren—and in his mind, she was suddenly Lauren, not Dr. Mackenzie—stared at him for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, a small smile curved her lips. It transformed her face completely, softening the professional mask into something genuine that made his pulse quicken.

"That's... actually kind of nice," she admitted, as if the words were being pulled from her reluctantly. "But I still think you should consider the long-term commitment. Especially with your profession."

The way she said "profession" carried weight, and Jax understood she wasn't just referring to the travel schedule.

"You mean the fighting," he said bluntly. "You think I'm too violent to take care of something small and vulnerable."

Lauren flushed slightly, but to her credit, she didn't back down. "I think there's a disconnect between what I saw on TV last night and what I'm seeing now. And that concerns me when it comes to placing an animal."

She took a step forward, surprising him with her boldness. "What I saw was a man who looked like he enjoyed causing pain. A man who's made violence his career. You can't just turn that off when you come home from work."

Her words struck a nerve he'd thought long buried. His father's face flashed in his mind – the way rage had transformed his features into something unrecognizable, how it had spilled from the bar into their home night after night.

Jax took a careful step closer, noting how she held her ground despite her obvious discomfort with his proximity. Most people instinctively backed away when he moved toward them, especially after they'd seen him fight.

"What you saw on TV is my job," he said quietly. "It's what I do, not who I am. I protect my teammates because that's what I'm paid for. But I've never—" he hesitated, the words catching in his throat. "I've never hit anyone outside the rink. Not since I was a kid and learned better. And I would never hurt an animal."

He paused, then added in a voice barely above a whisper, "I grew up with someone who couldn't separate the violence from the rest of his life. I swore I'd never be like him."

The confession hung between them, more revealing than he'd intended. He could see her processing his words, the professional assessment in her eyes slowly giving way to something more personal.

"That's exactly what concerns me," she challenged, her voice softening slightly but her stance still firm. "Violence as a job. I see what happens when men get paid to hurt others – it changes something fundamental. How do you compartmentalize that?"

Jax studied her face, recognizing something in her expression that went beyond professional concern – something personal that mirrored his own buried pain.

"With discipline," he answered honestly. "And by remembering that there's a difference between fighting to protect and fighting to hurt."

"Wait here," she said abruptly, turning to continue down the hallway. "I'll get the kitten."

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