Page 19 of Speak in Fever

P ercy has never been good at reading people outside of hockey situations, but even he can tell he's irrevocably fucked everything both on and off the ice with Rath.

Whatever magic was there before—that electric connection that made their chemistry so explosive during practices, the way they'd started to understand each other's timing and instincts—is brittle at best now, just waiting for an opportunity to shatter at the slightest touch.

And whose fault is that?

The answer sits like a stone in Percy's chest every time he looks at Rath, every time he catches the way Rath's shoulders tense when Percy approaches, every time those expressive eyes that used to meet his with challenge and fire now slide away like Percy has become something dangerous to look at directly.

He knows he shouldn't have let things get so complicated.

The rational, responsible part of his brain—the part that got him the captain's C, that understands the weight of leadership and the importance of maintaining professional boundaries—has been screaming at him to end that phone call the moment Rath's voice went breathy and desperate.

He should have hung up the phone the moment things got heated between them, should have found some excuse about needing to get up early or having other calls to make.

Should have been the adult, the leader, the one who understands that crossing certain lines will only lead to pain and complications and exactly the kind of mess they're dealing with now.

But he didn't, did he?

Instead, he crossed a boundary with a teammate, someone who is under his guidance both officially and unofficially, someone who looks to him for leadership and approval.

And not only did he cross that boundary, he drove them both straight through it at ninety miles an hour without looking back.

He took advantage of the trust Rath placed in him, used his position and Rath's admiration of him to get what he wanted.

The fact that Rath seemed just as into it, was an enthusiastic and willing participant, doesn't make Percy feel any less like a predator. Because Percy is older, more experienced, the one with authority. Percy should have known better.

Thinking about it now makes him feel sick to his stomach, a queasy guilt that he can’t shake.

Because despite everything—despite knowing it was wrong, despite knowing it would complicate everything, despite understanding that he'd potentially damaged something important and irreplaceable—at the time, it was. ..

God, it was good.

Hearing Rath fall apart in his ear, listening to all of his breathy moans and desperate pleas as Percy told him everything he thought about him, was exhilarating in a way that makes Percy question everything he thought he knew about himself.

The attraction between them felt like something steady and inevitable, burning there in a way that Percy has never experienced with someone else.

Not with any of the women he's dated, not with the handful of hookups he's had over the years.

Nothing has ever felt as right as the sound of Rath saying his name like a prayer.

It's wrong, though. Because Percy is the team captain, responsible for maintaining team chemistry and ensuring everyone feels safe and respected. Because Rath is impressionable, and young, and probably more than a little confused about what he wants, what any of it means.

And Percy has never done anything like this before, especially not with a teammate.

He's always been careful to keep his professional and personal lives separate, has prided himself on his ability to lead without favoritism or inappropriate entanglements.

But none of that excuses what he's done, does it?

The worst part is how good it felt to let go, to stop being Captain Percy Killinger for a few minutes and just be a man who wants someone desperately.

To hear Rath respond to him with such honest desire, such complete trust. Rath gave him everything that night—his vulnerability, his pleasure, his complete focus—and Percy took it all like he had any right to it.

The memory of Rath's voice, shaky and overwhelmed, makes Percy's chest tighten with a combination of arousal and guilt that's becoming all too familiar.

Because part of him—a large, shameful part—wants to hear it again.

Wants to call Rath back, wants to find out what other sounds he can pull from that smart mouth, wants to discover if the reality of touching him would be even better than the phone call was.

Which only proves how completely he's lost his moral compass where Rath is concerned.

So of course he notices that Rath is off during practice the next morning, but it's not like he can talk to him about it. What is he supposed to say? "Sorry I took advantage of you last night, want to discuss it in front of the entire team?" The very thought makes his skin crawl.

Instead, he watches helplessly as Rath goes through the motions of practice like he's sleepwalking, his usual fire and creativity dampened to something that looks almost mechanical. Rath's timing is off, his reads are slow, and worst of all, he seems to be actively avoiding Percy's eyes.

During their usual partner drills, Rath is polite and professional in a way that feels like a slap in the face.

Gone is the intense focus, the way Rath used to watch Percy's every movement like he was trying to decode some fascinating puzzle.

Instead, Rath treats him like any other teammate: respectfully, competently, and with absolutely no trace of the connection that has been building between them.

Percy tries to catch his attention after practice, lingers in the locker room hoping for even just a moment of eye contact, some sign that they can find a way to talk about what happened.

But Rath is efficient and distant, packing his gear with mechanical precision and disappearing before Percy can work up the courage to approach him.

And things don't just get better on their own, do they?

The second day is worse. Rath shows up to practice looking like he hasn't slept, dark circles under his eyes and a tension in his jaw that Percy recognizes as barely controlled emotion.

During warm-ups, when Percy tries to skate over and ask if he's okay—just normal teammate concern, nothing inappropriate—Rath gives him such a sharp, almost panicked look that Percy immediately backs off.

