Hockey Star Novels & Stories

"Great. Just what I want after two hours on the ice." She laughs, and the sound does something to my chest. "Come on, All Star. Let's go." The sponsor is some billionaire named Sterling who runs an insurance company. His jerseys are on our backs. He's brought his son, Brad, a college kid who's already swaying on his feet. "Fantastic game," Sterling says, slapping my back. "I think you've got a playoff run on your hands." "Thank you, sir." Brad stumbles over, holding a beer. "Bro, that was sick. You had Winnipeg cooked."

The need to fit the image the scouts wanted. “Mind your own business,” I said, voice low and even. No smile. No explanation. He laughed anyway, elbowing another defenseman. “Didn’t think you had a type for quiet ones. What happened to keeping the roster clean?” I didn’t answer. Just grabbed my stick and headed for the door. The cold air outside the rink hit my face, sharp and clean. Snow dusted the parking lot already, even though it was only early November. My truck sat a few rows down, but I didn’t head straight for it. Instead I leaned against the brick wall, pulling out my phone like I had somewhere to be.

STORY SEVEN: THE HOCKEY CAPTAIN’S FATHER SIN PART ONE The roar of the crowd was deafening as Noah Walsh, the star hockey captain of elite St. Xavier Academy, slammed the puck into the net for the game-winning goal. The arena erupted. Horns blared, lights flashed, and the entire student section went wild.

That wasn’t Leon. It was Lael De La Fontaine. My breath hitched. Oh God, Lael De La Fontaine. The university’s star forward. The campus hockey god. He didn’t just rule the ice; he practically owned the school. His dad was a legendary former NHL player whose career cut short after a brutal, career-ending injury, forcing him to retire early and funnel all the aggression into building a massive multi dollar business empire. Lael was an insanely wealthy, untouchably elite, and completely off-limit.

But he wasn't making it easier as he rolled his eyes. “Second of all, you being naked in an arena seems wildly irresponsible.” “I was showering before my match. I have a fucking right to be clean!" He yelled, veins dancing on his neck. This time, I rolled my eyes. “Your match?” I snorted. “Yes,” he said, his voice turning dry. “Believe it or not, hockey players occasionally shower.” Oh wow. He was a hockey player. The blaring number 17 on his jersey, the helmet, and the ridiculously bulky shoulders didn't give him away at all.

"Now what do we have here? A beautiful garden. See, Ryan? Your sister is planning a future in fine arts, and you’re planning a future in assault." "Hockey isn't assault, it’s a sport!" Ryan argued, running off to the living room to turn on the TV. Within seconds, the familiar, booming voice of a sports commentator filled the apartment. "And with the playoffs just weeks away, all eyes are on the Chicago Blizzard. Captain Aaron Carter is coming off a thirty-goal season, earning him the moniker 'The Ice King' once again. But sources say his off-ice demeanor remains as frosty as ever—" I lunged for the remote on the counter and hit mute so fast the plastic clicked.

She said it lightly, no accusation in it, which somehow made me feel worse than if there had been. "Sorry. Long week." It wasn't a lie, exactly. It just wasn't the whole truth either She studied me for a moment, something patient and a little too perceptive in her expression. "You know, for someone who's supposedly having a long week, you talk about hockey like it's the easiest part of your life right now." "It kind of is," I admitted. "Way less complicated than everything else." "Complicated how?" I opened my mouth to deflect some easy joke ready to go, and then didn't. Reagan deserved better than deflection, even if I didn't fully understand the thing I was deflecting from myself.

When he plays, everyone goes silent and the players struggle to keep up, no wonder they gave him the name hockey star. He glided across the ice with effortless, terrifying precision, the blade of his hockey stick flicking the puck past defenders before slamming it straight into the back of the net. The entire arena erupted into thunderous applause, and despite myself, I stood up with the crowd, my heart hammering against my chest as I cheered his name. Then everybody took back their seats while chattering. A little break took over before the players can continue. And the newbies obviously were pushing hard, because Ryder was already on his feet where he sat to

And being the eldest son meant he had a lot more responsibilities than Kade. He told me how his father had never wanted them to play hockey because he didn't consider it a real career. He wanted them to take over the Sterling Global Group, a top real estate company. But they had blatantly refused while in college and continued playing hockey. So, when they finally joined a top hockey team abroad, where they received more training, their father reluctantly let them continue, but only after they promised to learn about the family business as well. I looked at him, a sad smile playing on his lips.

"You completely dismantled Ryder's neutral-zone rush in the first ten minutes of the scrimmage today. I’ve never seen anyone read his playstyle like that. You're brilliant, Maya. And State is lucky to have you. I'm lucky to have you." ​A soft blush crept up my neck. I looked down at my coffee mug, stirring the cream slowly. "My dad taught me everything I know. He always said hockey isn't about brute force. It's a game of chess on ice." ​"Your father was a legend," Mark said, his tone softening into deep, respectful sincerity. He reached across the table, his fingers lightly brushing the back of my hand. "And you're carrying on his legacy perfectly. Don't let Geller or the Callahans make you