My heart rate spiked immediately. Scouts didn’t show up at Division I games unless they were seriously interested in someone.
“Nils Anders,” I replied, shaking his hand. “Assistant coach.”
“You’re Rivera’s individual coach, right? The one working with him on technical development?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“Thought so. I’ve been watching game footage from earlier this season, and the improvement in his positioning and decision-making has been remarkable. That’s not the kind of development that happens by accident.”
Pride swelled in my chest, but I tried to keep my voice professional. “Adan’s been very receptive to instruction. He has excellent hockey intelligence and strong work ethic.”
“That much is obvious. Is he available to talk? I’d like to have a conversation with him about his development path.”
“I’ll get him.”
I made my way toward the ice where Adan was finishing up interviews with local media. When I caught his eye, I nodded toward the tunnel, and he wrapped up his conversation and skated over.
“There’s someone who wants to meet you,” I said quietly. “A scout from the Detroit Red Wings.”
Adan’s eyes went wide, but he managed to keep his expression composed. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. He specifically mentioned your improvement this season.”
“Fuck. Okay. Do I—Should I change first?”
“You’re fine as you are.”
“Will you come with me?”
“Of course.”
We walked back to where McLaughlin was waiting, and I made the introductions. Adan’s posture was confident but respectful, exactly the kind of first impression that mattered in these situations.
“Hell of a game tonight,” McLaughlin said. “That goal in the second period, with you using the defenseman as a screen while creating space for the shot, that’s NHL-level hockey sense.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ve been working on reading the ice better, seeing plays develop before they happen.”
“It shows. Your positioning in the corners has improved dramatically from last season’s footage. Someone’s been doing good work with you.”
Adan tipped his head in my direction. “Coach Anders has been incredible. He’s taught me to think about the game differently.”
“Specifically, what kinds of things have you been working on?” McLaughlin asked me, pulling out a small notebook.
I stepped forward slightly. “Adan came to us with excellent natural talent, but we’ve focused on refining his tactical awareness. Corner positioning, shot selection, defensive responsibility when he doesn’t have the puck.”
“The two-way game…” McLaughlin nodded. “That’s what separates the boys from the men. Tell me, Rivera, how do you feel about your defensive development?”
“Still learning,” Adan said honestly. “But I understand that I can’t focus on scoring myself. I need to be someone who makes the whole team better.”
“Good answer. And accurate, based on what I saw tonight.” McLaughlin made a note in his book. “What’s your timeline looking like? You’re a junior, correct?”
“Yes, sir. This is my third year.”
“So potentially a year and a half more of development, or earlier entry if the opportunity arises.”
I could see Adan trying to contain his excitement, trying to process the implications of what McLaughlin was saying. The idea that he might not need to finish college, that his NHL dream might be closer than he’d imagined. “Yes, sir.”
McLaughlin’s eyes drilled into Adan’s. “You didn’t make the draft. Were you upset?”
