Booktok Ice Hockey Novels & Stories

Chapter 182: Third Person POV The man's fingers traced the glossy magazine cover slowly, deliberately, his touch almost reverent as it moved across the photograph displayed there, a hockey player mid-action, captured in perfect athletic form, his face focused and intense beneath the headline "Zane Mercer: The NHL's Most Elusive Star." The downtown Seattle penthouse where he sat was dark except for the ambient city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting shadows that made the expensive modern furniture look almost sinister in the dim glow.

Kai closed the distance between us like the ice wasn’t even there, skating boots clicking against the boards as he stepped off. His jersey was damp, hair sticking up where the helmet had pressed it down, and there was still a faint smear of blood at the corner of his mouth from that high stick. “Isla.” His voice was low, almost careful, like we weren’t standing in the middle of a post-game free-for-all. “You came.” My pulse did that stupid stutter again. “Sarah dragged me.”

He took a few more steps before he noticed, then turned back. "I played hockey," I said. "Not professionally. But I played from the time I was eight until I was sixteen. I captained my school team for two years." I paused. "The reason I stopped wasn't because I lost interest. It was because there was no path forward. No infrastructure. No one who knew what to do with a girl who was serious about the sport. I just hit a wall and there was nothing on the other side of it." He was watching me now.

Hockey is a brutally demanding game, not just the physical exertion but everything else that goes with it, hell some players have been seriously injured on the ice. My phone beeps, I have it on vibrate, it’s my sister Henri. “Hey you,” I say as I shift in my seat in the VIP area to get a better look at Alex skating below, he has the puck, it looks like he is going to take a shot. I hold my breath as Henri speaks. “I’m all good, just got the head librarian role and couldn’t wait to tell you. Mom and dad are so happy for me. And I’m seeing someone.”

There were tons of students who were reading this book in high school, it was mandatory freshman year. “What, does that shock you?” he asked with a grin. “Kind of, yes.” He rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to be so blunt about it. Just because I’m a dumb jock, doesn’t mean I don’t like doing things other than playing hockey.” I hated that I felt a little bad, he did have a point. “Sorry, that isn’t what I meant,” I muttered. He pulled up a chair and sat down backward on it next to me.

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.

“Yes, But It’s been more than a year though. How long have you been on the team?” “Almost 3 years.” She probably saw me play. Because I surely saw her at a few matches. As if she reads my mind. “Oh! I must have seen you play then... What is your number?” I can see her trying to recall. “13” She gasps and grabs my arm. “Lucky 13!!! You gave a slapshot last summer.” I chuckle and nod. A slapshot in ice hockey is the hardest move one can perform, so it was a big deal. She certainly knows about the game. I wonder if she attended these matches for someone? It’s none of my business, so I do not ask.

“I see you are reading a book.” “No, not really,” she muttered. “The book is just for show.” I sat down on the bed too and watched her closely. I took a deep breath before calling her name. She looked up, “What is it?” “I have been thinking…” I muttered. “How about you start playing hockey again?”

His teammates started joking that som‍ebody neede‍d to bottle whatev‌er ha‌d gotte⁠n into their captain. L‌ena went‌ to every‌ home g⁠am‍e she could, tuck⁠ed into the stands near the glass, and⁠ every sin‌gle time, every time, Ca⁠meron⁠ found her face⁠ in the crowd b‌efore t⁠he puck even dropp⁠ed⁠.

Antalya's POV The crisp air bit at my cheeks, but I barely felt it. The roar of the crowd was a physical thing, vibrating through the ice beneath my skates. Across the center line, Dominic loomed, a dark mountain of intensity in his gear, his focus entirely on me. The annual pack hockey tournament had become our unlikely battleground, a place where all our pent-up passion and competition found an outlet. “Ready to lose, little wolf?” he called out, his voice a low growl that carried over the ice and went straight to my core.