Page 42 of Speak in Fever
T he worst part about having a secret relationship with your team captain, Rath has discovered, is that he still has to see Percy every single day and pretend like he doesn't want to climb him like a tree.
It's particularly difficult on days like today, when Percy's been in full captain mode since they hit the ice for morning skate.
There's something about the way he carries himself when he's focused—shoulders squared, jaw set in that determined line, eyes sharp as he surveys the team like he's cataloguing every weakness and strength.
It makes Rath's mouth go dry and his focus scatter.
Which is probably why he nearly took out Torres with that sloppy turn during the passing drill, earning himself a glare from Coach Reeves and a concerned look from JP that he's been trying to ignore for the past twenty minutes.
The locker room after practice is always chaos—a symphony of gear hitting the floor, shower water running, and conversations overlapping as guys decompress from the intensity of training.
It's loud enough that most conversations get lost in the noise, which is usually a blessing.
Today, it feels like a curse, because the noise means Rath can't tell if other people are talking about him and Percy, can't gauge if their careful distance is fooling anyone.
He's sitting at his stall, methodically peeling off his gear and trying not to watch Percy strip out of his practice jersey three stalls down, when the ambient noise around him suddenly quiets. Not the whole locker room—just his immediate vicinity, like people are deliberately tuning out.
That's when he realizes Terrible is approaching, and Rath's stomach drops.
Terrible has the observational skills of a private investigator and the tact of a sledgehammer. He's also Percy's alternate captain and one of the most perceptive people Rath has ever met, which makes him approximately the last person Rath wants to have this conversation with.
"You know," Terrible says, settling beside Rath at his stall with the careful casualness of someone who's been planning this approach, "I've been thinking about team chemistry lately."
Rath's hands still on his shin guards.
"Have you?" Rath asks carefully.
"Mmm. How some players just click, you know?
Like they're on the same wavelength. Reading each other's minds.
" Terrible's tone is conversational, friendly even, but his eyes are sharp in a way that makes Rath feel like he's being dissected.
"Take you and Cap, for instance. That connection you two have developed is pretty remarkable when you consider we thought you were going to kill each other last season. "
Rath can feel heat climbing up his neck.
Across the room, Percy's back is to them, but Rath can see the tension in his captain's shoulders, the way his movements have gone just slightly too controlled.
Percy's heard this conversation, and he's fighting the same urge to look over that Rath is fighting right now.
"People change," Rath manages, focusing intently on pulling off his shin guard. "People mature."
"Absolutely." Terrible settles more comfortably against the partition between stalls, clearly prepared to make this a longer conversation than Rath would prefer.
"But some chemistry develops naturally over time, through shared experiences and complementary playing styles.
And some chemistry..." He pauses, and Rath can feel the weight of his scrutiny.
"Some chemistry is more immediate. More intense. "
JP appears on Rath's other side before Terrible can continue, clearly positioning himself as backup. Rath has never been more grateful for his best friend's protective instincts, even as he realizes that JP's intervention probably confirms exactly what Terrible is fishing for.
"Chemistry takes time to build," JP says diplomatically, dropping into his own stall and immediately beginning the ritual of post-practice gear removal. "Rath and Percy have put in the work."
"Oh, I'm sure they have," Terrible agrees with obvious amusement, and the emphasis he puts on 'work' makes Rath want to sink through the floor. "Lots of extra work. Late nights. One-on-one sessions."
The heat in Rath's face is definitely visible now, a flush that probably extends down his neck and chest. He focuses intently on unlacing his skates, using the task as an excuse to avoid meeting anyone's eyes.
This is exactly what he was afraid of—Terrible's radar is too good, his observational skills too sharp, and Rath has apparently been as subtle as a brick through a window.
Because the truth is, there have been late nights. There have been one-on-one sessions, both the legitimate hockey kind and the kind that involve Percy's hands in Rath's hair and Rath's name on Percy's lips.
And if Terrible has noticed, how many other people have noticed? How long before someone says something to Coach, or to management, or—worse—to the media?
