Page 3 of Speak in Fever
"Confidence was never the issue with him," Percy says, though even as the words leave his mouth he isn't sure they are entirely true. Rath has always projected confidence, but Percy is beginning to understand the difference between real self-assurance and the defensive bravado that covers up insecurity.
“He's a team player.”
Percy grunts, watching as Rath seamlessly joins a passing drill with Harley and makes the goalie laugh with some comment Percy can't hear. That is the problem—Rath is clearly a team player with everyone except him. With everyone else, Rath is charming and engaged and seemingly eager to please. WithPercy, he is defensive and challenging and seems to take perverse pleasure in pushing boundaries.
Percy is saved from having to respond by Coach Reeves blowing his whistle for line rushes. At fifty-eight, Tom Reeves is old-school hockey through and through—a former defenseman who had played fifteen years in the league before transitioning into coaching. He believes in structure and discipline and the kind of grinding, systematic hockey that wins championships. He also has a good eye for talent and the patience to develop young players, which is why the Thunderbirds have been competitive despite never quite getting over the hump.
"Alright, gentlemen," Coach calls out, his voice carrying easily across the ice. "Let's see what kind of shape you're all in. Lines one through four, standard rush drill. Defense, I want to see active sticks and good gap control. Goalies, track the puck and communicate with your D."
As captain, Percy typically runs with the first line during these drills, but today Coach has mixed things up, putting Rath on Percy's wing for the exercise alongside JP on the other side. Percy feels his jaw clench at the assignment, but he keeps his expression neutral. If Coach wants to experiment with line combinations, that is his prerogative.
"Try to keep up," Percy says as they line up at center ice, his voice clipped and professional.
Rath's response is a barely audible snort. "Right. I'll do my best."
The puck drop is clean, and Percy wins it back to Raul on defense before charging up ice. This is one of the basic plays they have been running for years—center wins the draw, dishes it back to the point, then drives hard to the net while the wingers provide width and support. Percy has run this play hundreds of times, and it works because everyone knows their role and executes it precisely.
He can hear Rath's skates behind him, the distinctive sound of sharp edges cutting into ice, but when Percy looks for the pass he has been setting up, Rath has peeled off the other direction entirely, calling for the puck with a sharp whistle.
Percy pulls up short, watching in frustration as Rath takes the pass from Raul and drives hard to the net, threading through two defenders before burying the puck top shelf past Harley's glove side. It is a beautiful individual effort that completely ignores the structured play Percy has been running. The way Rath's body moves through traffic—quick, compact, fearless—is undeniably impressive and undeniably distracting.
"Nice goal, Rath!" Terrible calls from the bench.
Percy is already skating over to where Rath is collecting his celebration fist-bumps from the other guys in line, his frustration building with each stride.
"What the hell was that?" Percy asks, his voice low but sharp enough that several nearby players glance over.
Rath turns to face him, and Percy is struck again by how different he looks this year. The boyish features have sharpened slightly, jaw more defined, cheekbones more prominent. His cheeks are flushed pink from the exertion, breath coming quick enough that Percy can see the puffs of vapor in the cold air. His eyes are bright with adrenaline and something that looks almost like challenge, and Percy has to fight the urge to get closer instead of maintaining proper distance.
"That was a goal, Captain. You know, the thing we're trying to score more of?"
The casual dismissal in Rath's tone makes Percy's jaw clench. "That was you abandoning the play we've been running all season."
"The play wasn't working. I saw an opportunity and took it." Rath shrugs like it is the most obvious thing in the world. "Isn't that what you're supposed to do?"
Percy's jaw clenches. "You're supposed to trust your center. We're not playing pond hockey here."
"Good thing," Rath shoots back, skating backwards away from Percy with that infuriating easy balance that reminds Percy just how naturally gifted the kid is. "Because on the pond, people actually score goals."
Percy feels his temper spike in a way that is both familiar and dangerous. Rath has a talent for finding exactly the right thing to say to get under his skin, and this time is no exception. The implication is clear—that Percy's system, Percy's leadership, Percy's approach to the game is the reason the team hasn't had more success.
Before Percy can respond, Coach is blowing the whistle for the next group, and the moment is broken. Rath skates away with that same casual confidence, leaving Percy standing there with his anger.
Coach runs them through another series of drills and each time Percy finds himself paired with or near Rath, they seem to be working against each other instead of together. Rath has undeniable skill, but he also has his own ideas about how plays should develop, and those ideas rarely align with Percy's seven years of experience running systems.
During a defensive zone drill, Rath pinches down from the point when he is supposed to stay high, creating a beautiful scoring chance but leaving Percy scrambling to cover the gap. The play works—Rath feeds JP for an easy tap-in—but it leaves Percy feeling off-balance and reactive instead of in control.
"Nice play," Percy says to JP as they regroup, pointedly not acknowledging Rath's role in setting up the goal.
"Rath saw it first," JP replies easily. "Great read on the coverage."
Percy catches a glimpse of Rath's satisfied smirk as he skates past, and the combination of frustration and unwantedattraction makes Percy's jaw clench again. The kid is talented, there is no denying that, but talent without discipline is dangerous. Hockey is a team sport built on trust and predictability, and Rath seems determined to prove that rules are just suggestions.
In the power play rotation, Rath finds soft spots in coverage that aren't part of the set play, forcing Percy to adjust his positioning on the fly. Again, it works—they generate several high-quality scoring chances—but it feels chaotic in a way that makes Percy uncomfortable. How can he trust someone who refuses to follow the system?
But the most infuriating part is that it works. And that Rath looks damn good doing it, his movements fluid and confident in a way that Percy absolutely should not be noticing during practice.
The other guys respond to Rath's energy. Percy watches him joke with JP between drills, offer encouragement to a struggling rookie, and seamlessly integrate with whatever line combination Coach throws at him. His easy charm with everyone else makes Percy's inability to connect with him even more maddening.
