Books About Hockey Players Novels & Stories

Noah~ I’d seen a lot of people try to fake control before. Athletes, especially. Hockey guys were the worst for it. All that chest-beating, loud voices and hard eyes, like if they looked confident enough nobody would notice they were falling apart inside. I had absolutely no idea why the fuckers couldn't just have a emotional outburst and be done with it.

Just hockey scholarships that barely covered basics and the crushing weight of debts that had defined his life. Adrian knew that and that was the entire point. The man had walked into Eli's room because he knew Noah couldn't stop him and he couldn't protect his brother. He had spent his entire life losing to money. It was the reason he played hockey, the reason he had stolen, the reason he had come to work for Adrian, the reason he couldn't protect Eli, and the reason Adrian had been able to walk into that hospital room and smile. His hands slowly curled into fists.

SLOANE I submitted the pitch deck at 6:00 PM. Three concepts. **Concept One:** A feature on Jax, the goalie — his visualization techniques, his pre-game rituals, the sports psychology framework he’d developed with the team’s mental performance coach. Angle: the invisible architecture of elite performance. **Concept Two:** A feature on DuPont, the former captain — his transition from Québec juniors to American college hockey, the cultural adaptation, the leadership philosophy he’d imported from a system built on different values. Angle: translation as a leadership skill.

Do you want to know why I think so? You see, once upon a time there was a girl that hated hockey and everything related to it, especially hockey players. She had a good reason as well. But suddenly Nathaniel Madox waltzed into her life and turned it all upside down. He made her realize that not everyone is out there to hurt her. He helped her see that as much as there were asshole hockey players, there was the same amount of kind and gold-hearted hockey players who were willing to top everything for those they loved and cared about.

“Oh, the usual leg day routine, I suppose. Some hip thrusts, Romanian deadlifts, and whatever else I feel like squeezing in.” Mr. Rashford narrowed his eyes slightly, a thoughtful look touching his sharp features. “And don’t you think you should incorporate a few targeted upper body and core exercises into that routine? You’re going to need significant shoulder stamina and physical endurance for the marathon construction hours in the upcoming final round.” “Hmm... that actually doesn't sound like a bad idea,” I admitted, looking back at him. “What specific exercises would you recommend?” Without a word, Mr. Rashford stepped up directly behind me. Before I could process the sudden proximity,

“Andre —“ It’s obvious that he is about to interrupt but Dylan scowls. One hand raising to cover the man’s mouth whose eyes open wide in shock. “You didn’t let me get a single word in last time, so it's my turn…Getting closer to you, spending time with you. Learning about fuckass hockey, that i never cared about before. Watching the way you lead your team fiercely and knowing just how kind and sweet you are off the ice—those are things I would never want to go back to not experiencing and it fucking sucks—“ he chokes on a sob, eyes pooled with water but he’s been holding this all in to himself and he’s going to combust if he doesn’t just relieve this crumbling pressure off of his chest.

PUCK OBSESSION (A Dark Hockey Romance) BOOK 6 Intro; People think being obsessed with a hockey player means posters, jerseys, and screaming in packed arenas. But For Kieran Vey, obsession looks different. It looks like memorizing the rhythm of his skates against ice, learning the exact second his jaw tightens before a fight breaks out on the rink, watching interviews frame by frame just to catch the rare moments when NHL golden boy Bryan Calloway looks genuinely angry instead of media-trained perfection.

"And I'll recommend that the league drop the investigation." "Thank you." "Don't thank me yet." Dr. Chen pulled something out of her desk drawer. A book manuscript. Thick. Printed. The cover page read: "Love on Ice: The True Story of Hockey's Most Controversial Couple. By Emily Chen, Ph.D." Damian's blood ran cold. "What is that?" "My book." Dr. Chen set the manuscript on the coffee table. "I've been writing it for six months. Interviews. Research. Analysis. It covers everything—your rivalry, your relationship, the blackmail, the shooting, the wedding."

Sleep always eludes me, I go to bed thinking about the games I just played, how I can be even better on the ice and how much I want to help our team bring home the Stanley Cup. It's been a dream of mine ever since I was a kid. I have signed posters up in my gym all housed in stainless steel frames of some of the great names in hockey, who’ve bought home the cup. Henri Richard, Jean Beliveau, Yvan Cournoyer and Claude Provost adorn the walls of my stark gym. I look at them when I work out, they make me want to be a better player. I want to be the best that NHL has ever seen. Right now, I’m their golden boy but I know it can’t last forever.

He trusted the read and he was right. I thought: that is the best hockey player I have ever seen. Not the most talented. Talent was different — talent was the raw material, the physical gifts, the speed and the hands and the sense for the puck. What I was watching was something that talent alone did not produce. It was the product of thirty-one years of paying attention to the ice and fifteen years of paying attention to the people on it, and it was being deployed tonight with a specificity and a freedom that told me something had been removed.