The hockey star's rival

Chap.1

SONG OF THE CHAPTER: GETTING PAID BY SARZ, ASAKE, WIZKID.

JADE'S POV:

The air burns cold against my face, sharp as glass, but I don’t feel it. I’m already on fire.

“Think you can skate with us, Hayes?” One of the boys sneers, his breath puffing white against the arena lights. He’s taller and broader with his hockey stick slashing the air like a weapon. “This isn’t a playground.”

I tighten my grip around my own stick, sweat dampening my palms inside the gloves. My chest heaves, not from exhaustion but from the rush pulsing through me. The crowd, which is basically half of the school is pressed up against the glass, buzzes with anticipation. They expect me to back down. To drop my stick, to retreat like a girl should.

Too bad I’m not built that way.

“You talk too much,” I shoot back, voice steady despite the adrenaline roaring in my veins.

The ref barely has time to whistle before the puck drops. Instinct takes over. I dart forward, my skates slicing over the ice with practiced ease. One of the boys charges at me, his shoulder angled for impact. He wants to crush me against the boards, to remind me this is his territory.

I pivot sharp left, the blade of my skate carving a line so clean it sprays ice into his face. He misses, momentum carrying him straight into the glass. The crowd laughs, and something savage in me sparks.

Another player lunges in. I weave through him, the puck sticking to my blade like it’s an extension of me. They’re faster, heavier, but I’ve been underestimated my whole life. I thrive on it.

The captain himself blocks my path; six foot one, the school’s prized forward, and the one who started all this trash talk in the first place. His smirk says he already sees me flat on the ice.

“Go home, Hayes,” he growls.

“Make me.”

I fake right, then slice left, the puck sliding between his legs before he can react. My stick snaps it back and I launch forward, breaking past him. He curses, skates clawing for speed, but it’s too late. The goal is wide open, the goalie fumbling with his gloves.

I rear back and c***k; the puck rockets off my stick and slams into the net with a resounding clang.

The rink explodes. Gasps, shouts, a few cheers but mostly disbelief.

I turn back toward them, chest heaving, heart racing. My lips curl into a smirk I know will haunt them. “Guess I’ll stay a little longer.”

The captain charges, stick raised. I don’t move. I’m too tired of moving. Instead, I brace as he slams into me, the c***k of our bodies colliding echoing across the rink. Pain shoots up my shoulder, but I push back just as hard. My stick clatters to the ice, but my fists don’t.

Gasps ripple as my glove connects with his jaw.

“JADE HAYES!”

The voice booms across the arena like a thunderclap.

I freeze mid-swing, chest heaving, the captain sprawled at my feet clutching his face. The crowd parts as the principal storms onto the ice, suit stiff and expression even stiffer. Behind him, my parents. My mom’s hand is over her mouth, horrified. My dad looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole.

The fight is over before it really began.

~~~

The chair under me is too soft. Like it’s mocking me. I shift uncomfortably, my bruised knuckles throbbing against my thigh.

The principal sits across the desk, hands folded neatly like he’s preparing for a funeral. Maybe mine.

“This is the third incident this semester, Jade,” he says, voice clipped. His gaze flicks to my parents, who sit stiffly on either side of me. “We’ve tolerated a lot, given your… potential. But fighting on the rink? With half the school watching?”

“It wasn’t a fight,” I mutter, staring at the wood grain on his desk. “It was a lesson.”

“Jade,” my mom hisses, her nails digging into my arm.

I shrug her off, my jaw tightening.

The principal sighs like he’s aged twenty years in the last two minutes. “You are suspended. Effective immediately. We’ll review whether you should return after the break.”

My stomach clenches, but I don’t flinch. If I do, they win.

“You don’t understand,” my dad says, leaning forward, his voice frantic. “Hockey is-”

“-a privilege,” the principal interrupts, his gaze sharp as glass. “Not a right. Miss Hayes has repeatedly shown a lack of respect for authority and sportsmanship.”

That stings more than the suspension. I clench my fists, knuckles burning. “I’m better than them,” I snap before I can stop myself. “Every single one of them. That’s why they are angry. Just because I can skate circles around their precious captain.”

Silence crashes over the room.

The principal leans back slowly, steepling his fingers. “Talent without discipline is nothing, Jade. Remember that.”

I look away with my throat feeling tight.

