Page 80 of The Sin Bin

Jax nodded, sucking air through his teeth. Playoff practices hit different—every drill with purpose, every rep with do or die implications. The margin for error had shrunk to nothing.

"Thompson, Adeyemi. Here. Now."

Vicky waved them toward the whiteboard while the forwards hammered through a separate drill at the far end. She scrawled new line combinations with quick, aggressive strokes.

"Philly's shuffled their lines since last meeting," she said, tapping the marker against Wilson's name on the second line. "Wilson's centering their grinders now, with those rookie wingers who can barely grow facial hair."

The Phantoms were a wild card pick that won their first round games. As luck would have it, the Chill would face them in round two.

Marcus studied the board with his usual laser focus. "They're isolating his volatility from their skill players," he observed. "Containing his chaos while maximizing his intimidation factor for the kids."

"Exactly," Vicky confirmed. "Which means Wilson's looking to set the tone early tomorrow. Especially after you embarrassed him last game, Thompson."

The unspoken message hung in the frigid air. Wilson would be gunning for him specifically—pissed about how Jax had ignored his bullshit and instead made the game-saving defensive play that left Wilson looking like an ineffective goon.

"Same system as Montreal?" Jax asked, already mapping matchups in his head.

"With modifications." Vicky's eyes narrowed. "I want you two against their top line primarily, but you'll see shifts against Wilson when I need it. Here's the deal—you play it smart, play it physical when necessary, but keep your ass out of the box."

Jax nodded, understanding the tightrope he needed to walk. Play tough enough to protect his teammates without taking penalties that could cost them playoff positioning.

"We can handle it," Marcus stated confidently. "Our metrics against physically aggressive forechecking systems show significant improvement over the past six games."

"Glad your spreadsheets agree with my eyes," Vicky replied dryly. "Now go work with Sven on low-slot coverage. Kid's still cheating on backdoor threats."

As they skated toward their goaltender, Marcus gave Jax a sidelong glance. "Your defensive positioning has improved 23% since implementing the adjusted neutral zone stance," he said casually. "Despite the rib limitations."

Coming from stats-obsessed Marcus, this was practically a love letter. "Thanks," Jax acknowledged. "Been working on it."

"Indeed," Marcus agreed. "As has your general demeanor. Off-ice factors appear to be having positive correlation with on-ice performance metrics."

Jax nearly caught an edge, surprised by the personal observation from his typically data-focused partner. "Off-ice factors?"

Marcus's expression remained neutral, though something like amusement flickered in his eyes. "Statistical analysis indicates players in stable personal relationships demonstrate 17% greater consistency in performance variables across high-pressure situations," he stated matter-of-factly. "Your recent metrics align with this pattern."

The formal phrasing couldn't disguise what was essentially Marcus's version of chirping him about Lauren. From anyone else, Jax might've told them to fuck off. From Marcus, it felt oddly like approval.

"Any other statistical insights you'd care to share?" Jax asked, allowing a small smile.

"Several," Marcus confirmed seriously. "But they would likely violate socially acceptable boundaries of conversation between teammates, according to Kane's frequent corrections of my observational commentaries."

Jax actually laughed at that, drawing startled looks from nearby players who rarely heard such a sound from him. "Probably smart to listen to Kane on that one."

The rest of practice was relentless—special teams drills, breakout sequences, defensive zone coverage that left Jax's lungs burning and ribs throbbing. By the final whistle, sweat plastered his under-armor to his skin, and the pain in his side had graduated from sharp stabs to a deep, pulsing ache.

As Vicky ended the session with final instructions for tomorrow's game, Jax's mind drifted momentarily to Lauren. The playoff schedule would mean less time together—especially if they advanced. Road trips, video sessions, recovery treatments. The rhythm of playoff hockey was all-consuming.

For the first time, he wondered how she would handle it—not just the reduced time together, but the intensity that came with elimination hockey. The way he changed during playoffs, grew more focused, more insular. Previous relationships had faltered under the strain. Lauren was different, but was she different enough?

After practice, Jax was heading for the trainers' room when Stephanie from PR materialized beside him, tablet in hand and fierce purpose in her stride.

"Thompson, got a minute?" she asked, though it wasn't really a question.

"Can it wait until after I ice these ribs?" Jax countered, already knowing the answer.

"This'll be quick." Stephanie guided him toward a quiet corner of the hallway. "I need you at the children's hospital next Tuesday. Photo op with the therapy dogs. The board's looking for more community engagement that doesn't involve you bleeding on someone."

Jax stiffened. "I've got recovery scheduled after the back-to-back—"

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