Page 39 of Speak in Fever

I t feels good to get on the flight home, even though everything about this trip feels different from their usual post-game travels.

Maybe it's the weight of this new thing with Rath still settling in Percy's chest like something precious and terrifying, but everything just seems so much larger than it ever has.

The team is in good spirits as they board the charter flight, the kind of loose, celebratory energy that comes after a convincing road win.

Percy catches snippets of conversation as players find their seats—Torres bragging about his assist, Kowalski already planning his recovery day routine, the younger guys still buzzing with adrenaline from their performance.

Percy settles into his usual window seat in the front section, expecting the usual flight routine of watching game tape on his tablet, maybe catching some sleep, but mostly enjoying the quiet that comes with a team that's played well and earned their rest. He's got his earbuds in and his tablet open to review some power play footage when he notices movement in his peripheral vision.

What he doesn't expect is for JP to slide into the aisle seat beside him with the determined expression of someone who has an agenda and isn't going to be deterred by social niceties or Percy's obvious desire for privacy.

Percy removes his earbud from his left ear, raising an eyebrow. "Hey, JP."

"We need to talk," JP says without preamble, buckling his seatbelt and turning his full attention onto Percy with the kind of focus usually reserved for penalty shots.

There's a tension around the edge of JP's eyes that says this is going to be something serious, and Percy feels his stomach flip when he realizes there's really only one thing the other man might be wanting to talk about.

His mind immediately races through the past few days, cataloguing moments that might have been too obvious, interactions that could have given them away.

The hickey on Rath's collarbone that had been visible during breakfast yesterday.

The way Rath had been wearing one of Percy's practice shirts, the sleeves rolled up and the fabric hanging loose on his smaller frame.

The careful way they'd sat apart from each other during team meetings while still stealing glances when they thought no one was looking.

Percy had thought they were being discreet. Apparently, he was wrong.

"Okay," he says, setting his tablet on his lap as the plane begins to taxi toward the runway. "What's up?"

JP glances around to make sure no one is paying attention to them, then leans closer. "Don't play games, Killinger. Those hickeys are practically an album of your mouth's greatest hits and the kid was wearing your shirt to breakfast. You're lucky the entire team doesn't know."

Percy keeps his expression carefully neutral, the same mask he uses for difficult media questions or contract negotiations when reporters are trying to get him to say something that will make headlines. "They're gonna know a lot sooner if you don't keep your voice down."

The deflection doesn't work. JP exhales loudly and leans toward him, lowering his voice but not his intensity. "After that stunt at the club, I'm pretty sure at least half of them know."

The observation hits uncomfortably close to home, and Percy realizes he and Rath have been less subtle than he thought. The club. Right.

"Look, I'm not going to mess up the team chemistry, JP–"

"I don't give a shit about team chemistry," JP interrupts, and his voice is sharp enough that Percy actually sits back in surprise. "This is about Rath."

Oh. It's that kind of talk. The protective best friend kind. The shovel talk kind.

The directness of the statement makes Percy's chest tight with something that might be panic or might be relief.

Part of him has been carrying this secret for weeks now, carefully managing every interaction to avoid suspicion while desperately wanting to acknowledge what Rath means to him.

Having someone finally call him on it feels simultaneously terrifying and liberating.

Percy glances around the cabin, confirming that the other players are absorbed in their own conversations, their own post-game routines.

Kowalski has his headphones on and is already dozing.

Torres is showing something on his phone to Murphy, both of them laughing at whatever video they're watching.

No one is paying attention to the intense conversation happening in row three.

"It's complicated," Percy says finally, which is probably more admission than he intended to give.

JP's expression doesn't soften. If anything, he looks more determined. "Complicated how? Complicated because he's a teammate, or complicated because you're both guys, or complicated because you're terrified of screwing up something that actually matters to you?"

