Puck Novels & Stories

COLLINS PARKER The thick timber portal swings back under my palm, and my tracking sensors instantly log an incredibly heartwarming layout directly inside the central hearth space. Ada Lube is physically elevating infant Robert against his massive shoulder armor, anchoring his stride right in the middle of the main floorboards. Layla is clutching a brand-new composite practice puck, her voice bubbling as she drops happy babbles straight toward her baby brother's face.

His dinosaur pajamas are on backwards. "Mommy! Daddy! I made you breakfast!" "Buddy, you're eating breakfast." "I made it for you. But then I got hungry. So I ate it." Ethan laughs. Genuine. Real. "That's okay, buddy. We're not hungry." "You're always hungry, Daddy. You said so." "I said I'm always hungry for hockey." "Oh." Noah frowns. "That's weird." "It's a hockey thing." "Okay." He goes back to his cereal.

"Yeah?" Knox looked up at me with the expression I had categorized as his most dangerous — the one that was casual on the surface and completely deliberate underneath, the one that knew exactly what it was doing and was doing it anyway. He bounced the object in his hand once, then raised his stick and batted it up toward the bleachers in a clean, arcing shot. It landed on the bench two feet from me with a sharp crack. A puck. I picked it up. In black marker, in handwriting I recognized from a note passed in AP Lit approximately eleven days ago, it said: Formal?

I ignored all the noise, heading toward the goal until one of the opposing players crashed into me, knocking me off balance. “Fuck,” I cursed, a jolt of pain running through my body. It lasted only for a moment. I was back on my feet, but the chaos continued as my teammates confronted the other player. And while they were still at it, my eyes caught something in the stands. Not something… Grant. I pulled my gaze away just as the whistle blew. Reid passed the puck to me. “Seal this, Cap!” he shouted. I wanted to. I had the perfect opening, all I needed to do was shoot.

"What?" "What made you think that?" She pointed toward my jersey. "The jersey." I looked down, then back at her. Then down at the jersey again. "I still don't understand." The girl laughed. "That's what puck bunnies do." I frowned. "What the hell is a puck bunny?" Her eyes widened. "You don't know?" "No." She looked genuinely shocked. Like I'd just admitted I didn't know how to breathe. "A puck bunny is basically a hockey player's girlfriend."

It was impossible. They were hanging over the plexiglass, shaking the boards, and holding up massive, neon poster boards that made my stomach twist into sickening knots. MERCER’S MATTRESS.* *DISTRACTION ON ICE.* And then, the ones that made my throat close up and my eyes burn, the ones scrawled with ugly, jagged letters that spelled out slurs I hadn’t heard since I was a kid in middle school. Every time I touched the puck, a chorus of boos rained down on me, so loud it vibrated right through my helmet and rattled my teeth.

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PUCKING THE GOALIE BOOK 1 Intro; Name: Mara Lennox Age: 22 Personality: Sharp-tongued, observant, emotionally guarded, quietly feral when she wants something Background: Mara didn’t grow up dreaming about hockey players or fantasizing about them, She grew up around them so she wasn’t some groupie. Her older brother is a defenseman on the same hockey team, injury reserve now, sidelined for the time being until cleared. So she’s seen locker rooms, the bruises, blood, the ego these hockey players have, her brother being one of them and she’s familiar with the cycle of life most hockey players adapt.

:Do you know what he's talking about? :I am sorry, Warrior, but I do not.: Rhychard turned back to Pux, a sigh escaping his lips. "Okay, so what is your job?" Pux walked across the floor toward the kitchen table, his arms now swinging at his sides. He just stared up at Rhychard as he passed him. Once he reached the table, he swung his arms upward as he squatted down and then leaped onto the table. Rhychard's mouth dropped open at the four-foot jump, but he didn't say anything. He just watched as the gnome walked over to the other two and snatched the cheese puff out of their hands. Walking back over, he dropped to the edge of the table and sat, his legs dangling over the edge. Taking a bite

"No wonder you're not partying with us. You've got yourself a sure thing, don't you? Who needs a cleat chaser when you've got a classy act like that all to yourself?" A locker slams in the background. "You're a dick, Shivel," I snap. "Just because I have plans with a woman doesn't mean I'm going to fuck her. I can have fun with more than my dick, ya know." "No," he says. "You can't. None of us can. Soccer and pussy. They're the only things we need."