The TD Garden pulsed with playoff energy, the kind that made the floor vibrate beneath Kyle's sneakers. Two days had passed since their win against Houston, and now the Celtics stood on the brink of the postseason, their final regular-season game against Orlando looming like a formality. But in the NBA, nothing was ever truly a formality.
Kyle adjusted the compression sleeve on his left arm, the black fabric stark against his skin. His pregame routine had become ritual—stretches, dribble drills, a moment alone with the photo in his notebook. But tonight, something felt different. The air was heavier, the stakes sharper. Playoffs weren't just games; they were legacies.
A hand clapped his shoulder. Jayson Tatum stood beside him, his expression unreadable. "You ready?"
Kyle nodded. "Born ready."
Tatum smirked. "Good. Because Orlando's coming for blood. They got nothing to lose."
