Character over flash.
Leadership over highlight reel.
In the locker room afterward, the mood was jubilant but exhausted. Gear came off slowly, guys hugged, slapped backs, laughed through the ache.
Coach Tremaine walked in last.
The room quieted instantly.
Tremaine looked around—took in the sweat-soaked jerseys, the taped ankles, the bruises already blooming—then stopped in front of Tane.
“Rivers,” Tremaine said, his voice cold and ominous.
Tane stood, towel around his neck, waiting.
Tremaine’s voice was quieter than it had been after Game One, but no less intense.
“You’re a legend in this league. Tonight you reminded everyone why,” He paused, letting the words settle. “But legends don’t coast. Legends keepfighting. The next round, hell, this whole run, is gonna test every piece of you. Shoulder, legs, heart. I need to see you keep showing up like you did tonight. Not for me. For them.” He jerked his head toward the rest of the room. “For the city. For the family. We will not lose!”
Tane swallowed once. “I’ve got more left, Coach.”
Tremaine studied him for a long beat, then clapped him on the good shoulder—firm, approving.
“I know you do,” Tremain said. He turned to the room. “Rest tonight. Film tomorrow. We’re not done. Not by a long shot.”
As Tremaine and the assistants filed out, the door opened again.
Jacob stepped in, his right arm in a sling, ice pack taped to his ribs, but walking under his own power. The room cheered. Guys mobbed him, careful not to jostle the injury.
Jacob waved them off with his good hand, grinning through the pain. “It’s not bad, he announced. “Separated shoulder, mild. Doc says a week, tops. I’ll be back for whoever’s next. Rangers, whoever. They can all kiss my ass and eat my ice. Or eat my ass and kiss my ice. I don’t know. Fuck it! We’re going all the way, boys!”
Tane met his eyes across the room.
Jacob limped over, stopping in front of him. The grin softened into something warmer, private.
“Told you we could win without me,” Jacob said quietly.
Tane reached out, cupped the back of Jacob’s neck with his good hand, and pulled him in until their foreheads touched.
“You were wrong,” Tane murmured. “We didn’t win without you. We wonforyou.”
Jacob’s eyes shone. “Pah. Same thing.”
Tane pulled him into a careful one-armed hug, mindful of the sling. Around them the locker room filled with low laughter, the clink of water bottles, the soft sound of tape being ripped off.
The Enforcers were on the march to the championship again. Or that’s how it felt anyway. But wither way, Tane felt the lidocaine wearing off now, a dull fire creeping back into the shoulder. But he welcomed it. Pain meant he was still in the fight.
Tane looked down at Jacob, at the rest of the team, at the championship banners waiting somewhere down the road.
One more round.
One more push.
He was ready.
* * *
Later that evening the city had cooled into a crisp quiet. The streets were mostly empty—tourists gone, bars still a few hours from closing, the occasional delivery scooter humming past.
