Page 64 of Speak in Fever
"Aw, Rath. You sound happy when you talk about him."
"I am happy," Rath admits quietly. "Which is why I'm trying not to overthink it. We're taking things slow, seeing what develops."
"Taking things slow," Emma repeats skeptically. "That's very mature and practical of you. It's also completely unlike your usual approach to relationships."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're usually all-in from day one. Remember Jake from college? You were planning your future together after three dates. And Marcus from junior hockey? You were ready to move to whatever city he got drafted to."
Rath winces, remembering both of those relationship disasters. "Maybe I learned something from those experiences."
"Maybe. Or maybe this one matters too much for you to risk scaring him off by being your usual intense self." Emma's voice gentles. "Rath, there's nothing wrong with wanting something to be serious. If this person makes you happy, if you care about them, that's not something to downplay."
"It's complicated," Rath says. "There are... professional considerations. Team dynamics. It's not just about what I want."
"But what do you want? If all those complications didn't exist, what would you want this to be?"
The question hangs in the air between them, and Rath finds himself thinking about Percy's steady presence, the way he makes Rath feel valued and understood, the growing certaintythat what they have is more significant than either of them is ready to acknowledge.
“I don’t know,” Rath says quietly into the phone. “I just… I really like him, Emma.”
"Aw, Rath," Emma’s voice is gentle. "Maybe it's time to be honest about what you're feeling, both with him and with yourself."
"What if he doesn't want the same thing? What if I push too hard and ruin what we do have?"
Emma pauses. "Rath, you deserve to be with someone who wants to be with you just as much. Not someone who settles for casual because it's easier."
After they hang up, Rath sits in his apartment thinking about Emma's words.
Chapter 21
Rath realizes he's in love with Percy Killinger at 2:17 AM on a Tuesday, lying in Percy's bed while listening to him sleep.
It hits him like a blindside check—sudden, devastating, and completely undeniable. Percy is curled against his side, one arm thrown across Rath's chest, his breathing deep and even. There's something vulnerable about the way Percy sleeps, his usual controlled composure replaced by soft relaxation, and the trust implicit in that vulnerability makes Rath's chest ache with the magnitude of what he's feeling.
This isn't just attraction anymore, or even the comfortable affection they've developed over months of being together. This is the real thing—the kind of love that changes everything, that makes every decision revolve around another person's happiness, that feels big enough to reshape his entire world.
The problem is that Percy is probably going to break his heart.
Not intentionally, maybe not even consciously, but inevitably. Because as Rath lies there in the darkness, cataloguing all theways Percy has been careful with him, he starts to see a pattern he'd been too caught up in the moment to notice before.
Percy never talks about the future. Never makes plans that extend beyond the next few weeks. Never mentions Rath when discussing his off-season, his family visits, his long-term goals. It's like Rath exists in a separate compartment of Percy's life—important enough to spend time with regularly, but not integrated into anything permanent.
And why would he be? Percy is twenty-eight, established, a team captain with endorsement deals and a carefully managed public image. Rath is twenty-one, still figuring out his place in the league, still young enough to make impulsive decisions that could derail a career.
From Percy's perspective, this is probably exactly what it appears to be: a fun, convenient arrangement with a teammate who's attractive and available and doesn't expect too much. Good sex, easy companionship, no strings attached.
The realization makes Rath feel sick.
He spends the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, trying to convince himself he's overthinking things. But every interaction they've had suddenly looks different through this lens. Percy's consistent availability could just be horniness. His thoughtful gestures could just be politeness. His affection could just be fondness for a convenient fuck buddy who doesn't make demands.
By morning, Rath has worked himself into a state of quiet panic that he tries desperately to hide behind normal conversation and routine affection. Percy makes breakfast with his usual efficient precision, asks about Rath's plans for the day, kisses him goodbye before they leave for practice.
Everything exactly the same as always, except now Rath is hyperaware of everything Percy doesn't say, doesn't ask, doesn't suggest.
At practice, Rath finds himself studying Percy with new eyes, looking for signs of deeper investment that he's somehow missed. But Percy treats him with the same professional courtesy he shows everyone else, the same captain-ly attention to development and performance.
Nothing that suggests Rath is anything special. Nothing that suggests their relationship extends beyond convenient privacy.
