Romans & histoires Hockey And Ice Skater Book

RYDER'S POV The sharp scent of Zamboni polish and sweat hangs heavy in the cold air of the rink, a stench that Ryder Knight usually breathes in like oxygen. Today, it tastes like ash. His skates carve hard into the ice, sending a spray of white shavings into the air as he dekes around a defender, his focus narrowing down to the net and the black rubber puck sliding off his stick. The scoreboard glows with a lead—his team is up by two—but the only number that matters right now is the one on the back of the jersey checking him from the periphery.

What was something real for her? Instantly, the answer came. Skylar loved art. She saw the world in colors and lines and textures. Hockey was my world, but art was hers and somehow, when we were together, those two worlds fit like pieces of a puzzle. I remembered the first time she’d come to practice even when she was dating Caleb still. She’d sketched Ethan mid-skate, tongue poking out in concentration, and later said to Ethan and I when we came over to see it “Ice is just glass that remembers where you fell.”

“I’m a little out of practice.” “A little?” He smirks, lazily gliding toward me. Effortless. Like the ice bends for him. “You look like Bambi on roller skates.” Heat surges to my cheeks. “You’re supposed to be helping me.” “I am.” He flicks a puck in my direction. “Rule number one: stop whining.” The puck skitters across the ice. Instinct kicks in I catch it on my stick, handle it without thinking. For a second, it feels right. Then my balance falters, and I stumble.

Lila's Pov The cold air from the rink still hit my face even though I wasn’t stepping inside. I stood at the entrance, holding my bag, telling myself I was only here to watch Harper practice. Not to play. Not to skate. Not to remember. The sound of skates cutting through ice used to be my favorite sound in the world. Now it just made my chest tighten. “You coming in or what?” Harper called from inside, leaning over the railing with her helmet under her arm.

Once upright, I shuffled my way back to the safety of the wall, gripping it like a lifeline. Too focused on staying upright, I didn’t see Henry peel himself off the ice. But a moment later, he was gliding beside me again, his hand gripping mine through my thick glove. He coaxed me away from the wall, encouraging me to venture further out onto the ice. Time seemed to melt away as I got the hang of skating. It was challenging at first, but under Henry’s patient guidance, I learned to push myself forward, make slow turns, and even stop without toppling over. I couldn’t pull off the fancy hockey stop he did, but I mastered the “plow” and felt pretty proud of myself.

SETHS POV. The ice cracked under my blades like bone. The sound, the weight of the stick in my hands, the thud of bodies against the boards—God, it was all fire. I skated like I wanted to disappear into the fucking game. Like if I moved fast enough, if I kept the puck near me long enough, it’d all burn away—the nightmares, the calls that never came, the silence from the one person I’d once said I’d kill for.

The tension from the locker room lingered like frost on the boards. Elias tried to shake it off as he and Elara stepped back onto the ice for their afternoon session. The rink felt smaller now, divided awkwardly between the graceful lines of figure skaters and the raw power of the hockey team sharing the opposite end.

I winced, looking at the ice, starting to panic. He laughed and pulled me onto the ice. “I know, I remember. Don’t worry, I’ll help you.” Liam and my brother played Ice hockey for the school; Jake was the goal keeper and Liam the striker. They had both been skating for years, but I had never been able to do it. I loved to watch people skate and always wished I could learn, but I literally couldn’t stand up. He grabbed both of my hands as I slipped and slid all over the place. He was skating backwards, facing me. “You’re bending your ankles in slightly, Angel. Try to keep them straight, that’s why you have no control,” he said, looking at my feet.

Clinton's POV The rink glows under the harsh white lights. Skates carve the ice like knives. Sticks rattle against boards. Pucks snap against glass. Cold air slashes at my face the moment I step onto the ice. This place doesn’t just wake me up…it ignites me. My blood feels hot, my muscles are tight, and my wolf, Black, stirs under my skin. “Helmets on!” Coach’s voice cuts through the rink, sharp and urgent.