Page 5 of Speak in Fever
The words hit like a slap, mostly because they aren't entirely wrong. Percy has been captain for four years, and they have exactly zero championship banners to show for it. The fact that this infuriating, attractive kid is the one pointing it out makes it worse.
But there is something else in Rath's expression, something that looks almost like hurt underneath the challenge. Like maybe he has been hoping for a different response, like maybe he is tired of fighting the same battles over and over again.
"Ice time is earned through consistency and team play," Percy says, falling back on the safe response even as part of him wants to acknowledge that Rath might have a point. "Show me you can follow the game plan, and we'll talk about your role."
Rath nods slowly, but his smile is sharp and challenging, and Percy hates how it makes his pulse jump. "Got it. Follow orders, don't think for myself, and maybe I'll get a pat on the head."
Percy watches him push through the door and disappear into the chaos of the locker room, leaving Percy standing alone in the tunnel with the uncomfortable realization that Rath Platts is going to be his problem.
Four years as captain, and Percy thinks he has learned how to handle every type of player the league has to offer. But Rathis something different—talented enough that Percy can't ignore him, stubborn enough that he won't be controlled, and somehow able to get under Percy's skin in a way that feels both irritating and strangely electric.
As Percy sits at his stall and begins the methodical process of removing his gear, he catches glimpses of Rath across the room. The kid is animated, telling some story to JP that involves elaborate hand gestures and multiple voices. His face is bright with laughter, completely relaxed in a way that Percy rarely gets to see.
This is going to be a very long season.
Chapter 2
Rath Platts has always been good at reading people. It's a survival skill when you're the smallest guy in the room—knowing who's going to try to run you through the boards, who's going to respect your skill, and who's going to underestimate you completely. Growing up in Minnesota, being below average size in a sport dominated by giants, he'd learned early that understanding people's motivations was just as important as understanding the game itself. He could usually tell within five minutes of meeting someone whether they'd give him a fair shot or write him off based on his size.
What he's not good at, apparently, is reading Percy Killinger.
Because his captain had seemed pretty straightforward when Rath was a rookie—professional, demanding, focused entirely on winning. But now that he's in his second year he realizes there are a lot of things he doesn't know about him. The easy things to know are that Percy eats, sleeps, and fucks hockey. The man has no personal life to speak of and Rath has never seenhim pick up anyone when they go out as a team. He's always first on the ice and the last to leave, starting his days at dawn and ending them well past sunset. His gear is always in perfect condition and he makes time for everyone on his team, no matter their position on the depth chart.
But the harder things to figure out are what makes Percy tick beyond hockey. What he does in his spare time, what he thinks about when he's not analyzing game film, whether he's ever had a serious relationship or if hockey really is his only love. Rath has spent more time than he cares to admit trying to solve the puzzle of Percy Killinger, and he's no closer to an answer than he was a year ago.
And Rath still can't figure out if Percy actually dislikes him or if he's just committed to being the most uptight person in professional hockey.
The thing that makes it all worse is that Percy is stupidly, frustratingly attractive and Rath has kind of had an obnoxious crush on him since rookie year.
He'd discovered this unfortunate fact during his first training camp, when he'd walked into the locker room and had seen Percy emerge from the shower with a towel slung low around his hips, water still beading across broad shoulders that belonged in a fitness magazine. Dark hair plastered to his skull, muscles moving under tanned skin as he reached for his clothes, and Rath had wanted to climb him like a tree.
Rath had spent the next ten minutes trying to convince himself that his sudden inability to form coherent sentences was just nerves about making the team. But then Percy had turned around, caught Rath staring, and raised one perfect eyebrow in a way that made Rath's brain completely short-circuit. He'd managed to stammer something about needing to use the bathroom and fled, spending the next five minutes splashingcold water on his burning face and psyching himself up for spending the next season in Percy’s presence.
The crush should have faded after that first embarrassing encounter. Professional athletes are supposed to be focused, disciplined, mature about these things. And it wasn't like Percy had given him any reason to think the attraction might be mutual—if anything, their interactions had grown more tense and complicated as the season went on.
And it's not like Percy hasn't gone out of his way to try to be the kind of person that Rath instinctually butts heads with. They hadn't gotten along at all his first year and their on-ice chemistry had been abysmal, a disaster of missed connections and frustrated expectations that made both of them look bad. Percy was all structure and systems, while Rath played on instinct and creativity. It should have been a recipe for mutual dislike, should have quelled Rath's attraction before it got out of control.
But Percy never gave up on him. Despite their differences and despite their issues, Percy still gave him all the guidance and instruction he gave everyone else. He stayed late to help Rath understand defensive zone coverage, spent extra time going over power play positioning, never once suggested that maybe Rath wasn't cut out for this level of hockey. Even when Rath was being difficult—which, admittedly, was often—Percy treated him like a valuable member of the team.
It doesn't help that Percy is just damned good at hockey.
Watching him work is like taking a masterclass in the sport. Percy sees the ice like few players Rath has ever encountered, anticipates plays three steps ahead, and has the rare ability to make everyone around him better just by being there. His passes are crisp, his positioning is textbook perfect, and he has this way of controlling the pace of the game that makes even veteran players look to him for direction.
But it's more than just technical skill. Percy leads by example in a way that makes you want to work harder, be better, prove yourself worthy of playing on his team. Rath has seen him block shots that would put lesser players in the hospital, has watched him battle through injuries that should have sent him to the bench, has witnessed the kind of selfless play that puts team success above individual statistics.
Rath respects the hell out of Percy as a player and a leader. Which makes his stupid crush even more inconvenient.
"Platts! You're with the second line today," Coach Reeves calls out as they gather for the second practice of camp. "Killinger, you're centering the first line but I want you working with the second unit on power play rotations."
Rath tries not to feel too smug about the second line assignment, but it's hard when Torres shoots him a thumbs up from across the ice and several other players offer congratulations. He's worked his ass off for this opportunity, stayed late every practice last season, put in extra gym time all summer when he could have been sleeping in and enjoying his brief freedom from the relentless demands of professional hockey.
The promotion feels like validation—proof that his hard work has been noticed, that maybe he really does belong at this level. Last year he'd spent too much time wondering if he was living on borrowed time, if his speed and skill would be enough to overcome his size disadvantage once the league figured out how to neutralize him. But here he is, moving up the depth chart, earning more responsibility.
If Percy doesn't like it, that's Percy's problem.
Speaking of Percy, the captain is currently standing near the boards with his arms crossed, staring at the lineup sheet like it personally offended him. Even annoyed, he's unfairly good-looking—all sharp jawline and serious dark eyes, his practicejersey stretched across a chest that Rath definitely shouldn't be thinking about. The summer conditioning has been good to Percy; he looks bigger somehow, more defined through the shoulders and arms.
Rath forces himself to look away before he gets caught staring again. He's already mortified himself enough for one lifetime.
