Jj Mccarthy Hockey Mga Nobela at Kwento

"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.

REMINGTON 11 MONTHS, 23 DAYS LATER. “We… won?” I muttered beneath my breath, eyes glued to my phone, watching the hockey match live. “We fucking won!” I screamed at the top of my voice, earning a groan from Clark and a grumble from my mum. This was the final match in a major competition, and our school — Chastity Verse — won. “Pull over!” I ordered the driver behind the wheel. He glanced backwards at my mum, who groaned in frustration.

I knew this was what he wanted, and I was this close to giving him just what he wanted. He wanted to rile me up, and he had successfully done that. My hands itched to meet his face but I refrained from the temptation. I wasn't going to take his bait. This could ruin everything I had built when it came to my grades and hockey. Don't give in, Justin. He's just jealous. “Fuck. Off.” I gritted out as I released his collar and pushed him away from me. His eyes held disappointment, this was clearly not the reaction he wanted to see.

His voice was low enough that only I could hear it under the noise. "You look exhausted, Captain. Starting to break already?" Something inside me cracked open. I do not fight on the ice. That is not who I am. I have played twelve seasons of professional hockey and in those twelve seasons I have received exactly two fighting majors, both of them in my rookie year when I still had something to prove. I am composed, I am controlled. I am the kind of player who smiles at the camera and taps gloves at the end of a loss and says the right things in post-game interviews. My father built that image and I had maintained it for over a decade because it was the only version of myself I was allowed to b

Lily frowns. "Yeah," Mia nods. "He’s not his usual cocky self." I sigh. "Something happened. I’ll tell you guys after the game." They both look at each other, then at me, like I just grew a second head. Down on the field, the coach…a middle-aged guy with way too much energy steps forward. "Welcome, everyone, to the captain face-off for the Long Range University hockey team!" he announces. "Will the competitors step forward!" Lucas steps up. So does Mark.

Man is he going to brag about that to his friends later today. “Good shot.” I tell him as I help him take the cones off the ice. “Thank you. I couldn’t believe it. I’ve never tried that move before, but I saw Jenkins do it once and thought I’d give it a go.” Jenkins plays for Vancouver, he’s a mean ass player if ever there was one. “Well kid, it worked out for you. Keep it up and you’ll be on the team in a few years after college.” “Thanks, Cody.”

"Let's not talk about Coach Jim anymore! The clock is ticking and the applicants are going to be pouring in any minute now." John nodded to their other teammates to come round. The others stopped roaming around with their skates and went to the table where the three were settled. They fell silent as John stepped forward. They fixed their eyes on the charismatic leader who had steered them through victories and defeats during the last two years. John adjudged his well-worn Hockey jersey, the number 4 on the front like a badge of honor.

My phone buzzed again—this time a call. Aunt Kate. I answered immediately. “Hello, Aunt Kateee!” “How’s my favorite niece doing?” “I’m great. I actually met my second mate.” “What?” she yelled. “When did this happen?” “Like… three days ago.” “That’s amazing! Who is he?” “Um. Hades Deolle. School hockey player. Total playboy,” I sighed. “What did he say when he saw you?” “Nothing. He was at the rink about to play, and I left. I don’t want anything to do with a playboy.” I scoffed. “I’m sure he’s fucking someone right now.”

A serious cut that did not heal well. When it happened, I was watching the game on TV. We had first met at the Montreal Juniors hockey clinic three or four years prior. At the time, a three-week sleepaway camp seemed like a big thing. He was a year older than me when I was sixteen. Moretti was definitely already a gigantic jerk back then, but I misinterpreted him since I’d never played against anyone like him before. Not even near. He was incredible. A missile.

Jake's POV Phone rang Tuesday morning. Unknown number. Almost did not answer. But something made me pick up. "Hello?" "Jake Sullivan? This is Tom Richardson, assistant GM with the Chicago Blackhawks." My heart stopped. The Blackhawks. My old team. Where I played before the injury. "Tom. Hi. This is unexpected." "I will get straight to it. We have an assistant coach position opening. Working with our forwards. Skills development. We want someone who understands the game at elite level. Someone the players will respect. Your name came up immediately."