Novel & Cerita Hockey Series Books

I let out a heavy sigh, shifting my weight to stand up, but Jessica reached out and pressed both hands against my chest, pushing me firmly back into the sofa. “You look completely dead on your feet, Lu,” she murmured, her voice softening. “How about I grab you something cold to drink before you collapse?” At the mere mention of a drink, my throat burned with a dry ache, reminding me just how little water or food I’d had since driving across the state. “Make it something cold,” I muttered, leaning my head back against the cushion. “Sure thing,” Jessica replied, flashing me a slow, deliberate wink as she stood up. She returned a moment later holding an icy bottle of beer. “Here you go, papi. Y

The visitor’s locker room in Vancouver was cold. ​The air smelled of old sweat and synthetic cleaning wax. ​Rhys sat in his stall near the center wall, his gray training shirt damp. The game was three hours away, but the tension inside the team was already a physical pressure. ​Miller and Henderson, the two veteran defensemen, stood five feet away. They held a digital tablet, their faces serious and aggressive. ​"Keller," Miller said, his voice flat. "The Vancouver sports blogs just leaked an audio recording from your Chicago rehab sessions last year. You are heard telling the team doctors that the Seattle franchise is a marketing brand that doesn't understand hockey."

They're sitting on the porch, watching as Taehee triple checks that all of Hyeri’s gear is in the trunk. Even with Hyeri running around the front yard and screaming like a banshee, it feels so nice and peaceful. Far more than the silence that comes with an empty house. They’re about to load into the car to leave when Haejin comes out with three plastic cups in his arm. Handing one to each of Andre, Dylan and Hyeri. “Strawberry smoothie with a bit of protein powder for the assistant hockey coach, banana smoothie for the assistant to the assistant hockey coach, and strawberry banana smoothie for the little hockey player in training.”

she said, setting down her bag and reaching for her clipboard. Ryder leaned against the doorway, a faint smirk on his lips. “Friendly as ever,” he muttered, loud enough for her to hear. His eyes flicked to Carson, then back at her. Mila felt a flush rise to her cheeks but kept her gaze steady. The first few drills passed in tense silence. Carson’s gaze followed movement, and adjustment Mila made, every word she spoke to the players. His comments were layered with subtle criticism. “Your wrist placement on the hockey stick isn’t correct—muscle alignment matters.”

The tips of the small scissors clung to the tape, severing the roll of clean white bandage. The large fingers that usually gripped the ice hockey stick with deadly precision now trembled faintly as they placed the end of the bandage on the back of Hazel's hand. Marco gently stroked the bandage, making sure no more blood was seeping out. Once he felt satisfied, he looked up. His breathing was still ragged, but his gaze softened as he met Hazel's silent eyes.

TIMOTHY POV The ice was slick beneath Timothy's skates as he glided across the hockey rink. The sharp blades of his skates cut through the surface, sending sprays of ice crystals into the air. The arena was alive with the sounds of the game, the thud of sticks against pucks, the clatter of players colliding, and the cheers of the crowd. But amid the cacophony of the game, there was a deafening silence that echoed in Timothy's heart. He had come to this match with a sense of resignation, knowing all too well what he would find—or rather, what he wouldn't find.

Back in my dorm that night, with nowhere to vent, I logged straight into my hockey-forum alt account: IceTyrant. I found the game-recap post Nathan had put up that afternoon and hammered out a merciless reply. "If this is how you captain a team, you'd be better off coaching a peewee team." "All you do is bulldoze through on brute strength. Did you leave your brain in the locker room?" "Drop your left wing's center of gravity, run a 2-1-2 forecheck to cut off their passing lanes. You can't even read the play that far ahead. You hold a stick like it's a fireplace poker."

I really couldn't afford to mess up this year. A lot was at stake. There had been quarrels between us and our border pack, Bloodstone, over the mining lines. The Council of Elders had just set a strict new rule: the winner of this year's hockey championship would get the legal right to control the disputed border for a whole decade. That was serious.

My stomach dropped. Hockey statistics? I hadn’t looked at a hockey stat sheet in five years. December. Rookie season. Penalty minutes. I stared at him blankly. How the hell was I supposed to know that? Zane hadn’t even made it to the NHL when we were together. I’d watched him play college hockey, but once we broke up, his career had taken off without me. “Forty-two?” I guessed. The assistant shook his head. My heart sank. “No. Sorry. You have one more—”

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