Page 50 of Speak in Fever
"Thank you," Rath says with obvious relief, shooting Percy a grateful look that makes his chest warm in a completely different way.
"Besides," Percy continues with mock seriousness, fighting to keep his expression neutral even as his pulse picks up, "we need him functional for practice today. Can't have our winger too worn out to skate."
The comment earns laughter from the table, but Percy catches the way Rath's lips twitch with suppressed amusement at the double meaning. It's a dangerous game they're playing, this careful dance of innuendo that only they understand. Percy can see the challenge in Rath's eyes, the barely contained smile that threatens to give them both away.
"I think I can manage to keep up," Rath replies, and there's definitely a challenge in his voice now, low and warm with implications that make Percy's skin prickle with awareness.
The words send Percy's mind straight back to the night before, to Rath arching under his hands and demanding more, always more, until Percy has been the one struggling to keep up with his intensity.
"Good to hear," Percy says mildly, taking another sip of coffee and trying not to think about how Rath has definitely kept up with everything Percy has thrown at him last night, has matched him stroke for stroke until they're both shaking with exhaustion.
"This is so unfair," Terrible complains, throwing his hands up in exaggerated despair. "Rath gets mystery club hookups and the rest of us get nothing."
"Speak for yourself," Torres protests, straightening in his chair with wounded pride. "Some of us have game."
"Right, that's why you struck out with three different people last night," Harley points out, earning a chorus of "ooohs" from the rest of the table.
As the conversation devolves into good-natured arguing about everyone's lack of game, complete with detailed recountings of various romantic failures from the night before, Percy finds himself watching Rath with growing satisfaction. The younger player is participating in the banter, laughing at Torres's increasingly defensive explanations and adding his own commentary to Terrible's theatrical despair. He looks relaxed despite the obvious evidence of their night together written across his skin, comfortable in a way that makes Percy's chest feel tight with something he isn't ready to name.
This is what Percy has been afraid of - not the physical part, not the wanting that has been building between them for months, but this moment after. The potential for awkwardness, for regret, for the easy team dynamic to shift into something uncomfortable and strange. But watching Rath now, seeing him settle back into the familiar rhythm of team breakfast like nothing has changed, Percy feels some of the tension leave his shoulders.
Rath must sense his attention because he looks up, meeting Percy's gaze across the breakfast table over the rim of his coffee mug. For just a moment, the rest of the team fades away - theirlaughter becoming distant white noise, the clatter of silverware and the hum of the restaurant disappearing entirely. It's just the two of them sharing the secret of what has really happened last night, the memory of tangled sheets and whispered names and the desperate way they've reached for each other in the darkness.
Percy can see everything in Rath's eyes - the satisfaction, the challenge, the promise of more to come. It's reckless and dangerous and completely inappropriate for a public breakfast with their entire team, but Percy can't bring himself to look away.
Then Terrible is talking again, launching into another story about his romantic misadventures, and the moment breaks like a bubble bursting. But Percy doesn't miss the small smile that plays at the corners of Rath's mouth as he turns his attention back to the conversation, or the way his fingers linger on the collar of Percy's hoodie like a secret message meant just for him.
Percy picks up his coffee again, hiding his own smile behind the ceramic rim. Maybe this morning hasn't gone exactly as planned, but watching Rath sit there so confidently, wearing Percy's marks and Percy's clothes like they belong to him, Percy thinks he can get used to this particular kind of complication.
After all, the season is long, and they have plenty more hotel rooms ahead of them.
Chapter 17
The win against Salt Lake City feels different from their usual victories—not just because they dominated 5-1, but because everything clicked in ways that made hockey look effortless.
Now they're at a dive bar three blocks from their hotel, riding the high of a game that felt more like art than sport. The energy is infectious—even the veterans are animated, crowded around two pushed-together tables with beers and the kind of easy camaraderie that only comes after a perfect team performance.
"That second goal," Torres says for the fourth time, gesturing wildly with his beer. "JP, I don't know how you saw that opening. The angle was impossible."
"Cap put it exactly where I needed it," JP replies. "Perfect pass made it look easy."
"Speaking of perfect," Terrible announces, "did I tell you guys about the bartender at that club?"
"Only about fifteen times," Harley mutters, but he's smiling.
"Hey, when you meet perfection, you talk about it," Terrible continues, undeterred. "Legs that went on for miles, this smile that could melt steel, and she wrote her number on my napkin with a little heart."
"Did you call her?" Torres asks.
"Course I called her. We’re sexting." Terrible grins smugly. "Sometimes the road trip gods smile on you."
"Lucky bastard," Raul says, shaking his head.
"Raul, what about that girl in San Jose?" JP prompts. "The one from the coffee shop by the hotel?"
Raul's expression brightens. "Maria. Yeah, she was... wow. Spoke three languages, studying to be a doctor, and had these eyes that just..." He trails off with a dreamy expression that makes the table laugh.
"Look at him," Torres grins. "Our stoic defenseman, gone soft over a med student."
