Sasquatch to the Moon

13: Lonely

He frowns, picking up his backpack. "Why?"

"I normally do it alone, but," I stop talking. But you're hurting and even though I don't know what to do I want to make you feel better? But this is a strong emotion I'm feeling and even though it sucks, I want it to keep going? Because you're so confusing to me I almost ache to spend time picking you apart, figuring you out? "You look like you need it."

"Alright," he mumbles. "Grab your stuff, I'm always down for a sandwich." I keep my eyes on him in the corner of the room, waiting for me to get dressed the rest of the way. He's exhausted. It was a hard game for him, for most of the defense. Dallas spent most of the night in our zone, shot after shot after shot. Paxy was pulled after letting in two goals on five shots and Rocket played the rest of the night. He let in 4 more on over thirty shots. It was a mess. Six to one.

Rocket is phenomenal. He's not Paxton, Paxton is inhuman, but he's probably one of the most defined goaltenders I've ever worked with. While Paxton stops things based off pure reflex, Rocket's technique is flawless. He's already in the way before the player can even wind up. He's the most flexible goaltender I've ever met too, his ability to leap up from a full split to a ready position is close to the most impressive thing I've ever seen.

I was wrong about him. I keep being wrong about him. 

But he gives himself hell over it because there's some players that technique just can't stop. Paxton is our go-to based off league clout, but the more I think about it, the more I think we should consider playing Rocket more. Paxton's best skill set shows up during shootouts. Nothing, and I mean nothing can get past him in one-on-one. In his whole career of 5 seasons, this being his fifth, he's let in three shootout goals. Fucking three.

"What do you normally do after games like this?" I ask, tying my boots up.

He sighs, "lay on the floor. Sounds stupid but hardwood does wonders for a thought-process."

"Nothing else?"

"Crave fried food. But, you know, health restrictions on us mean we can't have that. Like right now, there's nothing I want more in the world than a bucket of fries. How about you?"

I stand up, slinging my bag over my shoulders, "you'll see."

We walk quietly side by side out to my truck, I figure I'll drop Rocket back here so he can go home in his own car. He tosses his stuff in the back seat next to mine and then climbs up into my passenger seat.

"Is it just custom out here to have a truck?" He mumbles, buckling in. "Everyone but Steph has one."

"He'll figure out soon enough that a truck is the only way to survive the winter. That Camaro is going to be a tough bargain in the ice we get."

"He's under the impression snow tires will do the trick. Both of us are weirded out by the lack of a subway. We took the T everywhere back in Boston."

"Really? I thought that was... like... a fan disaster."

He shrugs. "Not for me. He got noticed once or twice but hats and hoodies did the trick. So we didn't ever need cars in the winter, now that we're here, I'm thankful for my truck more than ever." He glances over at my driver's side. "Ew, automatic."

That gets a little bit of a start out of me. "What?"

"Automatic."

"Yeah?" I gesture at the inside. "They don't make stick shifts over here and thank God for that."

He sticks out his tongue, slouching into his seat, "they don't make them unless you ask."

"You special ordered a stick shift? Jesus, Rocket, I knew you were weird with the whole goalie thing and the goat herding, but I didn't realize you were that bad."