Page 35 of Speak in Fever
Chapter 11
San Jose's team hotel is the kind of upscale establishment that makes Rath feel slightly underdressed even in his nicest travel clothes. All marble floors and tasteful lighting, enormous floral arrangements that probably cost a fortune, and the kind of hushed, reverent atmosphere that speaks of serious money being spent by serious people. It's the kind of place where professional hockey teams stay when the league is picking up the tab, and where Rath always feels like he's playing dress-up in someone else's life.
The lobby buzzes with the controlled chaos of multiple groups checking in—the Portland Thunderbirds scattered throughout the space in their travel clothes, plus what looks like a wedding party in the corner and several people in business attire who might be part of the tech conference the front desk agent mentioned. It's busy but not frantic, the kind of organized efficiency that expensive hotels excel at.
Rath approaches the front desk with his key card and room assignment, looking forward to dropping his bags and maybe catching a quick nap before tonight's team meeting. The flight hadn't been long—just over two hours from Portland to San Jose—but something about traveling always leaves him feeling slightly displaced, like he needs a few hours of horizontal time to remember what time zone he's in and get his bearings.
His legs feel heavy and his shoulders ache from the awkward airplane seats, and he's been looking forward to the quiet sanctuary of his hotel room for the last hour. Just him, a comfortable bed, maybe some room service later, and the mindless distraction of whatever cable TV has to offer. Simple, uncomplicated, exactly what he needs to get his head right for tomorrow's game.
"Room 1247," he tells the elevator, pressing the button and watching the numbers climb past floors full of other people's lives and other people's problems. The hallway is quiet when he emerges on the twelfth floor, typical mid-afternoon hotel atmosphere with most guests either out exploring the city or settled in their rooms. The carpet is thick enough to muffle his footsteps, and the lighting is warm and dim, designed to feel residential rather than institutional.
He finds his room number and slides the key card, shouldering his way through the door while juggling his phone, wallet, and the coffee he'd grabbed in the lobby. The room is dark, heavy curtains drawn against the afternoon sun, and Rath is already mentally planning his pre-meeting nap when he realizes there's someone else in here.
Someone sitting on the single king-sized bed, looking just as surprised to see Rath as Rath is to see him.
Percy.
"What are you doing in my room?" Rath asks, his brain struggling to process this development while his heart rate picks up for reasons that have nothing to do with surprise.
Percy blinks, clearly equally confused, and Rath notices he has his reading glasses on, the wire-rimmed ones that he only wears when he's relaxed and off-duty. There's a book open beside him on the comforter—something thick and literary-looking that Percy probably brought to read on the plane but didn't get to because he'd spent the flight reviewing game film on his tablet like he always does.
"This is my room," Percy says, and there's a note of certainty in his voice that makes Rath's stomach drop.
They stare at each other for a moment, both of them obviously trying to work through the logistics of how they've ended up in the same space. Rath's eyes drift to the bed—one bed, king-sized but definitely singular—and his stomach drops through the floor.
The room is clearly designed as a suite, spacious and well-appointed with a sitting area that includes a couch and two chairs, a work desk by the window, and what looks like a premium view of downtown San Jose. Under normal circumstances, it would be exactly the kind of accommodations that makes road trips feel less like work and more like brief vacations.
Under these circumstances, all Rath can focus on is the single bed dominating the space and the implications of Percy's presence in what was supposed to be his private sanctuary.
"There must have been a mix-up," Rath says quickly, pulling out his phone to call the front desk while trying not to notice the way Percy's jeans fit or the fact that he's taken off his shoes and is sitting on the bed like he belongs there. "I'll call them."
"Portland Thunderbirds," the front desk agent says when Rath explains the situation, her voice professionally cheerful in a waythat suggests she deals with these kinds of problems regularly. "Yes, let me look at your reservations."
There's a long pause filled with keyboard clicking while Rath tries not to look at Percy, who's watching this conversation with an unreadable expression. Percy has taken off his reading glasses and is folding them with characteristic care, and Rath finds himself tracking the movement of his hands for no good reason.
"I'm showing that due to a last-minute cancellation from another group, we had to make some adjustments to your team's room assignments," the agent finally says, and Rath can hear the apologetic tone creeping into her voice. "I show Mr. Platts and Mr. Killinger both confirmed for room 1247."
"But there's only one bed," Rath says, his voice coming out slightly strangled. Behind him, he hears Percy shift on the mattress, and the sound of the springs creaking makes Rath's mouth go dry.
"Yes, sir. I apologize for any inconvenience. Unfortunately, we're completely booked this weekend due to a tech conference and a wedding party. I don't have any other rooms available tonight or tomorrow night. I'm showing the room is a suite, however, and there is a couch available."
Rath closes his eyes and tries to think of alternatives that don't involve sharing a bed with Percy Killinger. The couch looks comfortable enough, but it's definitely not long enough for either of them to sleep on properly, and the thought of Percy folded up on inadequate furniture makes something in Rath's chest protest.
"What about other hotels?" he asks, though he's already pretty sure he knows what the answer will be.
"I can certainly help you find alternative accommodations, but given the events in the city this weekend, availability is quite limited. Most properties are completely booked, and what isavailable would be significantly less convenient to your game venue."
Here's the giant, rampaging, pink elephant in the room: they still haven't discussed what happened on the phone a week ago. It hasn't happened again, although Rath tenses up in expectation every time his phone rings or he gets a text message from Percy. It hasn't happened again and they haven't had the first discussion about it. And Rath doesn't know what the fuck it was, or what it means, and he doesn't have the first clue how to bring it up.
The memory replays in his head at the most inconvenient moments—during practice, during meetings, in the middle of the night when he's trying to sleep. Percy's voice, rough and wanting, telling him exactly what he wanted to do to him. The sound of Percy's breathing getting ragged, the quiet curse he'd let out when he came, the way he'd said Rath's name like a prayer.
It's hanging over them like a weighted net. He can feel the tension when they're alone in a room together—when everyone else has left and it's just them after practice—but so far no one has said anything. They've just quietly moved on from it, while inwardly Rath is driving himself crazy trying to figure out what it meant and whether or not the silence means Percy regrets it.
Percy had been the one to initiate it, had been the one to let his voice go rough and wanting, had been the one to say things in a way that left no room for misinterpretation. But he'd also been the one to hang up immediately after, to go back to normal captain behavior the next day like nothing had happened.
But sharing a room? That's complicated right now, right? It would have been complicated before, because of how he feels, but now with that phone call dangling there between them like a string tying them together it feels like a monumental obstacle.
Still, what is he supposed to do? Sleep in the hallway?