"The power play stats speak for themselves," JP continues, his voice steady and reasonable in a way that Rath envies. "Their timing has improved significantly since the start of the season."
"Their timing is incredible," Terrible agrees, and there's definitely a double meaning there that makes Rath's stomach clench. "Yesterday's practice, for instance. That give-and-go sequence? It was like they knew exactly what the other was going to do before they did it."
They did know. That's the problem. Rath can read Percy's body language now in ways that would have seemed impossible last year.
He knows the subtle shift in Percy's posture that means he's about to change direction, knows the way Percy's eyes narrow slightly when he's about to thread a pass through traffic, knows the exact sound Percy makes when—
"It's just good playing," Rath says quickly, his voice coming out rougher than intended. "We've been working on communication."
"Communication is key," Terrible nods sagely. "Though sometimes the best communication happens without words, don't you think? Like this morning, during the line rush drill. You changed your route without any signal from Cap, but somehow you were exactly where he needed you to be."
Rath remembers that moment. Percy had looked up ice, caught Rath's eye for maybe half a second, and Rath had known—not through any hockey instinct, but because he knows Percy, knows the way his mind works, knows him in ways that extend far beyond the rink.
It had been beautiful hockey. It had also been completely inadvertent intimacy displayed in front of the entire team.
"Lucky guess," Rath mutters.
"I’ve never known you to be modest, Platts," Terrible says with a grin that suggests he's enjoying this way too much. "I don't think luck has much to do with it."
Across the locker room, Rath can see Percy finishing up with his gear, moving with the kind of deliberate efficiency that usually means he's either very focused or very agitated.
Probably both, in this case. Percy's ability to compartmentalize is legendary, but even he has limits, and having his relationship with Rath dissected in public—however obliquely—is definitely testing those limits.
Percy appears beside their group before Terrible can continue his interrogation, his timing either coincidental or deliberately protective. Given how well Percy reads the room, Rath suspects it's the latter.
"Platts, you got a minute?" Percy's captain voice is carefully neutral, the same tone he uses for actual business. "Want to go over that power play positioning from today's drill."
It's a transparent excuse to get Rath alone, but not one that would seem unusual to anyone who doesn't know what to look for. Percy's notorious for his attention to detail, and it's not uncommon for him to pull players aside for individual film sessions or tactical discussions.
Terrible's knowing smile suggests he knows exactly what to look for.
"Sure, Cap," Rath says, following Percy toward the video room. He's hyperaware of every step, every movement, trying to project casual professionalism while his heart pounds against his ribs.
As they walk away, he hears Terrible's voice behind them: "Those film sessions are really paying off, huh JP?"
JP's response is diplomatically noncommitant, but Rath can practically feel his friend's amusement. There's affection in it too, though—JP might be entertained by the situation, but he's also covering for them, and Rath makes a mental note to buy him dinner or something later.
The video room is small and windowless, designed for watching game footage and tactical discussions.
It's equipped with a large screen, a computer setup, and just enough seating for a few players and a coach.
More importantly, it has a door that closes and locks, which makes it one of the few private spaces in the entire facility.
They don't actually review any footage. Instead, Percy closes the door and immediately crowds Rath against the wall, his hands bracing on either side of Rath's head.
The sudden shift from public Percy to private Percy makes Rath's knees go weak—this is his Percy, the one who looks at him like he's something precious and impossible, the one who touches him like he's been thinking about it all day.
"We need to be more careful," Percy says quietly, his face inches from Rath's.
His voice is tight with controlled frustration, and Rath can see the tension in the line of his jaw, the careful way he's holding himself.
"Terrible is asking questions, and we almost gave ourselves away during line rushes. "
"I know," Rath breathes, distracted by Percy's proximity, by the familiar smell of his soap and deodorant, by the way his captain's eyes keep dropping to his mouth like he's fighting the same magnetic pull that Rath feels.
"But it's hard to pretend I don't want you when you're right there being all. .. captainy and competent."