Hockey Player Books Novels & Stories

A scoff followed after, almost like she didn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth, “You can’t be serious. It’s hockey!! A game of champions. Blake University has had the best team for years. We almost made it to the playoffs last year even, there’s no way you came in here without wanting to— “No.” I shook my head, “I think hockey is a game for losers.” “Aria!!” I remained defiant on my stance, “You heard me. I think hockey sucks, the concept of the whole game sucks, I think it’s a waste of student resources and the school’s money. I did my research and the school pumps a whole load into the team, which I think is pathetic. So you heard me loud and clear—Hockey is a game for losers.” I

But the mistake he made was that he forgot who he was dealing with. I rolled the ball between my palms again, studying it as it all felt a little bit greasy, oily, maybe something he’d rubbed in before the round. Nothing too obvious, just enough to mess up someone’s grip. Classic Rowan, always taking shortcuts when he thought skill wouldn’t be enough. ‘Fine. Two can play that game.’ I gripped the ball tighter, blocking out the noise around me. My mind shifted back to the times I’d been on the court, years ago before hockey became my world. Volleyball was my starting point. The rhythm, the stance, the motion-all muscle memory now.

“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.

Speaking of pucks, I immediately remembered Riven, and the fact that I actually had pucks to pick for the next two practices. “But I do love history. I mean, what's there not to love?” Grey said, tilting his head to the side. I placed my hand on his shoulder. “Dude, you are smart, and intelligent. You love history, you’re a medic, you passed your bloodline class with ease and you are good with shifters. You are a bookworm.” I paused, clapping my chest softly. “I am Skyler Gale. I’m not a smart ass. I'm just good at playing hockey. Going to classes is a price I must pay to play the game.”

He’s just focused on getting the best out of his client, Cicero, and is ready to go the extra mile to do that if he needs to. So, at that time, when the act took place, I found a way to convince him that if Cicero finds out, it will affect his career, knowing he doesn’t play with Cicero’s career. So, he agreed to keep my secret because, as we all know, Cicero is a ticking time bomb. Frank opens the door, and the faint scent of men's cologne, heat, and masculine odor permeates the air. The sight of half-naked hockey players hits me as he leads the way, walking ahead, while good-looking and well-chiseled hockey athletes stare and whistle as we pass them.

“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.”

Timothy shot me a sidelong glance, a playful glint in his eyes. "Surprisingly, yes," he replied with a nonchalant shrug. "We talked about my hockey career choices, my plans for the future. And, of course, he was quite intrigued by my community outreach efforts." I leaned back in the seat, absorbing his words. "Community outreach? That must have been about the dog washing fundraiser," I mused. Timothy grinned, his eyes lighting up with a mix of pride and amusement. "He was particularly interested in that. I guess the idea of a professional hockey player getting his hands dirty washing

Her hand in Ethan’s. Captioned: “The Nerd & The Hockey King… exposed.” And underneath Hundreds of comments are already pouring in.

I say dryly. “Come on, we have to go! I heard Enzo is playing today, and also there's a new player we should go watch today.” She said, with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Enzo was one of the players on the hockey team that Leah had been pining away for since our first semester. He barely gave her any attention, but she always went to each of his games, cheering him on, because she was convinced he liked her. “I'm not going, Lee. As for the new player, it's too early to set me up.” I said, grabbing some apples.

"Well, in that case, go ahead, sunshine. If you want to tell me something dirty as hell, now's your chance." A slight flush touches her cheeks. "No." The photographer starts clicking away. "So, Jax, what do you do in your spare time?" "I play hockey." He laughs, thinking I'm joking. "No, I mean outside of hockey. People on socials love getting to know the players." I don't want anybody to get to know me. "When I'm not playing hockey, I think about hockey." The interviewer moves on. The photographer circles. "Okay, fabulous. Very nice brooding hockey player thing. But how about less 'scary goalie' vibes and more 'relaxed, smiley, enjoying life' vibes?"