Out of play

Episodio4

The sharp snap of the puck against the dasher board echoed like a gunshot through the empty rink. Out on the ice, Adrián didn't even pause to catch his breath. He executed a flawless edge transition, scooped up the blind rebound, and unleashed a wrist shot straight into the top left corner.

Clank. The netting rippled.

From the VIP balcony, Emma couldn’t tear her eyes away from the redhead. But right beside her, Gabriel’s presence had turned suffocating. The tension between them was a wire stretched to its breaking point.

“He’s a robot, Emma,” Gabriel muttered, breaking the silence with that deep voice that usually charmed the press, though it now sounded harsh, laced with poorly disguised resentment. “He’s got no spark. Sponsors don’t invest in machines; they invest in passion.”

“Sponsors invest in athletes who don’t get arrested at three in the morning two days before a playoff game,” Emma shot back without looking at him, tapping a note onto her iPad. “Passion doesn’t pay the agency’s legal fees, Gabriel.”

He let out a bitter laugh. Before Emma could react, Gabriel vaulted over the low VIP railing with the casual ease of a man who owned the place, taking the concrete steps two at a time down toward the ice rink's side door.

“What on earth are you doing?” Emma called out, quickening her pace behind him, the sharp click of her heels breaking the silence of the arena.

“I’m going to test your ‘perfect soldier,’” Gabriel said as he pulled on his helmet—which had been slung over his shoulder—and adjusted his grip on his stick. “You said you wanted someone who handles pressure, right? Let’s see how he does with a real defenseman in his face instead of an open net.”

“Gabriel, get back here! This is not part of the plan—”

But Gabriel had already shoved open the rink door, his skates digging into the ice with an aggressive roar.

Adrián ground to a halt in the center circle. He looked up, thrown off by the interruption. His visor revealed a calm yet razor-sharp gaze. Recognizing the agency’s undisputed star—and top-line player—he showed neither awe nor surprise; he simply settled into a neutral stance, holding his stick with a light, easy grip.

“Hey, rookie,” Gabriel barked, gliding in circles around him like a predator marking its territory. “I heard you’re here to take my spot. Let’s see if you can handle a one-on-one.”

Emma reached the edge of the rink, gripping the plexiglass barrier. The chill of the ice seeped into her bones, but the heat of her anger burned on her cheeks.

“Gabriel, that’s enough! Get off the ice right now!” she ordered, her voice firm as the manager in her took total control.

Gabriel didn’t even glance at her. He flicked a puck at Adrián’s feet with a hard snap of his blade.

“Yours, redhead. Take it at me.”

For a second, time seemed to freeze in the arena. Adrián looked down at the puck, then caught Emma’s eye through the glass. She gave him a subtle shake of her head, warning him off the trap, but Adrián read the room instantly. He knew exactly who was standing opposite him: the spoiled star he was implicitly brought in to replace. And he knew that in hockey, respect isn't asked for; it's taken.

Without a word, Adrián touched the puck with the toe of his stick.

In a heartbeat, he exploded forward.

Adrián’s acceleration was violent. Three deep strides were all it took to reach top speed. Gabriel, caught off guard by the kid’s sheer burst, set his skates, spreading his arms to cut off the lane and leverage his superior size. He meant to lay a heavy hit, pin him against the glass, and remind him of his place in the food chain.

But Adrián didn't take the hit.

A yard before impact, Adrián gave a subtle drop of his shoulder to the left. Gabriel took the bait, shifting his weight a fraction of a millimeter. That was all the rookie needed: he cut the opposite way with an impossible shift of his ankles, slipping the puck right through Gabriel’s legs while looping around the veteran’s right side.

A textbook self-pass at full throttle.

Gabriel tried to pivot in desperation, losing his balance and spitting out a curse under his breath. Adrián scooped up the puck on the other side, bore down on the net, and without losing a drop of momentum, ripped a cross-bar shot that clanged off the inner post before tucking into the mesh.

BANG!

The sound vibrated through the empty stands.

Adrián snow-plowed to a stop a yard from the net, gathered the puck with icy indifference, and turned around. No celebration. No look back at Gabriel, who was picking himself up with a face twisted in humiliation. Adrián simply glided toward the boards where Emma still stood, stunned.

The kid stopped right in front of her, separated only by the glass. He pulled off his helmet, revealing damp red hair and the same unreadable, serious eyes Marcos had described so accurately.

“Manager Emma?” Adrián asked, his voice low and steady, barely showing the physical strain. “Marcos told me you’d be reviewing my tryout. Do you have the contract paperwork? I don't like wasting time between training sessions.”

A few yards away, Gabriel squeezed his stick so hard his knuckles turned stark white, breathing heavily as his eyes bore into the rookie's back.

Emma looked at Adrián, then cast a quick glance at Gabriel—whose ego was visibly bleeding out onto the ice—and for the first time all day, a genuine, calculating smile touched her lips.

“I have the papers in my office, Rivas,” Emma replied, adjusting her wool coat with practiced elegance. “Take off your skates. Let’s sign this deal before the day is out.”