Page 46 of Speak in Fever

"What did he do?" JP asks finally. "To make you think he doesn't care about you?"

"It's not what he did. It's what he doesn't do.

" Rath struggles to find words for the growing certainty that's been eating at him all week.

"He never talks about the future, never makes plans that include me beyond next week, never mentions me when he's discussing his life outside hockey.

I exist in this separate compartment that doesn't connect to anything permanent. "

"Maybe because he's trying not to pressure you," JP suggests gently. "You're twenty-one, kid. You've got your whole career ahead of you. Maybe he's being careful about not making assumptions about what you want."

The possibility hadn't occurred to Rath, but he shakes his head. "If he wanted something serious, he'd have said something by now. He'd have given me some indication that this is more than just casual."

"You need to talk to him about it," JP points out. "Percy cares about you."

"I will," Rath promises. "I just need some time."

JP looks like he wants to argue further, but Rath is already climbing into his car, desperate to end this conversation before he breaks down entirely.

That night, Rath lies in his own bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to convince himself that pulling back now will save him worse heartbreak later. But his apartment feels cold and empty, and his chest aches with missing Percy in ways that go far beyond physical attraction.

His phone buzzes with a text from Percy: What’s going on?

Rath stares at the message for a long time, his thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Just busy , he texts back. See you at practice .

Percy's response comes immediately: If you want to talk about whatever's bothering you, I'm here.

Rath turns off his phone without responding, rolls over, and tries to fall asleep in a bed that feels too big and too cold without Percy's warmth beside him.

Monday's practice is a disaster. Their chemistry is so off that Coach benches them from the power play unit entirely, running different combinations that work better than what should be their most dangerous pairing.

"This is painful to watch," Rath hears Terrible mutter to Raul during a water break. "They look like strangers out there."

He's right. Despite months of developing an almost telepathic connection, Rath and Percy are playing like two people who've never been on the ice together before. Every pass requires extra effort, every play needs verbal communication instead of instinctive understanding.

The worst part is seeing the hurt confusion in Percy's eyes every time their timing fails, every time a sequence that should be automatic falls apart.

Percy is clearly trying to figure out what's wrong, why their partnership has suddenly deteriorated, and his visible effort to reconnect just makes Rath feel worse about the distance he's creating.

During a line change, Percy skated close enough to bump shoulders—their old signal for reassurance, for "we've got this." But instead of the familiar comfort, Rath felt only the ache of what he was trying to give up.

After practice, Rath escapes as quickly as possible, yanking off his gear with more force than necessary and shoving everything into his bag.

The familiar post-practice routine that used to include waiting for Percy, grabbing dinner together, maybe heading back to one of their places to review game film or just talk—all of that feels impossibly distant now, like a memory from someone else's life.

He's almost to his car when he hears his name.

"Rath, wait," Percy calls, jogging over with obvious determination, still pulling on his jacket. His hair is damp from the shower, sticking up in the way that usually makes Rath want to reach out and fix it. "We need to talk."

Rath's hand is already on his car door handle, escape so close he can taste it. "About what?" he asks, though he knows exactly what Percy wants to discuss. The question comes out sharper than he intended, and he sees Percy flinch slightly.

"About whatever's been going on with us this week.

" Percy's frustration is evident in the way he's gesturing, the familiar animated hand movements that Rath has come to associate with Percy working through a problem.

"Our timing is completely off, we can barely complete a pass to each other, and you haven't come over once. "

"Coach is going to separate us permanently if we don't figure this out," Percy continues, taking a step closer.

"And I can't—I don't understand what changed.

Everything was fine last week. Better than fine.

We were playing the best hockey of our lives, and now it's like.

.." He trails off, running a hand through his damp hair.

"I know it's me. Tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it. "

They're apparently going to have this conversation in the parking lot where anyone can see—where teammates might walk by, where coaches might overhear, where the whole fragile house of cards that Rath has been trying to protect might come tumbling down.

The setting feels wrong for something this important, too exposed and public for the kind of honesty this moment demands.

Rath takes a deep breath, the cold evening air sharp in his lungs. "Are you serious about me or do you just want to hook up?" he asks, the words coming out in a rush before he can think better of them.

Percy goes very still, his expression shifting from confusion to something that looks almost like hurt. "Is that really what you think this is? Just hooking up?"

"Isn't it?" Rath challenges, even though part of him desperately wants Percy to contradict him, to say the words that would make all of this unnecessary.

He wants Percy to laugh at the absurdity of the question, to list all the ways their relationship has moved beyond casual, to make it clear that what they have means as much to him as it does to Rath.

Percy opens his mouth, then closes it, and in that moment of hesitation, Rath has his answer.

If Percy had deeper feelings, if this meant something more to him, he would have said so immediately.

The pause speaks volumes about his uncertainty, his inability to define what they've been doing in terms that go beyond physical attraction and convenient companionship.

In that silence, Rath can almost hear Percy's internal struggle—the careful calculation of how much truth he's willing to share, the weighing of Rath's feelings against his own comfort level.

It's the sound of someone trying to find the right words to let him down easy, to preserve their hockey partnership while gently redirecting their personal relationship back to safer territory.

"I need to go," Rath says, climbing into his car before Percy can respond, before he can offer some middle-ground explanation that will only make this worse. His hands are shaking as he starts the engine, and he grips the steering wheel tighter to hide it.

As he drives away, Rath catches sight of Percy in his rearview mirror, standing alone in the parking lot with an expression of complete bewilderment.

Like he's trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces, trying to understand how everything went wrong so quickly.

His phone is still in his hand, forgotten now, and he's staring after Rath's car with the kind of lost confusion that makes Rath want to turn around and explain everything.

But explanation would require hope, and hope would require believing that Percy could change, could want something more than what they've been sharing in secret. The image makes Rath's chest ache with regret and longing, but he doesn't turn around.

Better to hurt now than to keep pretending he can handle being Percy's casual convenience when what he actually wants is to be Percy's everything—the person Percy thinks about first in the morning and last at night, the one he calls when something amazing happens or when everything falls apart, the one he chooses over and over again without hesitation.

Even if Percy could never want the same thing in return.