Page 66 of Speak in Fever
"Okay, what the hell is going on?" JP asks without preamble.
"Nothing's going on," Rath says automatically, though he knows he sounds as miserable as he feels.
"Bullshit." JP crosses his arms, settling into an obviously immovable position. "What did he do?"
Rath stares at JP, recognizing the stubborn determination in his expression. JP has been his closest friend on the team since day one, the person who helped him navigate rookie year and team dynamics and the complicated politics of professional hockey.
The person who's also been watching his relationship with Percy develop, who's made encouraging comments about their connection, who probably has opinions about what's been happening between them.
"I'm in love with him," Rath says quietly, the words coming out before he can stop them.
JP's expression shifts from frustrated concern to understanding sympathy. "Ah, fuck. That's what this is about."
"Yeah." Rath leans against his car, suddenly feeling exhausted by the effort of pretending everything's fine. "And he's not."
"Not what?"
"In love with me. Not even close." Rath runs his hands through his hair, trying to organize thoughts that have been spinning out of control all week. "This whole thing, whatever we've been doing—it's just convenient for him. Good sex with a teammate who doesn't make demands or expect too much."
JP is quiet for a moment, studying Rath's face with the kind of focused attention that suggests he's processing something significant.
"What did he do?" JP asks finally. "To make you think he doesn't care about you?"
"It's not what he did. It's what he doesn't do." Rath struggles to find words for the growing certainty that's been eating at him all week. "He never talks about the future, never makes plans that include me beyond next week, never mentions me when he's discussing his life outside hockey. I exist in this separate compartment that doesn't connect to anything permanent."
"Maybe because he's trying not to pressure you," JP suggests gently. "You're twenty-one, kid. You've got your whole career ahead of you. Maybe he's being careful about not making assumptions about what you want."
The possibility hadn't occurred to Rath, but he shakes his head. "If he wanted something serious, he'd have said something by now. He'd have given me some indication that this is more than just casual."
"You need to talk to him about it," JP points out. "Percy cares about you."
"I will," Rath promises. "I just need some time."
JP looks like he wants to argue further, but Rath is already climbing into his car, desperate to end this conversation before he breaks down entirely.
That night, Rath lies in his own bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to convince himself that pulling back now will save him worse heartbreak later. But his apartment feels cold and empty, and his chest aches with missing Percy in ways that go far beyond physical attraction.
His phone buzzes with a text from Percy:What’s going on?
Rath stares at the message for a long time, his thumb hovering over the keyboard.
Just busy, he texts back.See you at practice.
Percy's response comes immediately:If you want to talk about whatever's bothering you, I'm here.
Rath turns off his phone without responding, rolls over, and tries to fall asleep in a bed that feels too big and too cold without Percy's warmth beside him.
Monday's practice is a disaster. Their chemistry is so off that Coach benches them from the power play unit entirely, running different combinations that work better than what should be their most dangerous pairing.
"This is painful to watch," Rath hears Terrible mutter to Raul during a water break. "They look like strangers out there."
He's right. Despite months of developing an almost telepathic connection, Rath and Percy are playing like two people who've never been on the ice together before. Every pass requires extra effort, every play needs verbal communication instead of instinctive understanding.
The worst part is seeing the hurt confusion in Percy's eyes every time their timing fails, every time a sequence that should be automatic falls apart. Percy is clearly trying to figure out what's wrong, why their partnership has suddenly deteriorated, and his visible effort to reconnect just makes Rath feel worse about the distance he's creating.
During a line change, Percy skated close enough to bump shoulders—their old signal for reassurance, for "we've got this." But instead of the familiar comfort, Rath felt only the ache of what he was trying to give up.
After practice, Rath escapes as quickly as possible, yanking off his gear with more force than necessary and shoving everything into his bag. The familiar post-practice routine that used to include waiting for Percy, grabbing dinner together, maybe heading back to one of their places to review game film or justtalk—all of that feels impossibly distant now, like a memory from someone else's life.
