Page 24 of Speak in Fever

His mom tells him about the community garden she and his dad have been working on, how the tomatoes came in better than expected this year and they've been giving away bags of vegetables to neighbors.

She mentions that his high school coach called to ask how he was doing, that several of his former teammates have been asking about him when they run into his parents around town.

"You're representing more than just yourself out there," she reminds him, but not in a way that feels like pressure. "There are a lot of people back home who are proud of you and rooting for you to succeed."

By the time they hang up, Rath feels more like himself—still confused about Percy, but reminded that he has people who love him unconditionally and a life that exists outside of whatever emotional chaos is currently occupying his brain.

He spends the next hour actually packing for San Jose, folding clothes and organizing toiletries in a way that helps calm his mind. Three games, six days on the road, plenty of distractions to keep him from overthinking every interaction with Percy.

He's debating whether to pack an extra pair of dress shoes when his phone buzzes with a text from JP: Flight leaves at noon tomorrow. Want to grab breakfast before we head to the airport?

Rath considers the offer. JP is his best friend on the team, and he’s known about Rath’s embarrassing crush on his captain for a while now.

JP is also someone Rath can actually talk to without feeling like he has to perform or maintain some kind of image.

JP has seen him at his worst—homesick and overwhelmed during his first road trip, sick with food poisoning and missing two games, devastated after a particularly brutal loss where he felt responsible for the outcome.

More importantly, JP was there when things went sideways with Percy. He probably has opinions about the situation, might even have advice that doesn't involve Rath making everything more complicated than it needs to be.

Sure, he texts back. The place by the airport at 10?

Perfect.

Rath finishes packing and spends the evening trying to distract himself with Netflix and leftover takeout from his favorite Thai place.

But his mind keeps drifting back to Percy —the way he'd looked in the alley when he realized what Rath had overheard, the urgency in his voice when he explained about Miller, the possessive weight of his arm around Rath's waist.

He tries to analyze it like hockey footage, breaking down each moment for clues about what Percy was thinking, what his motivations were.

But unlike hockey, where patterns and strategies eventually become clear through repetition, his interactions with Percy seem to become more confusing the more he thinks about them.

That night, Rath dreams about playing on the first power play unit, about making plays with Percy that are so perfectly timed they look choreographed.

In the dream, Percy looks at him with undisguised pride and satisfaction, and when Rath scores the game-winning goal, Percy is the first one to reach him, pulling him into a hug that lasts longer than teammate celebration and feels like something else entirely.

He wakes up hard and frustrated, the dream vivid enough that for a moment he forgets where he is. The memory of dream-Percy's hands on his back, the imagined weight of his body pressed close, makes Rath's chest tight with wanting.

This is exactly the kind of complication he doesn't need before a road trip.

The airport at eleven AM is controlled chaos—twenty-some professional athletes with varying levels of organization and caffeine intake trying to coordinate travel logistics. Rath arrives with JP, both of them fueled by breakfast and what JP refers to as "dangerously strong coffee."

Breakfast had been exactly what Rath needed—normal conversation about everything except Percy, JP's easy humor providing a buffer against the anxiety that's been building since he woke up.

They'd talked about the upcoming games, about JP's ongoing attempt to convince his girlfriend to move to Portland, about the new restaurant that opened near the practice facility and whether it's worth trying.

JP didn't ask about the situation with Percy, didn't push for details about what had been resolved or what remained complicated between them.

But he'd studied Rath's face over pancakes and coffee with the attention of someone making sure his friend was really okay, and Rath had felt grateful for both the concern and the space.

The airport terminal buzzes with the familiar controlled chaos of team travel.

Rath spots his teammates scattered throughout the gate area—some playing cards, others reviewing game footage on tablets, a few catching up on sleep that the early departure time had abbreviated.

Coach Reeves sits with the coaching staff, going through what looks like tactical notes, while the equipment managers coordinate with airline staff about getting gear bags properly handled.

"Window or aisle?" JP asks as they settle into their seats on the plane.

"Window," Rath says automatically. He likes being able to look out during takeoff and landing, likes the feeling of watching the ground fall away and cities shrink to miniature versions of themselves.

There's something about the perspective from altitude that helps him process whatever emotional chaos is happening in his life—problems that feel enormous at ground level become manageable when viewed from 30,000 feet.

JP settles into the aisle seat and immediately pulls out his tablet. "Want to review some San Jose footage? Their power play has been giving teams trouble."

Rath nods and leans in as JP pulls up video from recent games.

This is familiar territory—hockey analysis, tactical discussion, the kind of shop talk that makes him feel competent and confident.

It's also a welcome distraction from the part of his brain that keeps trying to locate Percy in the cabin, keeps tracking his voice in the ambient conversation.

"Look at this," JP says, pointing to the screen as a San Jose power play develops. "They're running a 1-3-1 setup, but watch how Addison activates from the point."

Rath studies the play, noting the way San Jose's defenseman jumps into the rush to create a numerical advantage. It's a risky strategy that requires perfect timing and communication between the players. "He's essentially becoming a fourth forward. Risky if they turn it over."

"Exactly. But they're gambling that their speed can get back in transition." JP rewinds the play to show it again. "Question is, how do we defend against it?"

They spend the next hour breaking down San Jose's systems, identifying weaknesses and discussing potential countermeasures.

It's the kind of tactical analysis that Rath loves—complex, strategic, requiring the kind of hockey intelligence that goes beyond just skating fast and shooting hard.

This is where he feels most confident, most valuable to the team.

