Page 2 of Speak in Fever
Platts laughs, completely unbothered. "Hey, I was taking notes from the best seat in the house. Got to watch you blow that three-on-one against Dallas up close and personal."
"Brutal," Raul chuckles. "Kid's got a point, Terrible."
The chirping that follows is good-natured enough, but Percy finds himself studying Rath's face as he fields the comments. Last year, this kind of teasing would have made him bristle, would have brought out that defensive edge that made him lash out at anyone who questioned his abilities. Now he seems to take it in stride, even adding fuel to the fire with self-deprecating humor that shows he can laugh at himself.
Percy tries to focus on getting dressed, on running through his mental checklist for practice, but he keeps finding his attention drawn back to Rath. The way he moves around the locker room with easy familiarity, joking with Raul about something, showing genuine interest in one of the rookie's stories about his junior career. The defensive walls that have been so prominent during his first year seem lower now, and Percy catches glimpses of the person underneath the persona.
"Platts," Percy says, his captain voice cutting through the chatter. The room doesn't exactly go quiet, but the volume drops noticeably. "You're late."
The friendly conversation dies as Rath slowly turns to face him, all warmth draining from his expression like someone has flipped a switch. The transformation is instant and complete—the easy smile disappearing, shoulders squaring, jaw setting into that stubborn line Percy remembers all too well.
"Practice doesn't start for fifteen minutes," Rath replies, his voice carefully neutral but with an edge that everyone in the room can hear.
Percy feels the familiar frustration building in his chest, the way Rath can go from laughing and relaxed to defensive and challenging in the space of a heartbeat. "Team meeting was called for twenty minutes ago."
Rath's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, and Percy catches the flash of something that might be hurt before it is covered by anger. "Funny, I didn't get that memo."
The room is definitely quiet now, the other players pretending to focus on their equipment while obviously listening to every word. Percy is aware of their audience, aware that as captain he needs to handle this professionally, but something about Rath's tone makes his own temper spike.
"Maybe if you checked your messages instead of staying out drinking—"
"Maybe if you communicated clearly—"
"Alright, alright," JP interrupts, clearly sensing the tension and trying to defuse it before it escalates. "Let's save it for the ice, yeah?"
Percy feels heat creep up his neck, that familiar combination of embarrassment and anger that comes from being called out. Rath is staring at him with those pale green eyes, completely unrepentant, like he is daring Percy to push the issue further.Everything about the kid's posture screams defiance—shoulders back, chin up, not backing down an inch despite the four-inch height difference between them. Apparently the summer has not made him any more agreeable.
"Just be ready to work," Percy says curtly
Rath's smile is sharp. "Yes, Captain."
The sarcasm in those two words is subtle enough that anyone who isn't paying attention might miss it, but Percy hears it loud and clear. So do several of the other players, if their carefully blank expressions are any indication.
The thing that really gets underneath Percy's skin is that, despite his obvious talent and potential, Rath's attitude is like nails on a chalkboard sometimes. The kid has an answer for absolutely everything, usually delivered with a smirk that makes Percy want to throttle him in the middle of the locker room. Percy prides himself on maintaining professional composure, but somehow Rath can reduce him to stammering frustration with a single well-timed quip.
The most maddening thing about Rath is how good he is. Percy has been team captain long enough to spot talent, and Rath has plenty of it. His hockey sense is incredible for someone his age, his hands are silk, and he has that rare quality of making everyone around him play better. When he is on the ice, the energy of the whole team shifts. Players skate harder, take more chances, play with the kind of confidence that comes from knowing they have someone who can capitalize on their efforts.
But it is the quiet moments that really get to Percy—catching Rath studying game film long after practice ends, or seeing him carefully wrap tape around his stick with the same focused attention most people reserve for surgery. Rath cares so much about hockey, about being good enough, about proving himself, even when he tries to hide it behind all that swagger.
Percy finds himself watching for Rath's real smile, the one that isn't sharp-edged or calculated. When it appears—usually when he is talking to his family on the phone or celebrating a particularly nice goal—it transforms his entire face, revealing someone younger and more open than the persona he wears like armor.
So, yeah, Percy notices Rath Platts; it is Percy's job to notice the players on his team. But maybe he notices a lot more about Rath than he is willing to let on. Maybe a lot more than he is willing to admit to himself.
The truth Percy is slowly coming to terms with is that everything about Rath Platts drives him absolutely crazy, but he is starting to suspect that is exactly the point. And despite every professional instinct telling him to maintain distance, Percy can't seem to stop himself from being drawn deeper into Rath's orbit, pulled by a gravitational force he is only beginning to understand.
By the time they make it onto the ice, the tension from the locker room has settled into something more manageable but no less present. The rest of the team filters onto the ice in their usual pre-practice clusters, and Percy tries to focus on his usual routine instead of watching Rath laugh at something Harley is saying.
The familiar ritual of warm-up helps center Percy's focus. First comes the easy skating—long, smooth strides around the perimeter of the rink, letting his body remember the feel of ice beneath his blades and cold air in his lungs. Then stretching, the careful manipulation of muscles and joints that have been through seven years of professional abuse. Finally, the progression of skills—passing, shooting, more complex drills that gradually ramp up the intensity.
Percy loves this part of practice, the methodical preparation that turns his body into the precise instrument he needs it tobe. There is something meditative about the repetition, the way muscle memory takes over and lets his mind settle into the familiar patterns of hockey thinking.
But even with his best efforts to focus, Percy finds his attention drifting to Rath. The kid skates with fluid precision that makes it impossible not to stare—his edges are clean, transitions smooth, and his compact frame moves with a grace that seems effortless. When he takes a practice shot on Harley, he follows it up with an elaborate celebration that makes half the team crack up, his face lighting up with genuine joy that does something stupid to Percy's chest.
"Showoff," Percy mutters under his breath, but he can't entirely suppress the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth.
"He's looking good," JP comments, gliding up beside Percy with the easy skating style that has made him one of the most reliable wingers in the league. "Put on some muscle over the summer. More confident too."
Percy watches as Rath high-fives Terrible after a nice pass, the easy team chemistry on full display. There is something different about the way Rath carries himself this year—less like he is waiting for someone to tell him he doesn't belong, more like he is starting to believe he has a right to be here.
