Novel & Cerita The Hockey Star's Remorse

Roman Thorne is the invincible team leader of college hockey. He is large, aggressive and a nightmare to the media. The press, however, does not know what makes the Briarwood Ice Devils so feared. They are not just players. They are ruthless, blood-swilling offspring of the most formidable crime business in the city. Trying to keep a small scandal which is about to blow up their small business, the Thorne family appeals to the service of Sloane Mercer. She is 24 years old and a brilliant ruthless PR fixer. Her task is easy: to improve the image of the team, to work with press, and not to put Roman in the prison. But Sloane has not come to save them. She is here to ruin them. Sloa

“You got your win.” Thanks to the back door, I manage to dodge the mob of fans before anyone recognizes me and by the time I’m out of the arena, the warm Texas air settles across my skin. The second my truck kicks on, the sports radio is already blaring through the speakers. Devils win. Superstar Mercer declined comment. Didn’t look too happy. “When your top guy looks that frustrated after a win, that’s a problem you can’t ignore,” the host says. They tear into it, dissecting it like it’s some kind of puzzle. They go on about team culture, player mismatches and some nonsense about having to prove myself. It’s probably why the coach is ready to chew me a new one.

My hands shook with exhaustion. I waved the bartender over. He had a scar slashed across his cheek. His yellowed eyes flicked over me. They narrowed slightly as they regarded me. "What would you like?" “Whiskey,” I muttered. My voice was hoarse from crying. He slid a shot glass across the counter. The amber liquid sloshed as I picked it up. I downed it in one gulp. The burn seared my throat. It dulled the ache of Calyx’s betrayal. I signaled for another. The bartender’s wary glance told me to slow down. But this was exactly why I came here. To lose myself.

“I’m the fucking captain, Clint. I disappeared because my father nearly killed me, I came back, some asshole leaked files, and somehow I’m the problem.” “I know.” “No, you don’t.” My voice echoed across the empty rink. “They took hockey away from me. The only thing that’s ever actually been mine.” I kicked the broken stick. It slid across the ice before crashing into the boards. Clinton stayed quiet for a moment before saying, “This won’t last forever.” “You actually believe that?” “They’re covering themselves. Once everything’s cleared…” “Stop feeding me bullshit.” His shoulders sagged. “I know you’re angry.”

I push my fingers through my hair. “It’s not.” “Then show me what I did wrong,” he says in the softest voice I've ever heard from him, the knots in my stomach now doing a rapid dance. "Okay." That's all I could say. Fucking okay. I skate to the puck and set it at center. I’m about to demonstrate when I move back to reset the starting position, and my leg catches his. I tumble sideways. "01!" Remington screams. I think I hear Elliott’s voice as well, but I can't say, as I feel Remington grab my jersey. Wrong move—it brings him down with me instead of stabilizing us both, and we go down together.

The vein in his forehead is visible, pulsing with each angry heartbeat. "What the hell was that?" he hisses, grabbing my jersey and pulling me close enough that I can smell the coffee on his breath. "He was talking shit," I say, the words coming out defensive and weak. "I don't care if he was reciting your obituary. You don't take stupid penalties like that." His grip tightens on my jersey. "That's hockey 101, Hayes." I try to shake off his words, but the damage is already done. The shame burns in my chest, mixing with the leftover anger until I feel sick.

Augie Reynolds, the golden boy, the star hockey player, the reason I had shown up in the first place looked me dead in the eye and told me, “You’re not really my type." As if that wasn't bad enough, he'd called me a ginormous asshole. It was as if I had been auditioning for his affection, when all I did was exist… and maybe stare at him a little too long. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to push the memory away, but it was persistent. Humiliating, heart-fucking-wrenching and stupid. Last night was the first time I had done something so dumb like that, and I swore that I was not going to repeat that ever again. Not for any guy.

I looked up, meeting his gaze as my name glided off his tongue, a bittersweet melody that stirred emotions within me. “I don't expect you to give me your answer now. I don't even expect you to answer for what I did. What I put you through was inhuman,” Erdem continued, his voice laced with remorse. He acknowledged the gravity of his actions and the pain he had inflicted upon me. “Nesta, I... I don't expect you to forgive me. What I did... it's unforgivable. I understand if you can never find it in your heart to forgive me.” With each word he spoke, his voice trembled, betraying the depth of his remorse and regret. The weight of his confession hung heavy in the air, and I could sense his angu

“One bonfire. One night. If you hate it, I’ll personally drive you back to the rink and let you throw pucks at me for revenge.” I bit my lip to keep from smiling too big. “Tempting. But only if you promise no more winking. It’s weaponized.” “No promises,” he said, eyes sparkling. “But deal on the rest.” We walked back to his truck under a sky full of stars that looked sharper up here, no city lights to dull them. He opened my door again—gentleman hockey player, apparently—and when I slid in, our hands brushed. Just for a second. Electricity. The kind you read about in the books I swore I only read for the dragons.

Is it natural for hockey players to always be harsh? The proud asshole wasn't even listening. He sprawled his hands over the chairs, watching me like I entertained him. “Sorry.” He says flatly. I felt a lump in my throat. It burned but I swallowed and rubbed my hands. Trevor is so full of himself, the way he talks, the smoke he revealed says it all. No wonder his reputation in school is negative despite his parents' relationship with the school. He's the goalie with a criminal record. Everyone knows. I slumped my shoulders in resignation and walked away. This time, tears had blurred my vision and I almost fell, cascading the stairs. I ran to the restroom in the class building and screamed.