The message is crystal clear: whatever was between them, Rath wants nothing to do with it now.

Percy spends that entire practice fighting the urge to grab Rath by the shoulders and demand they talk about it.

The rational part of his brain knows that would be the worst possible approach, would only make Rath feel more cornered and uncomfortable.

But watching Rath struggle through drills, seeing the way his confidence seems to have evaporated overnight, is killing Percy.

Because this is exactly what he was afraid of.

This is why there are rules about fraternization, why smart captains keep their distance from teammates who look at them with stars in their eyes.

Not because the attraction itself is wrong, but because when it inevitably goes south, it damages more than just the two people involved. It damages the team.

And Percy let it happen anyway.

The guilt is eating him alive, made worse by the fact that every time he looks at Rath, part of him still wants him desperately.

Still remembers exactly how Rath sounded when he was falling apart, still wonders what it would be like to kiss him properly instead of just listening to him come undone over the phone.

Which makes Percy a selfish bastard on top of everything else.

By the third practice, Rath looks like a different person entirely.

The cocky, challenging young player who's been pushing Percy's buttons and driving him crazy in the best possible way has been replaced by someone going through the motions.

Rath follows directions without argument, executes plays without creativity, and speaks only when directly addressed.

It's like watching someone's personality get systematically erased, and Percy knows he's responsible for it.

The team is starting to notice. JP keeps shooting worried looks at Rath during breaks, clearly wanting to ask what's wrong but respecting Rath's obvious desire to be left alone.

Torres makes a few attempts at his usual joking around, but when Rath's responses are flat and distracted, even Torres backs off.

Martinez, who rarely comments on team dynamics, asks Percy if everything is okay with "the kid. "

Percy lies and says he thinks Rath is just working through some personal stuff, that it will probably resolve itself soon.

But even as he says it, he knows it isn't true.

This isn't the kind of problem that will resolve itself.

This is the kind of problem that festers until it poisons everything around it.

And still, Percy can't figure out how to fix it without making it worse.

He considers approaching Rath directly, cornering him after practice and demanding they clear the air.

But every time he imagines that conversation, it ends with Rath feeling more uncomfortable, more trapped.

The power dynamic between them makes any attempt at discussion feel inherently coercive.

How can Rath say no to his captain? How can he express his real feelings without worrying about repercussions?

Percy also considers talking to Coach Reeves, maybe asking for advice without getting into specifics.

But what would he say? "I crossed a line with one of our players and now everything's fucked up"?

That would raise questions Percy isn't prepared to answer, questions that could end his captaincy and potentially damage Rath's position on the team.

So he does nothing, watches helplessly as the situation deteriorates and hates himself more with each passing hour.

The breaking point comes after practice on the third day, when Coach Reeves pulls Percy aside as the rest of the team heads to the locker room.

"We need to talk," Coach says, his expression serious in a way that makes Percy's stomach drop.

They walk to Coach's office in silence, Percy's mind racing through possible scenarios. Does Coach know what happened? Has someone seen or heard something? Is Percy about to lose his captaincy, his position on the team, everything he's worked for?

Coach closes the door behind them and gestures for Percy to sit, but Percy is too agitated to settle. He stands in front of Coach's desk, hands clenched at his sides, waiting for the axe to fall.

"What the hell is going on with you and Platts?" Coach asks without preamble.

Percy's heart stops. "What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Percy. Three days ago, you two had the best chemistry I've seen between teammates in years. Today, Rath played like he was afraid of his own shadow, and you looked like you were at a funeral. So I'll ask again: what's going on?"

Percy stares at Coach, trying to determine how much he knows, how much he suspects. Coach's expression is stern but not accusatory—more concerned than angry. Maybe he doesn't know the specifics. Maybe Percy can find a way to explain without revealing the full truth.

"We had a... disagreement," Percy says carefully. "Personal stuff. It's affecting our ability to work together."

"Personal stuff." Coach's tone is flat, unimpressed. "Care to elaborate?"

"It's complicated."

"I'm sure it is." Coach leans back in his chair, studying Percy with sharp eyes.

"Let me tell you what I see. I see my best young player suddenly playing like he's scared of making mistakes.

I see my team captain distracted and miserable.

And I see what was shaping up to be one of our strongest partnerships completely falling apart. "

The silence stretches between them, heavy with implication. Percy feels exposed, like Coach can see right through all his carefully constructed defenses.

"I don't need to know the details," Coach says finally. "But I need you to figure your shit out. It's affecting the team."

Percy nods miserably. "I know. I'm trying to—"

"Try harder." Coach's voice is firm but not unkind. "Rath is a good kid with a lot of potential. Don't let whatever this is mess that up for him."

The implication is clear: Percy is the one with power in this situation, Percy is the one responsible for fixing it. Which is exactly what Percy has been telling himself for three days, but hearing it from Coach makes it feel more real, more urgent.