Hockey Love Books Novels & Stories

I could spend the rest of my life in this library, reading everything here. I could afford these books, buy them and keep them forever. But something about buying them outright made it feel too…real. My father was the kind of man who thought reading literature was pointless and soft. If he ever found out how much I actually loved it, it’d open a can of worms I wasn’t ready for. It was bad enough that I didn’t enjoy hockey as passionately as he wanted me to. I didn’t need another lecture about “wasting my time” on “books that don’t mean anything.” There would be a lot of arguments where he’d grill me as to why I spent my free time reading instead of practicing. It was just a lot of questions

My entire body stilled. The Khaelon Dravik. Star hockey player. Heir to the Dravik fortune. Captain of the undefeated Hockey Team. The face on every student poster, the name on every varsity jersey. The one everyone talked about like he was myth wrapped in flesh. Unreachable and my ultimate crush. My first love even if he never knew it. I used to watch his games through a cracked laptop screen, memorizing the sharp angles of his jaw under his helmet, the vicious grace of how he skated across the rink like a storm no one could stop. He didn’t just play, he dominated. And now, here he was.

“Yeah. I did.” I glanced down, then back up, feeling a bit more steady. “Look, I do love sports. I grew up around it—my dad’s obsessed, so I didn’t have much choice. But somewhere along the way, I started paying attention for myself. Especially hockey. That’s my real weakness.” A faint spark of interest showed in his eyes. “Hockey?” “Above everything else,” I said, a little more animated now. “The speed, the strategy, the chaos. Nothing else hits the same.”

"I'll see what I can do." Before he could engage her in further conversation she picked up The Cup and carried it into her office, kicking the door shut on the way. For a moment she just stood there, holding the giant iconic award. She was barely an average hockey fan. In fact, when Matt Vorchak chose hockey over her she came to bitterly resent the game. But here he was, holding his dreams in his arms.

Chapter 80: COLE's POV Eight years ago. Like every day after school, I spent my afternoons at my father's mechanic workshop, helping him fix broken car parts and engines that barely ran. I'd always had a passion for hockey. Always wanted to be part of the big leagues from the moment I discovered I was good at it. The small television mounted on the grimy wall flickered to ESPN—my father's favorite channel. On the screen was the latest NHL playoff game, and the star player glided across the ice like he owned it, eyes blazing with intensity as he scored the winning goal.

Chapter One Allison If my brother Zane found out what I was wearing under his best friend’s hockey jersey, he’d probably have a stroke right here in the luxury suite. The jersey belonged to Roman Greyson. Number 87. It was massive, made of heavy black-and-silver mesh that swallowed my frame, smelling exactly like him—expensive cedar wood, icy rink air, and a faint hint of pure, intoxicating male heat. It fell down to the middle of my thighs, completely hiding the ultra-tight, emerald-green silk dress I’d poured myself into for later.

He held me tighter, one hand still rubbing soothing circles on my back, the other cradling the back of my head. I buried my face deeper into his neck, letting the tears fall freely. In the quiet of his arms, memories flooded me — the crisp sound of blades cutting ice, the roar of the crowd, the burning in my lungs as I pushed harder, faster. Hockey wasn’t just a sport to me. It wasn’t even a career. It was my lifeline. The one thing that pulled me out of darkness when everything else felt meaningless. The rhythm of the game, the camaraderie with my teammates, the pure rush of flying across the rink with the puck at my stick — it had saved me. It had given me purpose, identity, and joy. I lov

"Seriously, don't let those country club snobs get to you. My life is a complete circus right now too. I'm currently hiding out here because I'm furious at my boyfriend. He's this giant, thick-skulled hockey player named Miller, and he thinks he can just ignore my texts for six hours because they're in 'heavy training lines' or whatever." My jaw literally dropped. The tissue in my hand crumpled as I stared at her in absolute, utter shock. "Wait. Miller? As in Miller, the defenseman?" Chloe paused, her coffee straw hovering near her lips as her eyes went wide. "Yeah. How do you know Miller?" "He's... he's Brayden's defensive partner on the ice," I stammered, the sheer coincidence of it making

He looked at my face, his gaze tracking my eyes and dropping to my mouth before rising back up. ​Suddenly, he dropped his hockey stick. It clattered against the synthetic surface. ​He reached out and wrapped his large, heavy hands around my waist, pulling me a fraction of an inch closer to his broad chest. Because he was on skates, he was much taller than me, his massive frame completely blocking out the rest of the room. He used my body to anchor his weight, his grip tight and completely possessive. ​"Sasha," Rhys whispered, his voice dropping into a low, rough register. "If I lose the hockey career, everyone leaves. My friends, the fans, my family. They all leave when the lights go out."

“You remember why you started playing, right? It wasn’t because you loved the game at first. You started because it was the only thing that made sense when everything else was falling apart.” Noah’s throat suddenly felt tight because that was true. Painfully true. Hockey had never been about dreams. At first, it had simply been ice, noise, movement, a place where he could breathe, where hospital smells and unpaid bills and fear couldn't reach him. A place where he wasn't helpless. Chase reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a worn hockey puck. Black, scuffed, edges scratched from countless practices and games. He rolled it between his fingers once, then held it out.