Download Heated Rivalry pdf, 1.7 MB, 293 pages, a high-quality PDF format as a Google Drive Link. – Heated Rivalry by Rachel Reid is a contemporary sports romance centered on two rival professional hockey players, Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander. From the moment they enter the NHL, they are positioned as competitors—drafted in the same year and constantly compared by media and fans. Their intense on-ice rivalry fuels a complicated off-ice connection that neither of them expects. What begins as secret meetings driven by physical attraction gradually develops into something deeper and more emotional. Over the years, their relationship unfolds in stolen moments between games, seasons, and cities, as they struggle with identity, vulnerability, and the pressures of living in the public eye. The secrecy surrounding their bond adds tension, forcing them to confront what they truly want. Passionate and character-driven, Heated Rivalry explores ambition, love, and the cost of hiding one’s truth. It is a story about competition turning into connection, and how two strong-willed individuals learn to balance career, pride, and the possibility of lasting love.
The Grapes of
Wrath pdf
Prologue
October 2016—Montreal
Shane Hollander was as close to losing it as he ever allowed himself to
get.
He’d endured two periods and twelve minutes of one of the most
frustrating hockey games he’d ever played. It should have been a glorious
win at home for his Montreal Voyageurs against their archrivals, the
Boston Bears. Instead it had been a grueling humiliation, and the score
stood at 4–1 for Boston, with less than eight minutes left on the clock.
Shane had had no less than five beautiful scoring chances. He’d taken
shots that should never have missed. But they had. And the Bears had
capitalized on the Voyageurs’ mistakes.
One man had capitalized more than anyone. The most hated man in
Montreal: Ilya Rozanov. The near century-old rivalry between the
Montreal and Boston NHL teams had, over the past six seasons, become
personified by Hollander and Rozanov. Their intense animosity was clear
even to the fans in the farthest, cheapest seats.
Hollander bent at the face-off circle now, facing Rozanov as the referee
prepared to drop the puck after the Russian’s second goal of the game.
“Having a good night?” Rozanov asked cheerfully. His hazel eyes
sparkled the way they always did when he was talking shit.
“Fuck you,” Hollander growled.
“Still time for a hat trick, I think,” Rozanov mused, his English barely
comprehensible between his thick accent and his mouth guard. “Should I
do it now, or wait until last minute? More exciting that way, yes?”
Hollander gritted his teeth around his own mouth guard and didn’t
answer.
“Shut up, Rozanov,” the referee said. “Last warning.”
Rozanov stopped talking, but he managed to find an even more effective
way of getting under Hollander’s skin: he winked.
And then he won the face-off.
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“Fuck!” Jean-Jacques Boiziau, the Voyageurs’ giant Haitian-Canadian
defenseman, hurled his stick at the wall of their dressing room.
“That’s enough, J.J.,” Shane said, but there was no real threat behind it.
To make it clear that he was in no mood to fight, or even argue, with
anyone, he slumped into his dressing room stall.
Shane’s left wing line mate, Hayden Pike, sat on the bench next to him,
as always. “You all right?” Hayden asked quietly.
“Sure,” Shane said flatly. He tipped his head back until it met the cool
wall behind him and closed his eyes.
Using the word “passionate” to describe Montreal hockey fans would be
an understatement. Montreal loved the Voyageurs to the point of absurdity.
Their arena was one of the toughest places for visiting teams to play,
because they faced not only one of the best teams in the league, but the
loudest fans in the league as well. The fans also had no problem letting
their own beloved team know exactly how disappointed they were with
them.
But when Montreal fans were really devastated, like they had been
tonight, they were almost silent. And that was Shane Hollander’s least
favorite sound.
“You know what would be sweet?” Hayden asked. “You know that
movie, The Purge? Where you get to, like, break whatever laws for one
night with no consequences?”
“Sort of,” Shane said.
“Man, if that was real, I would murder the fuck out of Rozanov.”
Shane laughed. He couldn’t disagree that bludgeoning that smug
Russian face would be at least a little satisfying.
Their coach entered the room and voiced his disappointment with
remarkable calm. It was early in the season—this had been their first
regular season matchup against Boston—and they had been playing well
most games. This was a glitch. They would move on.
Then it was time to face the press. At that moment, Shane would have
preferred to see a pack of starving wolves enter the room, but he knew
there was no avoiding the reporters. They always wanted to talk to him,
specifically, after every game, and especially after games where he faced
Rozanov.
He pulled his sweat-soaked jersey off over his head so the CCM-
branded athletic undershirt would be seen on camera. Part of his
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