"Their breakout is predictable," Rath observes, watching San Jose's defensemen consistently make the same first pass. "If we can anticipate that outlet pass, we might be able to create turnovers in the neutral zone."

"Good eye," JP says, making notes on his tablet. "That's exactly the kind of read Coach will want from the second line."

As they continue their analysis, Rath becomes aware of other conversations happening around them.

Terrible is apparently explaining his elaborate pre-game meal routine to Morrison, something that involves specific protein ratios and timing that borders on obsessive.

Torres is arguing with Raul about something involving their hotel room arrangements, their voices carrying the good-natured bickering of teammates who've been through this routine dozens of times.

A few rows ahead, Rath catches glimpses of Percy talking quietly with Coach about something that looks serious and tactical.

Even from behind, Percy's body language radiates the kind of focused authority that makes him such an effective captain—leaning in to listen, making notes in his precise handwriting, asking questions that show he's thinking three moves ahead.

Rath tries to focus on the footage JP is showing him, but part of his attention keeps drifting to Percy's voice, to the familiar rhythm of his speech patterns when he's in full captain mode.

It's professional, analytical, exactly the kind of leadership that makes their team successful.

But Rath can't help remembering how different Percy's voice sounded during that phone call—rougher, more intimate, saying things that Rath had been dying to hear.

"Earth to Rath," JP says, following his gaze. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just..." Rath searches for a believable explanation that doesn't involve admitting he was staring at their captain. "Wondering what they're discussing."

"Probably line combinations for tomorrow's game," JP says casually, but there's something knowing in his tone that makes Rath wonder how transparent his interest in Percy has become. "Speaking of which, you ready for your increased role?"

The question catches Rath slightly off guard. "What do you mean?"

"Come on, man. Word is you're moving up to first power play unit, getting more minutes at even strength." JP grins, and there's genuine excitement in his expression. "Coach doesn't make those kinds of changes unless someone's been advocating for you."

Rath's stomach does that familiar flip at the reminder.

Percy advocating for him, pushing for increased ice time, believing in his potential enough to put his own reputation on the line.

It should feel purely professional, purely about hockey performance, but Rath can't separate it from the memory of Percy's voice during that phone call, the things he'd said about Rath's abilities that had nothing to do with power play positioning.

"I'm ready," Rath says, and realizes he means it. Whatever complicated feelings he has about Percy, his hockey performance doesn't have to suffer. If anything, knowing that Percy sees potential in him should make him more confident, not less.

"Good," JP says, closing his tablet and settling back for the remainder of the flight. "Because from what I hear, this could be a breakout road trip for you. First power play, increased minutes, chance to really show what you can do."

The pressure of that expectation sits heavy in Rath's chest, but it's good pressure. The kind that makes him want to work harder, play smarter, prove that Percy's faith in him is justified.

Rath stares out the window at the clouds below and tries to ignore the way his heart rate picks up at the thought of proving Percy right about him.

Three games, multiple opportunities to show that Percy's advocacy wasn't misplaced, that the chemistry they have on the ice can translate into the kind of production that wins games.

No pressure at all.

The flight attendant comes by with drinks, and Rath accepts a ginger ale while JP opts for coffee.

Around them, the plane settles into the quiet hum of routine travel—some players reading, others listening to music, a few working on laptops.

It's peaceful in the way that team travel can be, a brief pause between the intensity of preparation and performance.

"So," JP says after the flight attendant moves on.

"What?"

"What happened between you and Cap to create such a fallout?"

Rath considers how much truth he can safely share. JP is trustworthy, has never betrayed a confidence or used personal information against anyone. But the full truth about the phone call feels too intimate, too complicated to explain without revealing feelings he's not ready to discuss.

"Misunderstanding," Rath says finally. "I thought he said something he didn't say. Got my feelings hurt over nothing."

"Yeah, I know about the misunderstanding," JP says. "But you took it really hard. Seemed like maybe there was more to the story than you were letting on."

The question hits closer to home than Rath is comfortable with.

Because the truth is, his reaction had been so extreme partly because of the phone call, because he'd been vulnerable with Percy in a way he'd never been with anyone.

The thought that Percy might have been manipulating him, using his attraction and trust for some cruel joke, had felt like a betrayal that went far beyond normal team dynamics.

"Doesn't matter now," Rath says. "We figured it out."

JP nods, but his expression suggests he knows there's more to the story. "Good. Because you two work well together. Be a shame to lose that over some stupid miscommunication."

The pilot announces their descent into San Jose, and Rath watches the city grow larger through the window. Three games in six days. Plenty of opportunities to prove himself, and plenty of time to figure out how to be the player Percy thinks he can be.

Even if he never figures out how to stop wanting more than just Percy's professional respect.

The plane touches down smoothly, and as they taxi to the gate, Rath can feel the familiar shift in energy that happens when the team transitions from travel mode to game mode.

Conversations become more focused, posture more alert.

By the time they're gathering their carry-on bags and preparing to deplane, they're no longer just twenty-something guys traveling together—they're a professional hockey team with a job to do.

Rath falls into line with the rest of his teammates, equipment bag slung over his shoulder, ready to face whatever the next six days bring.

But as they file off the plane, he can't help stealing one more glance at Percy, can't help noticing the way his captain's jaw is set with determination, the way his eyes are already focused on something beyond the immediate logistics of travel.

Percy catches him looking and for a moment their eyes meet across the jetway. Percy's expression is unreadable, professional, but there's something in his gaze that makes Rath's pulse jump.

Six days.

Rath follows his teammates toward baggage claim and tries to convince himself that's not nearly enough time for anything else to get complicated between them.