Jj Mccarthy Hockey Mga Nobela at Kwento

“Send in the hockey guys. One at a time.” A few minutes later, the door opens, and the first guy steps in. I recognize him immediately, Liam Carter, a defenseman for one of the teams Nikolai had under his thumb. He’s young, early twenties, still wide-eyed but with a layer of arrogance that tells me he thinks he’s untouchable. Dark blonde hair, sharp cheekbones, built like a guy who’s used to throwing his weight around on the ice. He hesitates only slightly before stepping forward. “Mercer,” he says, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes, the same curiosity I saw in DeLuca’s guy.

Mendez asked. Jade hesitated. "I'm twenty-five and still living with my parents" "That's normal" "My parents literally plan my entire life. My Dad wants me to train constantly, eat perfectly, sleeping perfectly...everything perfectly. He's trying to make me the next him" Jade scoffed. Mendez looked at him carefully. "Justin Riccio's one of the greatest hockey players the league has ever produced. Of course he wants the best for you" "Five Hart Memorial Trophies, Three Stanley cups, A Conn Smythe Trophy" Jade muttered.

Martin suddenly called out to Nicole. "Yeah. Why not?" Nicole turned around and followed Martin. Concurrently, Max had walked into Jared's office after placing a few knocks on the door to report something to his employer. "Mr. Johnston, we've gotten some intel about the McCarthy family." Jared looked up at Max. "Speak up." "We've found Joyce in a private mansion located in the outskirts of town. The McCarthy who had returned to the country earlier was indeed Joyce," Max said, telling Jared about all the information he had gathered.

“Ward Bennett is not just any player. He brings massive sponsorship money and investment to this franchise. What if Dr. Matthews makes even one small mistake? What if Ward’s recovery suffers? You signed a contract with this team not Matthew. You have a responsibility!” I felt my cheeks burn with humiliation and frustration. “I understand my responsibility. But I also have to protect my own mental health and professionalism. Ward and I have history. It was becoming too complicated. I made the call for the good of everyone.” Dr. Timothy opened his mouth to yell again, but the door opened once more. Jax walked in casually, wearing a light jacket and jeans, with that charming smile on his face.

I almost protested that I never agreed to be part of his team when I met Frank’s gaze, and the look in his eyes is all I need to keep shut. “What do you think about Cicero Russo?” I ask one of the strangers I’m at the podium with. Most of them are either working for one of the athletes or are approved family members. I look onto the ice, in a team of tall men, Cicero still stands out, impossibly broad-shouldered, with the black jersey stretched across those wide shoulders. “He’s a beast out there,” the man beside me responds as Cicero sneaks a puck right under Foster’s nose. “He’s currently at the best he’s been in a very long while. I’ve never seen him enjoy the game as much as he is these

Clinton's POV “Blunt! Heads up!” I barely register Jack’s shout before the puck whizzes past my stick. Cody snatches it, skates hard down the left, and fires. Goal. The red light flashes. “Two–zero, baby!” Cody whoops, lifting his stick like he just won the Stanley Cup. I grit my teeth. The ice is cold under my skates. Sharp. Alive. Usually, that’s enough to pull me back…the scrape of my blades, the thud of the puck against the boards, the frozen air burning my lungs. This rink is home.

~KAI~ The loud buzzer cut through me. Final score lights up...4-3, loss. Jax's fault. He danced around the net instead of burying the puck, took a penalty, and almost started a fight. I am already typing before the crowd stops screaming his name. 'Captain Carter's highlight-reel goal came at the cost of two penalties and a near-fight. Talent doesn't excuse recklessness. The Ice Hawks keep winning despite their star forward, not because of him.'

"You know what, Coach? I barely know anything about you." He blinks, caught off guard by the subject change. "What?" "I know you're an ex-hockey player. That's it. You should tell me more. Your career. Your story. All of it." "I don't see how that's relevant—" "Humor me." He studies my face for a moment, then sighs. "Alright. I played college hockey at Michigan. Got drafted to the NHL—Chicago Blackhawks. Played three seasons before I tore my ACL in a game against Boston."

“Our next signing is someone who will change games for us. Last year, we had the best kicker in the WWIF, but he’s now in the NAFL. We needed someone with swagger, with nerves of steel, and with a leg that can win games. Someone who brings the same energy as the great Jason McAfree—yes, I said McAfree. Please welcome our new kicker, number 4, Heather Wammack.” Heather stood, grinning, and the room exploded in applause and laughter at the McAfree reference. She held up her jersey, her ponytail bouncing as she posed with Jeremy and Jenifer. The cameras loved her—she winked at one, flexed her arm for another, and the crowd responded with cheers. Jenifer wrapped up the formal introductions. “We’