Page 7 of Speak in Fever
But on the third run-through, Rath sees an opening that Percy doesn't—a gap in the penalty kill formation that's begging to be exploited. The defenseman has cheated too far toward the goal line, leaving space at the top of the circle that a quick player could attack. Rath drifts just slightly from his assigned position, calls for the puck with a sharp whistle, and when it comes, he's already moving toward the net.
The shot is one of his better ones and it beats Harley clean to the top corner. Rath raises his stick in celebration, the familiar rush of scoring flooding his system with endorphins and satisfaction, before turning to see Percy's reaction.
The captain is staring at him with an expression Rath can't quite read—frustration, admiration, and something else that makes Rath's skin feel too tight. There's intensity in Percy's gaze that goes beyond simple evaluation of a hockey play, something personal that makes Rath's breath catch in his throat.
Then Coach is calling for the next group, and the moment shatters like ice under pressure.
Rath skates back to the line, aware of Percy's eyes still on him. When he glances over, Percy is already talking to Coach about something, gesturing toward the power play setup, but the tips of his ears are red above his helmet, and Rath allows himself a moment of satisfaction. At least he's not the only one affected by whatever this is between them.
The rest of the drill passes in a haze of structured plays and creative adjustments. But Rath notices the way Percy adapts to his movements too, making subtle adjustments that create space for Rath's instinctive reads while still maintaining the overall structure of the system.
It's a kind of compromise that Percy doesn't offer to many players, and Rath files that observation away with all the other contradictions that make up his captain.
Later, during a water break, Rath finds himself at the bench next to JP, who's watching Percy run through plays with the first line. Jean Paul Gagnon has been in the league for eight years, long enough to understand the politics and personalities that drive professional hockey, and he's always been good at reading situations that others miss.
"You know," JP says conversationally, squirting water into his mouth from his bottle, "I've never seen anyone get under his skin like you do."
Rath lowers his water bottle, trying to keep his expression neutral. "What do you mean?"
"Cap. You make him crazy." JP's grin is easy, the kind of knowing smile that suggests he sees more than he lets on. "In a good way, I think. Guy's been wound tight as a drum since he got the C. Nice to see someone shake him up a little."
The comment makes something flutter in Rath's chest that he tries to ignore. "I'm not trying to shake him up," Rath lies, because the truth is that getting reactions out of Percy has become something of an obsession. "I'm just trying to do my job."
"Uh-huh." JP's skepticism is evident in every syllable. "That why you keep staring at his ass during stretches?"
Heat floods Rath's cheeks so fast he probably looks like a traffic light. "I do not—"
"You're not exactly subtle with the way you rile him up," JP continues, eyes gleaming with mischief. "You've got his number, that's for sure."
"Can we not talk about this?" Rath hisses, glancing around to make sure no one else is listening. The last thing he needs is for the entire team to know about his embarrassing crush on their captain. "Percy can't stand me."
"Right. That's why he specifically requested you be moved to second line."
The words hit Rath like right in the chest, and he sets back with a jolt. "What?"
"You didn't hear it from me," JP says, glancing around to make sure no one's listening. His voice drops to barely above a whisper. "But Coach mentioned Percy put in a word about your ice time. Said you were ready for more responsibility."
It feels like someone has just pulled the bench out from under him. Percy requested his promotion? The same Percy who spent yesterday's practice criticizing every creative play he made? The same Percy who seems to take personal offense at Rath's very existence?
Rath's mind races, trying to process this new information. All day he'd assumed his second line assignment was based purely on performance, on Coach recognizing his potential and deciding to give him more opportunity. The idea that Percy might have advocated for him, might have seen something in his game worth promoting, turns everything upside down.
"Why would he do that?" Rath asks, his voice coming out smaller than he intends.
JP shrugs. "Maybe he sees something in you that you don't see in yourself. Percy's a good captain, Rath. He wants what's best for the team, even when it means swallowing his pride."
Before Rath can respond, Percy skates over to the bench, his presence immediately shifting the dynamic. There's something about the way he carries himself—confident but not arrogant, authoritative without being overbearing—that commands attention. Even when he's just gliding across the ice, there's a grace to his movement that speaks to years of elite-level training.
"Gagnon, you're up for the next drill," Percy says. Then his eyes find Rath's, and there's something intense there that makes Rath's breath catch. "Platts—good work on that last power play. Keep finding those soft spots."
The praise shouldn't make Rath feel like he's glowing from the inside out, but it does. Percy doesn't give compliments easily, doesn't offer encouragement unless it's earned, and hearing approval in that carefully controlled voice makes something warm and satisfied spread through Rath's chest.
He knows his neck is probably bright red, and can feel the heat creeping up from his collar, but he manages to keep his voice steady. "Thanks, Cap."
Percy nods curtly and skates away, leaving Rath staring after him with his heart doing stupid things in his chest. The brief interaction replays in his mind—the way Percy had looked at him, the genuine approval in his voice, the moment of connection that felt different from their usual antagonistic exchanges.
"Yeah," JP says, his voice rich with amusement. "He obviously can't stand you."
The rest of practice passes in a blur of drills and scrimmages, but Rath feels like his entire world has shifted off its axis. He's always been aware of Percy's presence on the ice—the captain commands attention just by existing—but suddenly he can't look away. Every time their captain calls his name, every brief moment of approval, every glimpse of the person underneath the professional facade suddenly feels completely different.
