Game 5: Celtics won 112-105. Tatum dropped 47, mocking Lin Mo with every basket. "Done," he yelled, as he walked off. "You're done."
Lin Mo's rib throbbed, but he didn't care. He texted Joe: Still sewing.
Her reply: Good. Last stitch is the tightest.
Game 6: Boston, 3-2 series lead. Lin Mo's bandage was soaked through by halftime, but he kept playing—12 points, 8 assists, all grit. Fourth quarter: 102-100, Celtics, 1:30 left.
Tatum iso'd Lin Mo, crossing over, trash-talking, but Lin Mo stayed low, hands up. When Tatum drove, Lin Mo didn't move—took the charge, hit the floor, and lay there, grinning, as the ref blew the whistle.
Lakers ball.
LeBron dribbled, then hit Lin Mo with a bounce pass. He didn't shoot—drove, drew the double team, and hit Davis under the hoop. Dunk: 102-102.
Celtics possession: Brown missed a three, Davis grabbed the rebound, passed to Russell, who sprinted the length of the floor. Layup: 104-102.
Buzzer.
Lin Mo stumbled to the locker room, his vision graying, but he held the thimble high. "One more," he whispered.
Game 7 eve: team dinner, quiet, tense. LeBron raised his glass. "We didn't come this far to quit. Tomorrow, we bleed green—so we can wear gold."
Lin Mo touched his bandage. "Joe's quilt. Last stitch. Tightest one."
Everyone nodded.