Sasquatch to the Moon

6: MVP

HÅKON

Rocket Stojanovič is fucking unapologetic. I get to see that as his personality develops in the team's eyes. He's the stand-on-the-table type. He's got energy and he's absolutely not afraid to let us hear it.

By the time the fourth game into the season rolls around he's goofy enough to get the locker room rolling in a few words. Spare me but I figure he's come to terms with that no matter how intense his eyes go when they hit me, determined to do something, something I'm not sure about, that I'm probably not going to laugh.

Game four, though, was a surprise for everyone. LA. They're not the top of the league but they're definitely not the bottom. Rocket hasn't played in the regular season yet so it's a surprise when Fen is reading off the starting lines to yell Rocket's name out instead of Paxton.

I thought he was going to bite it and have to get rescued a quarter in.

I was wrong.

I was so fucking wrong.

The fourth game in the season, with no injuries on LA, a high-seeded team, with a disarmingly high number of 39 shots against, Rocket fucking Stojanovič nailed in a shutout.

A beautiful fucking shutout without a scrap of room to argue anything against it. A shutout with goaltending so well done I got off most of my shifts with a giddy twist in my gut knowing we had the game down just because of him.

It was gorgeous. All of it. Every clean cut save, every scoop of his glove, every turn of his head was perfectly accurate. I don't know goaltending as well as some do but with the way that Paxton looked on the bench, Rocket was damn near perfect all fucking night long.

Which means I know what I have to do.

"Alright," I wait until the locker room is mostly settled in to take off their gear, not until they're silent but until they're quieter. "Since I got MVP last game, I have to pick it this game," I lean over and grab the chicken hat off the top shelf of my locker.

Everyone is paying attention as I try to fluff up it's hair a little to put off what I know I have to do. I could pick Fen, he had a good two goal game and is always the most supportive on the bench but that would be chickening out and then the guys would know that I hold my pride over my team.

"So, Rocket," I need to just rattle off what I have practiced but it goes out the window the second I open my mouth. "We got off on a bad foot to start the season and I said some stuff that I meant then but didn't realize was wrong. You're an incredible guy, always a good time to have on the bench and on the plane and all of that, you're tough as nails and you're potentially one of the most persistent people I've ever met considering you don't seem to want to give up on making me your friend."

He's red in the cheeks, halfway out of his gear, no shirt on. I swallow to get rid of my dry throat, tearing my eyes off his body.

"I guess I owe you both an apology for being a jerk for the last few weeks as well as MVP considering the type of show you just put on for us tonight. That was unreal. Get up here."

He stands, suspenders holding up just the bottom half of his pads, blue shirt around just his neck, yet to be pulled down over his body. I notice a tattoo curled into his ribs, a sailboat, nothing more.

Instead of holding out the hat for him to take, I hold out my hand instead, nervous about the public speaking and all of what I just said.

I went off script to a new level, I had planned on just putting out that he had a great game and other boring stuff like that but I blurted out that instead.