AGAINST THE BOARDS

Four Years Ago – Blackwood University

The cold air in the Blackwood University rink bit through Reese Maddox’s jersey, but she barely felt it. She was used to it. The ice was her second home, the only place where everything made sense.

Her skates sliced clean lines into the surface as she glided across the rink, warming up for practice. Around her, the rest of the team was focused, stretching, passing the puck, running drills. But Reese’s mind wasn’t on practice tonight.

Tonight was different.

The press had set up cameras along the bleachers. Reporters stood by, chatting with coaches, flipping through their notes, preparing for interviews. Blackwood University was known for producing some of the best hockey players in the country, and tonight, scouts were watching.

It wasn’t just a practice. It was a showcase.

And Reese Maddox was determined to leave her mark.

She wasn’t just one of the best players on the women’s team—she was the best. She had speed, precision, and the kind of aggression that made her a nightmare on the ice. Coaches called her a natural, teammates relied on her, and opponents feared her.

But as she skated toward the boards, stretching out her arms, a loud laugh echoed from across the rink.

Reese’s eyes snapped up.

There he was.

Wesley Hart.

Even if she hadn’t known his name, she would have recognized him from the way everyone talked about him.

Freshman. Star recruit. The kind of talent that made scouts drool.

He had that typical golden-boy confidence, all cocky smirks and easy charm. His dark hair was still damp from his helmet, his strong frame relaxed as he leaned against the boards, laughing with his teammates.

Reese rolled her eyes. She hadn’t interacted with him much—not personally.

But she knew his type.

And she had no interest in dealing with another ego-driven hotshot who thought he owned the ice.

Then she heard the interview.

The Interview That Started It All

"So, Wesley, how do you feel about your first season with Blackwood?"

The reporter’s voice carried through the rink, clear even over the sound of pucks clattering against sticks and skates cutting through ice.

Reese didn’t mean to eavesdrop.

But then—he spoke.

"It’s been great," Wes said, his tone easy. Confident. Too confident.

"Blackwood’s known for developing elite players, and I plan on taking this team to the top."

Typical.

"A lot of people say you’re already shaping up to be one of the strongest prospects for the pros. Do you think the competition here has helped push you to that level?"

Wes chuckled. "Yeah, for sure. The guys here are insane. Fast, smart, physical. Every practice is like a battle."

Reese’s focus drifted, her attention shifting back to the drills. She had just turned away when the next words froze her in place.

"What about the women’s team?" the reporter asked. "Do you think their level of play compares?"

Reese felt her stomach tighten.

It was an innocent enough question. But the way Wes responded—

"Women’s hockey is… good," he said, his voice carrying across the rink.

"But let’s be real—it’s different. Less physical. Slower. If they had to play against us?" He gave a small laugh. "They wouldn’t last five minutes."

Silence.

For a moment, Reese thought she had misheard him.

But then, she saw the reaction.

The other guys laughed, some shaking their heads like it was harmless banter. The reporter chuckled awkwardly, scribbling down notes.

And Reese?

Her blood boiled.

She turned sharply, her skates scraping against the ice.

Was he serious?

After everything women’s hockey had fought for, after every grueling hour of training, after proving herself time and time again, she was supposed to just let that slide?

No.

Not happening.

She skated toward them without hesitation.

If Wesley Hart thought women’s hockey was slower, weaker, less—

Then she was going to make him eat his word.

The moment she stopped in front of him, Wes’s easy smirk faltered.

The laughter from his teammates faded.

Reese wasn’t sure if it was because she was one of the few people bold enough to confront him, or if it was the sheer intensity in her eyes.

"So," she said, voice even but sharp. "Five minutes, huh?"

Wes blinked. "What?"

"You said women’s hockey players wouldn’t last five minutes against you." She cocked her head. "Guess there’s only one way to find out."

A small crowd started forming around them. The other players, some of Reese’s teammates, even a few staff members.

Wes chuckled, but there was something guarded in his expression now.

"You serious?"

"Completely." Reese crossed her arms. "One-on-one. Me and you. Speed, accuracy, breakaway." She shrugged. "Unless, of course, you’re worried I’ll make you look bad."

His smirk returned, but it was forced.

"You won’t," he said simply.

Reese lifted a brow.

"Prove it."

By the time the one-on-one challenge was set, the entire rink was buzzing.

People were placing bets. Coaches were watching. Even the press stuck around.

And when the whistle blew, it became war.

Speed Challenge: Reese obliterated him. She skated the fastest lap, cutting sharp corners, pushing herself to the edge. Wes tried to keep up, but by the time he finished, she was already smirking at him from across the ice.

Accuracy Test: Five pucks, five targets. Reese landed every single one. Wes hit three. He cursed under his breath.

Wes charged at her, trying to overpower her with brute force. Bad move.

Reese was small but fierce. She twisted past him, faked left, then right—then sent the puck flying straight into the net.

Wes slammed into the boards.

The crowd roared.

And when she skated past him, just close enough for him to hear—

"Guess I lasted more than five minutes, huh?"

His jaw clenched.

The rivalry was born.