Novel & Cerita Hockey Booktok Drama

"Twice. You didn't pick up." I pulled off my gloves and dropped them on the desk. "I was on the ice." "I know where you were." She set the leather folder on the desk and opened it without ceremony. "Sit down, Luca." I sat… She laid three printed pages in front of me. The first was a screenshot collection, fan accounts and sports commentary, all circling the same exhibition game footage I had been trying to stop thinking about for four days. The second was a social media analytics report with certain sections highlighted in yellow. The third was an article from a mid-tier sports culture site with the headline underlined in red pen: *Devereaux and Calloway: Hockey Rivalry or Something Else?*

“You’re bad at lying.” “I’m not lying,” she says. “I’m being hopeful.” “I don’t want hope,” I say. “I want peace.” She studies me. “Then why are you still shaking?” I look down. My hands are clenched into fists. “I don’t want him to win,” I whisper. Maddie’s voice softens. “You won’t.” “Ryan thinks I’ll disappear,” I continued. “He thinks I’ll stay quiet. He thinks he can rewrite ten years like I never mattered.”

But I was desperate, and here I am in this mess. Ugh! Fuck my life. Well, this will be over soon. After I graduate in a few months, I'll take a few part-time jobs, and pay up my loans, but for now, I need to head back to the arena and watch the conclusion of the hockey match... I need to see Noah Boulevard ace this match as usual. Oh… It's the 2025 Stormbridge's interschool ice hockey competition. I rushed towards the ice hockey arena, but tripped over something, my knees cracking against the tiled floor as I dropped to the floor.

Jessica reminded me in a frantic, hushed tone. I smirked, remembering the sheer thrill of it. An hour ago, Jessica and I had snuck into campus and broken into the hockey team's locker room. It hadn't been hard to guess which locker belonged to Saxton. The arrogant prick practically had his name carved into the metal in bold letters. Armed with nothing but a pair of bobby pins and my own stubbornness, I had opened the lock in seconds and carefully loosened the nuts on his favorite skates. "Don't you think that's a little too dangerous, Sarah? What if he gets seriously injured? He has a massive game on Monday,"

As soon as the referee’s whistle blew and the championship tournament officially began, the stadium exploded into a deafening roar. The puck dropped onto the smooth ice, and the battle was instantly on. The Hawks were an incredibly skilled and disciplined team, but their European opponents were an absolute nightmare to face physically. Every single one of the European players was huge, towering over six feet tall, built like solid brick walls, and playing with an intensely rough and tough style. They slammed their heavy bodies against the boards, swinging their hockey sticks aggressively. However, Julian quickly realized something as he skated smoothly across the ice. The Europeans played ro

"To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" Duncan MacLeod. One of the most connected people in the hockey world. Not a player, not a coach, but something in between. The guy who made deals happen, who knew everyone's secrets, who could get you anything you wanted for the right price. We had history. Not good history. But history nonetheless. "I need information," I said. "Don't you always," Duncan said. "And here I thought you called just to chat. Catch up on old times. Reminisce about that time in—"

] "A haunted toaster? You’d have to write it, wouldn't you?" Axel: [He laughs, looking at me with genuine warmth.] "Don't tempt her, Michael. She’s crazy enough to do it." Me: "Believe me, I am. Now get out of here. Go home, bake your chicken, and leave me to my coffee. And Michael? Take your damn gear off the kitchen island." AUTHOR'S NOTE Well, we did it. We actually made it to the end. If you are reading this, you have survived dozens of chapters of hockey drama, nursing school stress, billionaire-level family dysfunction, and enough domestic tension to power a small city.

Lena’s POV Professor Mako was on one of his usual tangents again, this time using scenes from adult romance e-books to “teach emotional expression in speech.” Honestly, sometimes I wondered if he even remembered we were a university class and not actors auditioning for some dramatic, unnecessarily steamy theater play. “And then,” he read dramatically, raising a brow as if the next line held the key to life itself, “he pressed her against the wall, his voice low, ‘Do you want me to stop?’”

a commentator started off. “Oh, come on, Derrick… having the upper hand has never once worked in hockey. If the Red Deers can defeat the Blackhawks, then the U.S. will be happy today.” I continued watching the game, with Easton carrying his group and then a score against the Red Deers. “She's not fit for him. I had no idea he was engaged,” I heard behind me. I turned, and both girls stopped their small talk. I noticed the way they acted like their eyes weren't on me.

Lena’s POV I tried to keep my face neutral, to just be Lena Brooklyn at hockey practice, but every sound was sharper, every movement in my peripheral vision felt like a potential threat. My body was a live wire, still humming from everything I’d learned. His eyes burned into me, unrelenting.