~~~

The silence is suffocating. The city lights smear across the car windows, but no one says a word. My mom stares straight ahead, lips pressed thin, her hands white-knuckled on her lap. My dad is driving like the wheel insulted him.

Finally, he breaks. “What were you thinking, Jade?” His voice is low, controlled, but sharp enough to cut.

“I was thinking,” I say, eyes glued to the window, “that I’m sick of being treated like I don’t belong. I proved them wrong.”

“You embarrassed us,” Mom snaps, turning to glare at me. Her blue eyes which look like mirrors of mine, flash with anger. “Do you think colleges want a girl who starts fights? Who can’t control herself?”

The words sting, but I force myself to stay still, calm and silent. If I speak, it’ll explode.

Dad exhales, shoulders sagging. “We’ve tried everything. Coaches, camps, extra training, and this is what happens?”

I bite my lip hard enough to taste copper. They don’t get it. They never do. To them, hockey is supposed to be clean and polished, a ticket to scholarships. For me, it’s survival. It’s the only place I feel like I matter.

“I’m not quitting,” I whisper.

“You don’t have a choice,” Dad says. “We’ve already spoken with admissions. You’re transferring.”

My head jerks toward him. “What?”

“A boarding school. A month trial until the paperwork clears. Maybe the change will teach you some discipline.”

My stomach drops. “You’re dumping me,” I spit, the words tasting like betrayal.

“No,” Mom says firmly. “We’re giving you one last chance.”

~~~

The next week blurs with a haze of packing, arguments, and slammed doors. By the time we pull up to the boarding school, I’m numb. The campus looms in the winter air, all stone buildings and frost-covered rinks.

“This is it,” Dad says, forcing a smile. “Your new start.”

Like hell it is...

I haul my bag onto my shoulder, muttering under my breath. More like exile.

Inside, the check-in office smells like old books and coffee. A clerk rifles through papers, then frowns. “Hayes… Hayes… ah, yes. Room 207. Boys’ dormitory.”

I blink. “Sorry - what?”

The clerk looks up, confused. “You’re on the roster for Briar Academy.”

My mom stiffens. “This is the boys’ academy?”

The clerk nods briskly. “Due to a clerical mistake, Miss Hayes was placed here. But the headmaster approved it. She’ll stay until further notice.”

I gape. “You’re kidding me.”

Dad’s jaw clenches, but Mom grabs his arm before he can protest. “We said a month, Jade. Prove yourself. Or you come home.”

I want to scream, but the words won’t come. I'm screwed mehn.

The dorm smells like sweat, cologne, and something suspiciously like pizza grease. I step inside, dragging my bag behind me, only to freeze.

Three boys. Three sets of eyes snapping toward me.

The first; tall, jet-black hair and dark eyes like obsidian, leans against the wall with a smirk that makes my blood boil instantly. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Dominic Vance. I’d recognize his face anywhere; the golden boy of hockey, son of the legend Don Vance, and apparently my new nightmare.

The second boy is just as tall but softer somehow, blonde hair falling into warm green eyes. He grins like this is the most entertaining thing he’s seen all week. “Well, this is going to be fun.”

The third sprawls on his bed, flipping through a magazine. He looks up, eyebrow arched. “A girl? In here? Finally, the universe does something right.”

I drop my bag hard enough to make the floor rattle. “Don’t get comfortable. I’m not here to make friends.”

Dominic steps forward, smirk sharpening. “Good because you won’t.”

The air between us crackles, sharp as static. Caleb watches with amusement, Noah with barely concealed delight, but me? I’m already bracing for war.

***

That night, as the dorm goes quiet, I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the glow of the rink lights outside the window. My fists ache. My pride still burns and every instinct in me screams the same vow:

I won’t break. Not for Dominic, for this school or for anyone.

They think they’ve thrown me into the fire. Fine. Let them watch me burn brighter.

You know that's right, pookie!