Ice Hockey Book Novels & Stories

Chapter 182: Third Person POV The man's fingers traced the glossy magazine cover slowly, deliberately, his touch almost reverent as it moved across the photograph displayed there, a hockey player mid-action, captured in perfect athletic form, his face focused and intense beneath the headline "Zane Mercer: The NHL's Most Elusive Star." The downtown Seattle penthouse where he sat was dark except for the ambient city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting shadows that made the expensive modern furniture look almost sinister in the dim glow.

“And you don’t want that to happen.” “I don’t want that to happen with a gun pointed at us.” Her arms crossed, that beautiful defensive instinct. “You know too much for a hockey team captain. Things no one else even understands.” “Side talent.” I glanced at the clock. Callum should’ve been on the perimeter by now. “Listen.” I leaned in. “I’ll say this once: whatever you’ve been feeling lately—exploding emotions, weird sensations, wounds healing faster—it’s not because you’re crazy. Your body’s not broken. Your body remembers something that was put to sleep.”

"And I'll recommend that the league drop the investigation." "Thank you." "Don't thank me yet." Dr. Chen pulled something out of her desk drawer. A book manuscript. Thick. Printed. The cover page read: "Love on Ice: The True Story of Hockey's Most Controversial Couple. By Emily Chen, Ph.D." Damian's blood ran cold. "What is that?" "My book." Dr. Chen set the manuscript on the coffee table. "I've been writing it for six months. Interviews. Research. Analysis. It covers everything—your rivalry, your relationship, the blackmail, the shooting, the wedding."

I pushed a cup of hot coffee toward his hand, and I watched him take a slow sip of the dark liquid. I moved my heavy medical textbooks off the table to make more room for his hockey notes, and I opened my own blank notebook. I wanted to help him succeed, and I knew we could solve this problem if we worked together. "We need to simplify this problem so we can find a fast solution for the team," I suggested to my partner, and I clicked my blue pen. "I do not know how to simplify a professional sports strategy in one night," Michael sighed, and he rubbed his eyes with his fingers. "The other team studied our old playbook all day, so they expect us to run a very structured and organized offense

he said finally, and there was a grudging in his voice that caught her off guard. “You do this a lot? Making people feel less of themselves?” She snapped. “Whenever I can,” he admitted. “It’s how I don’t make sense of things.” “Well, my drawing is perfect and I don’t care what you think.” She added. He nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a beat too long. “Hockey’s like that for me,” he said, almost to himself. “The hockey rink’s the only place that makes sense sometimes. No bullshit, just the game.”

A book suddenly appeared on ivory’s hand it looked old but it was surprisingly in good shape. ‘What is this?’ ivory asked curiously. ‘It’s a technique book’. Ivory eyes lit up and she opened it, on its first page the title was written it was called Ice fist. The book contained images and writings. It involved enveloping your hands with ice such that, the ice looked like gloves. It had the ability to freeze and shatter anything punched and it could even harm those who were just a phase higher than the user. Ivory quickly sat down and immersed herself in the book. Anita finally lifted her head and smiled when she saw ivory reading. Anita suddenly looked up in worry but she wasn’t looking at wh

I nodded, showing her my phone and the reservation he had booked. "Okay, I'll take you to the table," she said and I gave a curt nod as I followed behind her. A crystal chandelier hung from the centre of the room, and the diner had private rooms for a few of their guests. I shook my head softly as I scanned the place, Kelvin did know how to play his card.

CHAPTER 10: ADRIAN The roar of fifteen thousand fans echoed through the arena, vibrating straight through the glass and into the soles of my skates. Opening night. I stood at the center circle, tapping the toe of my stick against the ice while the referee held the puck for the opening faceoff. My chest felt like an iron furnace. On my left flank, Elliot was already crouched low, his dark eyes locked onto the official’s hand with terrifying, absolute focus.

"Well, from what I'm hearing, you're in the game tomorrow, and since you don't know a thing about hockey, I figured we could use this power outage to study something fun for once." "What's that?" I asked, trying to peer at the book in his lap from where I was sitting. Adrien grinned, flipping a few pages as if it were a magazine. "Hockey for Dummies," he said with a wink. "Thought it might be useful for you, seeing as you've missed a couple of practices." I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't help but laugh. "Thanks, I guess. So, what are we studying tonight? Penalty shots and checking?"

“I’m a little out of practice.” “A little?” He smirks, lazily gliding toward me. Effortless. Like the ice bends for him. “You look like Bambi on roller skates.” Heat surges to my cheeks. “You’re supposed to be helping me.” “I am.” He flicks a puck in my direction. “Rule number one: stop whining.” The puck skitters across the ice. Instinct kicks in I catch it on my stick, handle it without thinking. For a second, it feels right. Then my balance falters, and I stumble.