“I think you feel a bit better now, don’t you,” Jacob said, smiling and burying his face into the space underneath Tane’s arm. “But I’ve got a feeling that the Lynxes aren’t going to be feeling so good once we’re through with them!”
Tane chuckled.
Jacob had the confidence and optimism of youth on his side. Tane was like that once himself. But now as a veteran, Tane was determined to instead draw on his experience and hockey IQ to help bring home the title once more – and the fact that he would be doing it with his Forever Boy alongside him just made the prosect of success all the sweeter.
It’s about me and Jacob.
Together we’re going to bring the title home.
And after we do, I’ve got something very important I need to ask the boy…
* * *
The Finals had become a war of attrition nobody had predicted.
Game 1 in Pine Rise had felt like destiny. The Enforcers came out flying. Jacob sniping twice in the first period, Alex burying a one-timer on the power play, Tane tipping home the insurance goal late in the third. 4–1. The building shook. The city believed.
Game 2 was more of the same. Jacob danced through three defenders for a short-handed beauty, Tane anchored the penalty kill like it was 2015 again, and the Enforcers stole a 3–2 road win in overtime. 2–0 series lead. Pundits started using words like “dynasty” and “sweep.”
Then the Lynxes remembered they were the team that the Enforcershatedplaying against.
Game 3 in their barn was a bloodbath. The Lynxes forechecked like animals, blocked shots with their faces, and scored three unanswered goals in the second period. Jacob took a boarding major that cost the Enforcers a power play; Tane’s shoulder seized on a blocked slapshot and never quite loosened. 4–1 Lynxes.
The series moved to 2–1.
Game 4 was worse. The Enforcers generated chances, dozens of them, but the Lynxes goalie turned into a wall. Jacob hit two posts. Tane’s line couldn’t buy a bounce. A late empty-netter sealed it. 3–0 Lynxes.
Series tied 2–2.
The momentum had flipped so hard it left skid marks.
Game 5 back home felt like redemption. Tremaine lit into them after morning skate: screaming about compete level, about character, about refusing to let the season end in someone else’s building.
The message landed.
Jacob scored twice in the first ten minutes, both filthy wristers that made the highlight reels. Tane blocked three shots in the third, took a cross-check to the bad shoulder that made himsee white, and still stayed out for the final shift. 5–2 Toronto Enforcers.
3–2 series lead. One more win was needed.
But as was so often the case, The Lynxes refused to die.
Game 6 was a grinder—low scoring, high hitting, every puck battle contested like it was the last shift of their careers. The Enforcers led 2–1 into the third. Then the Lynxes’ top line broke through: a tic-tac-toe passing play, a one-timer from the slot, 2–2. Overtime. Double overtime. Triple overtime. At 92:14, the Lynxes’ captain wristed one past the glove. 3–2 Lynxes.
The series was tied 3–3.
Now Game 7 waited.
Tane sat alone in the quiet of the team hotel room the night before the finale, ice pack taped to his shoulder, staring at the muted TV replaying highlights from the series.
The numbers didn’t lie: he’d been solid—plus-4, heavy minutes on the penalty kill, two goals, four assists.
But there was no defining moment.
No overtime heroics.
No signature play that would be replayed for decades.
He’d been good. Not great. The legendary Tane Rivers hadn’t dominated in this run.
