Page 5 of The Sin Bin

Lauren felt Dmitri's curious gaze turn to her. She kept her focus on the IV catheter she was securing to the kitten's tiny leg, but could feel his eyes tracking her movements. The weight of his attention made her shoulders tense. Hockey players. Always taking up more space than they needed.

"You are doctor for animals? This is good. Jax loves animals. Always at shelter, playing with dogs nobody wants."

She glanced up involuntarily at that, catching the flash of embarrassment that crossed Jax Thompson's face. Not the reaction she'd expected from a man who had just been broadcasting his violence on national television. The muscle in his jaw tightened, like he'd been caught in something private.

"He volunteers at Parkside Animal Rescue," the Russian continued, oblivious to his teammate's discomfort. "Every Tuesday and Thursday. The big scary dogs that growl at everyone else? They follow him like puppies."

"Dmitri," Jax warned, his deep voice somehow both gentle and full of authority. It was the voice of a man used to being obeyed.

But Lauren couldn't unhear the information. An enforcer who spent his off-days at an animal shelter? The mental image refused to form—like trying to fit together puzzle pieces from different boxes.

She studied him more closely now. The bruising along his jaw was already darkening, a nasty one that would be deep purple by morning. His knuckles were split in multiple places, the kind of wounds that should have been cleaned and bandaged hours ago. The way he held himself, rigid and slightly tilted to one side, spoke of rib pain that he was trying to hide.

But it was his eyes that kept drawing her attention—dark and watchful, incongruously gentle as they followed her movements with the kitten. Not at all the cold, rage-filled eyes she'd seen on the television moments before.

Something shifted in Lauren's perception, subtle but undeniable. The image of the enforcer on the ice didn't align with the man standing in her exam room, watching anxiously as she treated a stray kitten. And that dissonance bothered her far more than it should have. It would be easier if he were just the thug she'd seen on television—another violent man to file neatly in the mental box labeled "avoid at all costs."

The kitten mewled weakly as she adjusted the fluid rate, and their hands brushed accidentally. The brief contact sent an unexpected jolt through her fingers, up her arm, straight to her core. His skin was warm, the texture of calluses a stark contrast to her smoother hands. Their eyes met over the kitten, and in that fleeting moment, a current passed between them—a recognition of something unnamed but undeniably present.

Lauren yanked her hand back as if burned, knocking over a tray of supplies. Jax reached out automatically to steady it, his reflexes surprisingly quick for such a large man. Their hands collided again, this time with his fingers curling briefly around her wrist to stabilize her. Five points of heat branded her skin where his fingertips made contact.

"Sorry," they said simultaneously, and Lauren stepped back, needing distance from whatever had just happened.

"The kitten is severely dehydrated, and I want to monitor him for internal injuries. You can call tomorrow to check on him," she said, directing her words to Jax and deliberately keeping her tone professional. Distance. She needed distance from whatever was happening here.

Jax nodded, then hesitated. His massive frame shifted, and Lauren tensed reflexively. Men that big made her nervous, a lesson learned the hard way. But he only rubbed the back of his neck, a surprisingly vulnerable gesture.

"And if he makes it? What happens to him then?"

The question caught her off guard. Most people who brought in strays didn't ask about the after. They did their good deed and moved on, conscience clear. But there was genuine concern in his voice.

"He'll go to the shelter, when he's healthy enough." She tried to keep her voice neutral, but even she could hear the resignation in it. The overcrowded municipal shelter was hardly a happy ending for a kitten this fragile.

Something darkened in his eyes. Not anger—she'd seen enough of that to recognize it—but a shadow of grief that seemed out of proportion to the situation. "Is it a kill shelter?"

The words were soft, but they held a weight that made her pause. Lauren felt her professional detachment waver. The municipal shelter's high euthanasia rate was an open wound for every vet in the city.

"That's not up to me, Mr. Thompson." She heard the defensive edge in her own voice and hated it. This wasn't her fault. She couldn't save them all.

"Jax," he corrected automatically, his eyes still on the kitten. "Call me Jax."

She squared her shoulders slightly, reinforcing the boundary. "Dr. Mackenzie," she returned pointedly. The title was her armor—hard-earned and necessary. Especially with men who made their living with their fists.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips, softening the hard planes of his face in a way that stirred something in her belly. "Lauren?" he asked, clearly having read her name tag that was pinned to her scrub top, just above where her heart was beating a little too fast for her liking.

"Dr. Mackenzie will do." Her words came out crisper than intended, a reflex from years of male clients who thought a female vet should welcome the familiarity of first names and casual touches.

Dmitri glanced between them, a knowing smile spreading across his face. "Oh, this is interesting," he stage-whispered, his accent making the words sound like a delighted discovery. "She is not impressed by you, Jax. This is new."

Heat crept up Lauren's neck. She turned away, busying herself with adjusting the kitten's warming blanket. The last thing she needed was to become part of some locker room gossip.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Jax shoot his teammate a look that would have made most men step back. The transformation was instantaneous—his face hardening into the mask she'd seen on television. For a split second, she glimpsed what opponents on the ice must see, and an instinctive chill ran through her. But Dmitri just grinned wider, apparently immune to the intimidation.

The moment passed as quickly as it had come, and Jax's features softened again as he turned back to her. The dichotomy was jarring. Which version was real? The enforcer or the gentle giant? Lauren had learned the hard way that men who could switch their anger on and off were the most dangerous kind.

"We'll get out of your way, Doc," Jax said. "But I'll call tomorrow about the kitten."

"Fine," she agreed, turning her attention back to her patient. The kitten's breathing had steadied, a good sign. She should be focusing on that, not on trying to reconcile the contradiction standing six-foot-four in her exam room. "You might want to get those knuckles looked at. And the ribs. You're favoring your left side."

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