Books About Hockey Novels & Stories

“Accurate?” “Extremely,” I said, crossing my arms. “I prefer books to bruises.” Knox leaned on his stick, helmet dangling from his other hand. Sweat glistened on his temples, but he still smelled like mint gum and victory. Unfair. “Books, huh? What’s your poison? Romance? Mystery? Or are you one of those ‘I only read classics’ types?” I blinked. Was the hockey god actually making conversation? “Mostly fantasy. The kind with dragons, not… whatever this is.” I gestured at the entire rink like it had personally offended me.

As I walked past their room, I heard the hockey team mirror their girlfriends' laughter. Of course their friends had come to further add fuel. As I shut the room behind me, I immediately started packing up my clothes and when I was done, I finally put on my phone. Messages and calls immediately came in and I called the only person that mattered now, “Jackson, could you get me out of Cali tonight?”

END OF BOOK 2 The Mitchell-Volkov family's story continues in Book 3: "CHAMPIONSHIP ICE" - where new challenges in New York will test everything they've built, while Franklin's legacy influences decisions from afar and unexpected opportunities arise for Emma in women's hockey development. The question isn't whether they can succeed in their new life—it's whether they can maintain their family bonds while pursuing individual dreams on the biggest stage in professional hockey.

Ryan's whole life depended on these next 120 seconds. "Ladies and gentlemen!" the announcer's voice boomed like thunder. "This is it! Two minutes to decide who becomes the next college hockey sensation!" My stomach twisted into knots. Ryan was skating hard, sweat dripping down his beautiful face. He looked so focused, so determined. God, he was gorgeous even when he was exhausted. Then I saw him. Derek Stone. The devil himself gliding across the ice like a predator hunting prey. Derek was everything parents warned their daughters about - dangerous, wild, and absolutely ruthless. He had been kicked out of his last school for fighting, and now he played for our biggest rival.

Chapter 80: COLE's POV Eight years ago. Like every day after school, I spent my afternoons at my father's mechanic workshop, helping him fix broken car parts and engines that barely ran. I'd always had a passion for hockey. Always wanted to be part of the big leagues from the moment I discovered I was good at it. The small television mounted on the grimy wall flickered to ESPN—my father's favorite channel. On the screen was the latest NHL playoff game, and the star player glided across the ice like he owned it, eyes blazing with intensity as he scored the winning goal.

My hand stops. My pen hovers above the blank notebook. I have heard Eli speak dozens of times. Heated exchanges across study tables. Clipped words in hallways. The controlled precision he uses when he has decided to say something and means all of it. I have never heard him sound like this. Hockey has its own kind of music. The percussion of blades against ice, the crack of a stick finding a puck at the right angle. Beautiful in a kinetic, physical way. This is something else.

Riven The puck dropped again, and my stick dropped on the ice. I moved with graceful ease. I wasn’t chasing the scoreboard—sure I wanted us to win, but I was still chasing discipline. That was the game. If you should win, it was only just that you win fairly. But Sky… That idiot was playing with fire. Who could imagine that in the middle of all these people who were watching the game, right in the middle of these thousands of eyes, that stupid guy chose to use wolf-speed to play on the ice!

Specifically to the pages sitting next to his keyboard – a cover page visible with what appeared to be a very muscular torso sketched in pencil. “Cole.” He reached for the pages. Too slow. “Was that a romance novel?” He slammed his laptop shut like that would somehow help. “It’s literary fiction with romantic elements.” “There was a shirtless hockey player on the cover page.” “...Research.” Sienna looked at me. I looked at Sienna. For one second – one brief, ridiculous, beautiful second – the weight of everything lifted and we were just two girls in a boy’s apartment discovering that the 6′4" redheaded goalie with the deadpan delivery was secretly writing love stories.

The heavy betrayal from Lucas, the picture from the cafeteria, and Ann’s damning words vanished into thin air. The only reality left was the charged atmosphere between us. And Richard Rashford staring down at me with an intense, dark hunger in his amber tinted eyes. The thick sexual energy that had hummed between us in the gym came rushing back ten times stronger. And I don’t think I can resist it this time around.

“They’re just finishing up the group shots. Rhett’s been… cooperative enough.” I followed his gaze, and the world tilted. Out there, gliding easily across the rink with his team, was Rhett Voss. Full hockey gear clung to him like a second skin—shoulder pads, jersey, gloves, the sharp gleam of his helmet tucked under one arm. His dark hair was damp, his jaw shadowed, his shoulders impossibly broad beneath the gear. He wasn’t the tallest of the men out there, but it didn’t matter. He commanded space without asking. Without trying.