Ice Hockey Book Novels & Stories

Today, it was the world’s premier sports medicine research hub, fully independent, untouchable, and backed by a franchise dynasty that had reshaped North American hockey. My left hand rested on the rim of my coffee mug, the massive oval diamond catching the morning sun. "You're analyzing telemetry on a Sunday morning, Dr. Keller," a deep, rough voice rumbled from the doorway. I turned as Rhys walked in. He had just finished a ninety-minute high-intensity skate on our private basement rink. Clad in black sweatpants and a dark grey training shirt, sweat dampening his dark hair, he looked every bit the six-foot-four captain who had led the Seattle Kraken to back-to-back championships.

"The university boosters are watching your personal life closely this season, Hayes. We have scouts from the NHL flying in for the Stanford game next month. The athletic board is already hyperventilating about the family name, and I cannot afford a massive scandal breaking apart my crew. You are the captain of this team. Do you know what that means?" "It means I score goals and keep the defense tight," I said flatly, leaning my hip against the edge of his filing cabinet. "My personal business doesn't affect my game. I'm on the ice six days a week, and I'm playing harder than anyone else on this roster. What I do outside the rink is my own damn problem."

"Now you do." He shook his head, looking almost amused by the information. "I honestly didn't expect that." "Why?" "I don't know. I just remember you always wanting to play." I didn't answer immediately. There were some things that were easier left unsaid, especially with someone like Alfie standing in front of me after all this time. My life hadn't exactly gone the way I once imagined it would, and hockey had become complicated in ways I never expected. So I simply shrugged. "Things changed."

My hiking addiction has advantages of keeping my legs in tone with the perfect shape for strength and endurance. I see the hockey players and send a quick wave their way, but they turn their backs to me and I can't help but wonder if I've done something wrong or offended them somehow. Shoot, they're probably upset they have to spend their Saturday here at a school pushing books on a bunch of kids who are about as interested in reading as they would be learning to crochet with their grandmas. The kids are allowed to enter at ten o’clock am and follow through the path of tables, entertaining themselves with games and events, earning candy, fidgets, and most importantly books along the way.

"Besides, I think I've had enough coffee today to sink a battleship." "Okay, but if you want anything, just let me know." Rod studied The Cup. "I have to say that's a magnificent piece of metalwork." He ran his finger over the rim of the bowl that served as the crown, then smoothed his palm over all the engraving. "A lot of history here. Some of the greatest teams in professional ice hockey history." "It's a symbol of what we all work for. Kind of the Holy Grail of hockey, I guess."

Something in his expression softens, and then he shoves my shoulder, hard, no warning, and I grab his arm to keep my balance on the ice, which is completely unnecessary and we both know it, and we end up laughing in the middle of the rink, breathless and stupid, completely alive in a way that still feels brand new every time. Tuesday and Wednesday have the texture of a held breath. Classes. Practice. The championship bracket sharpening as two more teams get eliminated in their preliminary rounds. Coach running specific systems for our first opponent's defensive tendencies, sessions running long, everyone tired in a way that has nothing to do with emotional crises and everything to do with ho

“But seriously. What made you want to throw yourself on ice every day?” Hayden leaned back in his chair, considering. “I guess it was the only place that ever made sense. I wasn’t exactly the easiest kid to deal with growing up. Hockey gave me structure, gave me somewhere to put all that energy.” Mark nodded slowly. “Makes sense. Music’s the same for me. All that chaos in your head? You put it into something that actually means something. Otherwise it eats you alive.” For a moment, the air shifted, less teasing, more… real.

Specifically to the pages sitting next to his keyboard – a cover page visible with what appeared to be a very muscular torso sketched in pencil. “Cole.” He reached for the pages. Too slow. “Was that a romance novel?” He slammed his laptop shut like that would somehow help. “It’s literary fiction with romantic elements.” “There was a shirtless hockey player on the cover page.” “...Research.” Sienna looked at me. I looked at Sienna. For one second – one brief, ridiculous, beautiful second – the weight of everything lifted and we were just two girls in a boy’s apartment discovering that the 6′4" redheaded goalie with the deadpan delivery was secretly writing love stories.

So, I slipped out of bed, bare feet pressing into the cold floor. I stopped in front of my father’s library. He never locked it—he didn’t need to. I scanned the shelves, searching for anything that could help me. Surely somewhere in this endless maze of knowledge, there had to be something about hockey. Some book that could tell me what I was missing or maybe a book to help me improve the skills I never had. While still hoping that luck shined on me, My hand hovered until I spotted it: *The Fundamentals of Ice Hockey.*

The most admired hockey player and definitely the hottest of our time. My eyes wavered as I watched him lift up the trophy. His lips pressed to the golden cup I just hope Samuel was okay, that wasn't a simple slam against the rink wall. Hockey was never his thing. He preferred reading novels and painting, but our father. Richard Donnovan had to force him into it. Simply because his arch nemesis's son Adrian Volkov was a hockey superstar. My foot began to tap the floor on its own, teeth clenched against a fingernail as I listened to the announcer give the closing report.