Page 33 of Speak in Fever
They talk for another twenty minutes about family updates—Emma's new job, his dad's latest woodworking project (apparently he's building a coffee table for Emma's new apartment), his cousin Sarah's wedding planning (which is apparently stressing out the entire extended family). Normal, grounding conversation that makes Rath feel connected to something larger than hockey and complicated feelings about team captains.
His mom tells him about the community garden she and his dad have been working on, how the tomatoes came in better than expected this year and they've been giving away bags of vegetables to neighbors. She mentions that his high school coach called to ask how he was doing, that several of his former teammates have been asking about him when they run into his parents around town.
"You're representing more than just yourself out there," she reminds him, but not in a way that feels like pressure. "There are a lot of people back home who are proud of you and rooting for you to succeed."
By the time they hang up, Rath feels more like himself—still confused about Percy, but reminded that he has people who love him unconditionally and a life that exists outside of whatever emotional chaos is currently occupying his brain.
He spends the next hour actually packing for San Jose, folding clothes and organizing toiletries in a way that helps calm his mind. Three games, six days on the road, plenty of distractions to keep him from overthinking every interaction with Percy.
He's debating whether to pack an extra pair of dress shoes when his phone buzzes with a text from JP:Flight leaves at noon tomorrow. Want to grab breakfast before we head to the airport?
Rath considers the offer. JP is his best friend on the team, and he’s known about Rath’s embarrassing crush on his captain for a while now. JP is also someone Rath can actually talk to without feeling like he has to perform or maintain some kind of image. JP has seen him at his worst—homesick and overwhelmed during his first road trip, sick with food poisoning and missing two games, devastated after a particularly brutal loss where he felt responsible for the outcome.
More importantly, JP was there when things went sideways with Percy. He probably has opinions about the situation, might even have advice that doesn't involve Rath making everything more complicated than it needs to be.
Sure,he texts back.The place by the airport at 10?
Perfect.
Rath finishes packing and spends the evening trying to distract himself with Netflix and leftover takeout from his favorite Thai place. But his mind keeps drifting back to Percy—the way he'd looked in the alley when he realized what Rath had overheard, the urgency in his voice when he explained about Miller, the possessive weight of his arm around Rath's waist.
He tries to analyze it like hockey footage, breaking down each moment for clues about what Percy was thinking, what his motivations were. But unlike hockey, where patterns and strategies eventually become clear through repetition, his interactions with Percy seem to become more confusing the more he thinks about them.
That night, Rath dreams about playing on the first power play unit, about making plays with Percy that are so perfectly timed they look choreographed. In the dream, Percy looks at him with undisguised pride and satisfaction, and when Rath scores the game-winning goal, Percy is the first one to reach him, pulling him into a hug that lasts longer than teammate celebration and feels like something else entirely.
He wakes up hard and frustrated, the dream vivid enough that for a moment he forgets where he is. The memory of dream-Percy's hands on his back, the imagined weight of his body pressed close, makes Rath's chest tight with wanting.
This is exactly the kind of complication he doesn't need before a road trip.
The airport at eleven AM is controlled chaos—twenty-some professional athletes with varying levels of organization and caffeine intake trying to coordinate travel logistics. Rath arrives with JP, both of them fueled by breakfast and what JP refers to as "dangerously strong coffee."
Breakfast had been exactly what Rath needed—normal conversation about everything except Percy, JP's easy humor providing a buffer against the anxiety that's been building since he woke up. They'd talked about the upcoming games, about JP's ongoing attempt to convince his girlfriend to moveto Portland, about the new restaurant that opened near the practice facility and whether it's worth trying.
JP didn't ask about the situation with Percy, didn't push for details about what had been resolved or what remained complicated between them. But he'd studied Rath's face over pancakes and coffee with the attention of someone making sure his friend was really okay, and Rath had felt grateful for both the concern and the space.
The airport terminal buzzes with the familiar controlled chaos of team travel. Rath spots his teammates scattered throughout the gate area—some playing cards, others reviewing game footage on tablets, a few catching up on sleep that the early departure time had abbreviated. Coach Reeves sits with the coaching staff, going through what looks like tactical notes, while the equipment managers coordinate with airline staff about getting gear bags properly handled.
"Window or aisle?" JP asks as they settle into their seats on the plane.
"Window," Rath says automatically. He likes being able to look out during takeoff and landing, likes the feeling of watching the ground fall away and cities shrink to miniature versions of themselves. There's something about the perspective from altitude that helps him process whatever emotional chaos is happening in his life—problems that feel enormous at ground level become manageable when viewed from 30,000 feet.
JP settles into the aisle seat and immediately pulls out his tablet. "Want to review some San Jose footage? Their power play has been giving teams trouble."
Rath nods and leans in as JP pulls up video from recent games. This is familiar territory—hockey analysis, tactical discussion, the kind of shop talk that makes him feel competent and confident. It's also a welcome distraction from the part of hisbrain that keeps trying to locate Percy in the cabin, keeps tracking his voice in the ambient conversation.
"Look at this," JP says, pointing to the screen as a San Jose power play develops. "They're running a 1-3-1 setup, but watch how Addison activates from the point."
Rath studies the play, noting the way San Jose's defenseman jumps into the rush to create a numerical advantage. It's a risky strategy that requires perfect timing and communication between the players. "He's essentially becoming a fourth forward. Risky if they turn it over."
"Exactly. But they're gambling that their speed can get back in transition." JP rewinds the play to show it again. "Question is, how do we defend against it?"
They spend the next hour breaking down San Jose's systems, identifying weaknesses and discussing potential countermeasures. It's the kind of tactical analysis that Rath loves—complex, strategic, requiring the kind of hockey intelligence that goes beyond just skating fast and shooting hard. This is where he feels most confident, most valuable to the team.
"Their breakout is predictable," Rath observes, watching San Jose's defensemen consistently make the same first pass. "If we can anticipate that outlet pass, we might be able to create turnovers in the neutral zone."
"Good eye," JP says, making notes on his tablet. "That's exactly the kind of read Coach will want from the second line."
As they continue their analysis, Rath becomes aware of other conversations happening around them. Terrible is apparently explaining his elaborate pre-game meal routine to Morrison, something that involves specific protein ratios and timing that borders on obsessive. Torres is arguing with Raul about something involving their hotel room arrangements, their voices carrying the good-natured bickering of teammates who've been through this routine dozens of times.