All of the above, Percy thinks, but doesn't say out loud. The accuracy of JP's assessment is unsettling, like he's been watching Percy more carefully than Percy realized. "JP—"

"Look, I don't need details about your personal life," JP interrupts, holding up a hand.

"But I need to know your intentions here.

Because that kid..." He pauses, seeming to choose his words carefully, and Percy can see the genuine concern in his expression.

"Rath's not like the rest of us. He's not cynical about relationships, doesn't treat people like they're disposable.

If you're messing around with him just because it's convenient or available, that's going to destroy him. "

The accusation hits Percy like a physical blow, making him straighten in his seat. "You think I'd do that to him?"

"I think you're a twenty-eight-year-old professional athlete who's used to getting what he wants without thinking about consequences," JP says bluntly, and his honesty is brutal but not unkind.

"I think Rath is young and trusting and probably sees you as some kind of hockey god who can do no wrong.

That's a dangerous combination if you're not serious about this. "

Percy feels heat rise in his cheeks, partly from anger and partly from the uncomfortable recognition that JP isn't entirely wrong.

Percy has always been good at getting what he wants—on the ice and off it.

He's had relationships that were convenient, connections that served their purpose without requiring much emotional investment.

But this thing with Rath doesn't feel like that, hasn't felt like that from the beginning.

"It's not like that," Percy says immediately, surprising himself with how defensive he sounds.

"Then what is it like?"

The question hangs in the air between them, and Percy realizes he doesn't have a good answer. He's been so focused on the day-to-day reality of being with Rath—the stolen moments, the careful secrecy, the intoxicating chemistry—that he hasn't really thought about what it all means in the long term.

Percy stares at his hands, trying to figure out how to explain feelings he's barely admitted to himself. "Look, this is really new, okay? We're still figuring it out."

"That's fine," JP says, and his tone is slightly less confrontational now. "New is fine. But Rath needs to know where he stands with you. He's not going to push for answers because he's scared of scaring you off, but that doesn't mean he doesn't need them."

The insight makes Percy's chest tight with something that might be guilt. Has he been unfair to Rath? Has he been taking advantage of Rath's willingness to let Percy set the pace and define the boundaries?

"You need to talk to him," JP continues, leaning back in his seat but keeping his attention fixed on Percy. "About what this is, what you want it to be. You can't just keep drifting along hoping it'll figure itself out. That's not fair to either of you, but especially not to him."

Percy swallows hard, knowing JP is right but dreading the conversation. "I'll talk to him. When we get back."

"Good." JP's expression shifts from concern to something that looks like satisfaction, and Percy realizes this intervention was planned, not spontaneous.

JP has been thinking about this for a while, has been watching them and worrying about Rath and finally decided to do something about it.

"And maybe try to be a little more discreet if you don't want this all over the internet by next week. "

Percy feels heat rise in his cheeks again. "We've been discreet."

"You've been obvious as hell," JP corrects, and now there's amusement in his voice.

The rest of the flight passes with JP offering what he calls "relationship advice" but what sounds more like friendly threats about treating Rath well mixed with surprisingly insightful observations about Percy's emotional availability issues.

By the time they land in Portland, Percy's head is spinning with the knowledge that their hookup is apparently the worst-kept secret in professional hockey and that he's been more transparent about his feelings than he ever intended to be.

He drives home through familiar Portland streets, his mind replaying both last night's post-game celebration with Rath and this afternoon's interrogation by JP.

The city looks the same as always—the late afternoon light casting long shadows across the residential neighborhoods, the familiar landmarks that mark his route home—but Percy feels different, like something fundamental has shifted in the past few hours.

JP's words echo in his head: "You need to talk to him about what this is, what you want it to be."

The problem is, Percy doesn't know what he wants it to be.

He knows what it feels like—intense and consuming and more significant than anything he's experienced before.

He knows that thinking about Rath makes his chest tight with want and something deeper that he's not ready to name.

He knows that the idea of this ending makes him feel hollowed out in ways that surprise him.