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.

"Thanks," he shakes my hand, hair slicked back from water, highlighting his high cheekbones and slight smile. I would've taken it for a haughty little smirk a week ago but I guess not.

"Sorry about that," I try, quiet so only he can really hear. "It's been weird for me."

"What, admitting that or in general?"

"In general," I hand him the hat, fully uncomfortable with the situation now. "You played good."

"Good enough?" He's looking for my approval, for some reason. Of anyone, I should not be the one he wants it from.

"Good enough." I confirm.

"Damn, now I have to keep this up to keep you happy, huh?"

I chew the dead skin on my bottom lip, looking at him, trying to process him, most of him, at least. "If you'd like."

He elbows my side, "you're fun."

I fight the urge to roll my eyes, "go finish changing. We'll see."

"Bitchy, but fun," he gives me a wink and then hops back over toward Steph.

"Um, Rocket," I call after him.

He turns, eyes up, confused.

"Speech, you're supposed to say something," Steph laughs, explaining. "He's saying that you need to say something, like when people win MVP, or POG, or any of that. You gotta say something."

Rocket's eyebrows shoot up, "oh shit, I forgot, oh my God," he looks at the cubby and then puts one foot up on it, standing up tall and getting everyone's attention again, "hi, sorry, this is my first time getting player of the game, like, ever, so, thank you, Yeti, and the rest of you, it was a really good night for me, not sure why, but wicked good, other than that, keep it up, keep going, keep playing and we've got a hell of a season ahead of us so I say fuck yeah!"

The team laughs and gives him a pretty hearty 'fuck yeah' in return. I'm pretty much lost, watching him smile and hang off his cubby, wondering why on Earth this is his first ever. I thought most teams made sure to give their guys each at least once a season with MVP or the like.

The fact that that's his first probably explains the overexcited grin and the flush to his cheeks and chest and how quick he's breathing, giggling and poking fun at Steph and Hiro.

I settle back down at my booth and get Fen in my personal space without a single second to breathe.

"That was good," he kicks his knee into mine, "good job."

"Um, thanks."

Fen nods, hair wet and falling into his eyes, "way to be a good teammate and admit to shit. I told you, he's a good guy. Maybe someone you'd like to be around."

I actually roll my eyes this time, "get outta my face with that," I push him away with a hand on his shoulder. "I just apologized. I didn't agree to anything else."

"We'll see," Fen is giving me the 'I'm planning something' look that he shares almost identically with his girlfriend. Spoiler alert, he picked it up off her and when they're making it together the team is about to get power-coupled into doing four mile repeats.

I let my eyes drift back over to Rocket as I untie my skates.

He's doing something big with his hands over at Steph, Hiro and Milan listening in. Over half his gear is off now, leaving just his skinny body in his massive goalie pants, an unexpected tan on him, now that he's in direct comparison to Steph. It's silky and bronze all over him but when he drops all of his pads, leaving nothing but compression shorts underneath, a big laugh echoing out of his throat as he does it, I see a line where his thigh goes from amber to pale.

He kicks his pads off and reaches up for his shorts on the upper shelf in his cubby, long limbs spread out to let anyone see. He's six foot three and if he were a girl, people would rave about his legs. People might rave about his legs anyway, I wouldn't know, I don't really follow him anywhere.

He pulls them up around his hips, happily leaving a little gap to show everyone the line of his compression shorts over the top of the elastic of his gym shorts. His smile is huge, hand reaching over to smack Steph upside the head.

I turn back to my own gear, pulling off my compression shirt and hanging it up in my cubby, ignoring another rolling laugh from his half of the locker room.

His smile splits his face in a crooked and devilish way, a dimple rising by his eye, a softened posture in his shoulders that lightens up the whole room.

I look back up from my gear at him, goofy grin throwing around a balled up t-shirt, his balled up t-shirt. His chest is bare and glistening with sweat, a laugh echoing back and forth with Steph.

I watch him like he's some sort of weird zoo exhibit, joyful and full of life and on display, but I know that if I stepped across that line, he'd kill me.

He'd suffocate what little of me I have. There's... too much. Too many colors, too much laughter, he'd drown me.

I'd be like a speck on the edge of his personality and he'd be the sun to me.

Better leaving it where it lies than trying to throw myself into it for a moment of warmth.

***

you say that you all know me

but do you really know me?

see below - the ghost club

(behind the editing, i feel as though this is roughly what rocket might sound like)

***

*me pushing them together* "now make up for all that i made you do in the first chapter, it was an accident"

-rabid