Books About Hockey Players Novels & Stories

“What on earth is going on? Your father and I just saw the latest article. They’re saying you’re involved with one of your patients. A famous hockey player. Is this true?” I closed my eyes for a moment, already feeling exhausted. “Yes, it’s true. His name is Ronan Hale. He’s the goalie for the New York Defenders. I was assigned as his live-in physical therapist after his injury.” My dad’s voice joined in the background, sounding equally concerned. “Live-in? Honey, this doesn’t sound right. You’ve always been so professional. Now there are pictures of you everywhere and people calling you… well, things I won’t repeat.”

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.

I do not love hockey. I love figure skating, which I have done since I was four years old, which is how I ended up at Harlow on an athletic scholarship, which is also and this is the part nobody tells you at recruitment visits why I have complicated feelings about hockey players specifically. Hockey players share our ice. Hockey players have, on three documented occasions this semester alone, left ruts in the resurface pattern that my coach describes using language I won't repeat. Hockey players operate on the assumption that the rink is primarily theirs with figure skating as a polite inconvenience scheduled around them. I am not biased. I am informed.

Leo The most frustrating thing about NHL interviews was that very few of them felt like conversations about hockey despite the fact that hockey was supposedly the reason everyone occupied the room in the first place, because scouts could watch game footage whenever they wanted, analyze statistics with software far more advanced than anything available to players, and evaluate physical performance through endless reports compiled by coaches and analysts, yet when draft season arrived they suddenly became obsessed with personality, decision-making, emotional stability, leadership philosophy, and every other subject capable of exposing weaknesses that could not be measured on a scoresheet, whic

If anyone saw me, they’d probably say I was sitting too straight for someone in a living room, but I couldn’t help it. “Yes, sir. I’m listening.” He rubbed his palms together like he had been waiting all moment to say this. “There is a deal that came up. A huge one. The biggest national hockey offer we’ve received in years. It’s called the National Frostline Elite Series.” The name alone sounded like something that held weight and I could feel that. He continued, voice steady, “They are selecting the top players across the country. And Brad… they want you to lead our representation nationwide.”

“And you don’t want that to happen.” “I don’t want that to happen with a gun pointed at us.” Her arms crossed, that beautiful defensive instinct. “You know too much for a hockey team captain. Things no one else even understands.” “Side talent.” I glanced at the clock. Callum should’ve been on the perimeter by now. “Listen.” I leaned in. “I’ll say this once: whatever you’ve been feeling lately—exploding emotions, weird sensations, wounds healing faster—it’s not because you’re crazy. Your body’s not broken. Your body remembers something that was put to sleep.”

- Where Human Instinct Meets Artificial Intelligence. A campaign that would position hockey players as the perfect intersection of raw athletic ability and cutting-edge technology. It was revolutionary. Exactly the kind of breakthrough that could put hockey on the same global marketing level as soccer. I'd worked on this proposal throughout the night. Refined it. Perfected it. And now I was going to present it to the man I'd been avoiding for seven days. The man who'd destroyed his own father to save my stepfather's company. The man I might be falling in love with.

Don’t know what it is about the damn plane but I’d rather be on the bus than anything else. “I’ll be out of your way soon.” I hear Immi saying, bringing me back to the day I took the keys for this house and stood here with my proud parents just taking it all in. Me, some kid from this small-town who was obsessed with ice hockey. I grew up watching some of the greats and I mean the greats. Names like Alex Ovechkin, Jaques Plantes an oldie but a goodun and Steve Yzerman. They all inspired me to work my ass off and to get into ice hockey in school and throughout college. I have won more trophies than I count. I’m the top hockey player in the country right now and have I let it go to my head. Ok

Americus repositions herself on the edge of my bed like she's settling in to host her own personal talk show. "My brothers are absolute legends in the hockey world. Like, genuine locker room royalty. You should see these guys. Built like they were constructed entirely out of slapshots and protein powder, voices that carry across entire rinks, the kind of presence that makes other players either want to be them or challenge them to fights." I roll onto my back, staring at the stone ceiling of our medieval style room while processing this information. "That sounds absolutely exhausting to grow up around." "That sounds completely accurate based on everything you've told us," Riley observes, not

What exactly was so important that he had to hide it in there? Giving up on the safe, my attention shifted to a small library in the corner of the room. Unlike the dominating rows of business and law books—which made perfect sense considering he was the heir to the Vance empire—there was one bottom shelf filled with worn-out covers. They were hockey textbooks and strategy guides from when Ryder was in high school. I pulled out a thick hardcover book on the history of ice hockey with a faint smile, imagining how the ice-cold Ryder could be so obsessed with this sport since his teenage years.