The Radioactive Liability

Jaxson

The ice didn’t care about headlines.

On the rink, the world narrowed down to the sharp, metallic bite of winter, the rhythmic crunch scrape of customized CCM blades carving up the surface, and the heavy, rhythmic thrum of blood in Jaxson Reed’s ears.

Out here, he wasn't a PR nightmare.

He wasn’t the guy whose face was plastered across every sports blog under the words ASSAULT CHARGES PENDING?

He was just a defenseman.

A damn good one.

Jaxson caught a loose puck off the boards, pivoted on a dime, and drove a slap shot straight into the top shelf of the empty net.

The loud, echoing ping of the puck striking the crossbar vibrated through the empty arena.

"Nice shot. Too bad it won't fix your draft stock."

Jaxson didn't need to look up to know who it was.

He skated slowly toward the bench, pulling off his gloves and leaning against the plexiglass.

Standing there in a tailored wool coat that cost more than Jax’s entire hockey gear setup was Marcus Vance, the athletic director for Eastern University.

Next to him stood Coach Miller, looking like he’d aged ten years in the last forty-eight hours.

"I didn't do anything wrong," Jaxson said, his voice flat, stripped of the exhaustion pulling at his muscles.

He ripped his helmet off, shaking out damp, dark blonde hair.

“The guy was laying hands on a girl outside the diner. I pulled him off. That’s it."

"That’s your version, Jaxson," Vance said, tapping a polished finger against his leather clipboard.

“The 'guy' you pulled off happens to be the son of a major university donor. And the police report says you initiated physical contact in a public space. There’s a video floating around TikTok, Reed. It’s blurry, it looks aggressive, and the media is eating it alive. Deadspin is calling you a ticking time bomb. The NHL scouts? They’re deleting your text threads."

Jaxson’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.

The injustice of it burned like acid in his throat.

He had spent his entire life working toward the NHL entry draft.

He’d survived a brutal childhood, an absent father, and sacrificed every normal teenage experience to wear the C on his jersey for the Eastern University Bulldogs.

And now, a thirty-second viral video clip taken out of context was about to flush it all down the drain.

"Coach," Jaxson turned to Miller, his voice dropping an octave, tinged with a rare note of desperation.

"You know who I am. You know I don’t start fights."

Miller sighed, looking down at his clipboard.

“It doesn't matter what I know, Jax. The Board of Regents is breathing down my neck. They want you suspended from the team effective immediately. If you don't play this season, your draft year is dead. You’ll be a free agent nobody wants to touch."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

The cold air of the rink suddenly felt like it was crushing Jaxson’s chest.

Without hockey, he had nothing.

He had no backup plan.

If he lost his scholarship, he couldn't even afford the train ride back to his hometown, let alone tuition.

"So what are we doing?" Jaxson asked, his eyes darting between his coach and the athletic director.

“There has to be a loophole. A statement we can release."

"Statements don't work anymore," Vance replied, a cold, calculating smile spreading across his face.

"The public doesn't want an apology written by a PR firm. They want redemption they can see. Which brings us to the university’s newest corporate partnership."

Vance pulled a glossy, colored pamphlet from his folder and slapped it onto the top of the team bench. Jaxson looked down.

Printed in bold, obnoxious neon lettering across a backdrop of a hockey rink was the title: BEYOND THE ICE: CAMPUS ROMANCE.

Jaxson frowned. "What the hell is this?"

"It’s a new reality television concept produced by the streaming giant, HypeTV," Vance explained, sounding entirely too proud.

“They’re filming on campus this semester. It’s a docu-series following high-profile student-athletes and their relationships. The network wants access to our athletic facilities. The university wants the multi-million-dollar broadcasting f*e."

"Good for the school," Jaxson said, grabbing his water bottle. "What does that have to do with me?"

"The network needs a lead couple," Vance said smoothly.

“And you need a total image rehabilitation. We’ve struck a deal with the executive producer. If you agree to be the star of the show, and if you can show the world that you are a reformed, stable, committed young man in a wholesome, monogamous relationship the university will defer your suspension. You stay on the ice. You keep your draft prospects alive."

Jaxson stared at him, utterly dumbfounded.

“You want me to do a reality show? About my dating life? I don’t have a dating life, Vance. I spend twelve hours a day at the rink or in the gym."

"Which is exactly why we are going to cast someone for you," Vance said.

“A fake girlfriend. Someone clean.

Someone with zero baggage, a spotless academic record, and a face the camera loves.

You play the part of the doting, reformed boyfriend for twelve weeks. The cameras capture your redemption arc. You get your NHL contract, and the university gets its PR nightmare cleared up."

Jaxson let out a harsh, bitter laugh.

“And what if I say no?"

Coach Miller looked up, his eyes heavy with grim reality.

“Then pack your locker by midnight, Jaxson. You're off the team."