Chapter 7 Jackson
Jackson
St. Moritz was fucking beautiful. Jackson usually spent his altitude sessions in Iten, and last year he’d been to Font Romeu.
Not this year though. Anders had insisted on St Moritz, and Jackson was not complaining.
He hadn’t known where to look during the short walk to the hotel, between the quaint village, patches of lingering snow melting into emerald grass, and the snow-capped peaks surrounding them.
A faint chill hung in the air, though the sun made it deceptively warm for mid-March.
Fuck, this place was so pretty.
But he still wished he were home with his family. He couldn’t have picked a worse time to be away, and despite his sister’s constant text updates, the guilt and anxiety over his dad’s health was a creeping presence in the back of his mind.
Jackson
Are you sure you’re ok?
Beth
I’m fine. Dad’s fine. Go run in circles on your mountain. Explore or something.
Jackson sighed. His youngest sister was a force to be reckoned with, and he knew she would deal with anything that came up.
It was just that this had all blindsided him.
His dad had always seemed invincible, until now.
His family was struggling to cope with the reality of it, and it made Jackson feel like a dickhead for swanning off to Switzerland to train for an Olympic team spot he hadn’t really earned, in a fucking beautiful mountain town, like any of this mattered at all.
Still, Beth was right. He was here now, so he might as well get out and explore before the sun went down.
He slid his phone into his pocket, keeping it close in case there were any further updates, and left the room.
After hesitating for a moment, he made the decision to knock on Owens’s door and see if he would join him.
They were teammates now, and that was the kind of thing a good teammate should do.
Brea’s advice to avoid him wasn’t an option anymore, and antagonism wasn’t going to win him any favour with Anders, who had been clear that he was expected to make nice with Owens.
They were almost certainly going to be representing their country together at the Olympics; it was the right thing to do.
It was what Jackson Jennings, friendly neighbourhood pro-athlete, would do.
The thought made him roll his eyes. Since the fallout from Copenhagen, he’d had to double down on managing his image.
He was fun, upbeat, and just risqué enough to be exciting—ask anyone.
It wasn’t that Jackson put on a front for the media all the time, but they sure seemed determined to see him as a walking stereotype.
The absolute contrast to Owens, whose entire brand centred around being a holier-than-thou dickhead.
He knocked before he could overthink it.
Owens answered the door dressed in red split shorts and a tight-fitting black vest top that made Jackson’s mouth water.
The man might be an arsehole, but he was a very pretty one, with his platinum blonde hair that always caught the light exactly right and those stormy blue eyes.
He had a pinched expression on his face, though, that kind of killed the effect.
“Jennings,” Owens huffed. “What do you need? I’m in the middle of something.”
A female voice echoed from inside the room.
Jackson stuttered. “Wanted to see if you wanted to go for a walk to the lake?” Did that sound needy? It probably sounded needy. “But it sounds like you’ve got plans, so…”
“No, that’s—” Owens’s shoulders hunched up to his ears. “It’s not… Just give me a minute, ok?” He darted back into the room, and Jackson heard frantic whispering for a moment that sounded suspiciously like Owens saying he was trying. It was followed by a louder goodbye.
Moments later, much to Jackson’s surprise, Owens joined him, covered up now in a heavy jacket and joggers. They walked side by side down the corridor towards the lift. An uncomfortable silence had fallen between them, and for once in his life, Jackson wasn’t sure what to say.
“Was that your girlfriend?” he asked awkwardly.
Owens blinked at him in confusion for a moment before responding. “Assistant at my agency,” he replied eventually. “I’m single.”
Jackson smiled. “Cool, yes. Me too. Single, I mean.”
The uncomfortable silence returned, and Jackson internally berated himself for the fumbled attempt at conversation. He was usually good at connecting with people and making friends, but Elliot Owens had been a mysteriously difficult case for him for years.
“Everything ok?”
“I lost a campaign I was kind of counting on. She wanted to talk it through.”
Jackson hummed. “That’s rough. Which one?”
“New drinks line. Maple energy drink thing,” Owens replied.
Jackson winced. It was one of the biggest campaigns he’d booked since the Copenhagen disaster—proof that all the branding and publicity shit he’d been working on with Brea had been worth it. He refused to feel guilty about getting one over on Owens; he deserved it.
“It’s fine, I know you booked it.”
Silence descended once more. Sunlight streamed through the glass lobby, catching frost patches on the window ledges and glinting off the distant lake, sharp and blue.
As they exited the lobby, the athletics track was immediately to their left, with the sparkling, crystalline water of the lake to the right.
The whole scene made quite the impression, surrounded by snow-capped peaks and trails leading off from the manicured grass into the woods.
A crisp breeze ruffled Jackson’s hair and tugged at the hem of his jacket, but the sun was warm enough on his shoulders to make him consider a reckless dip in the lake.
He felt on edge with Owens next to him, walking silently.
He thumbed the elite card in his pocket that would grant him access to the nearby gym and swimming facilities.
“You want to check out the fitness centre?”
Owens nodded and followed without a word as Jackson redirected them towards the complex.
They had four weeks here, so it would be nice to track down a yoga class, and he loved the idea of early morning swims to start the day.
Though he was tempted by the lake, he imagined he’d be on his own if he suggested it—it did look cold.
As they neared the gym, he spotted the group he’d been chatting to on the train into town. A mix of Italian and Swiss athletes who used St. Moritz as their usual altitude training base. They waved him over enthusiastically, and he broke into a slow jog to catch them up.
“Come on.” He nodded to Owens. “I’ll introduce you.”
“Jackson,” Ilaria, one of the Italian cyclists, greeted him as he approached.
He kissed her once on each cheek and introduced Owens to the group.
“We were heading to the lake for a swim. Join us?” another Italian woman who’d introduced herself as Alice asked.
It couldn’t have been more perfect. He’d assumed that the lake would be a non-starter for swimming, but these guys had been here before; they’d know the best spots.
“We’d have to run back to grab our swimming costumes.”
Ilaria laughed. “No time for that, I’m afraid, you’ll have to go nude.”
Jackson baulked. Mid-March in the Alps? But the water looked almost inviting and the group were all looking at him like they expected his British prudishness to rear its head.
“You’re serious?” Jackson asked, eyeing the lake.
Elliot, standing nearby, smirked. “Last year, this would have still been frozen over. Year before that, even worse.”
Jackson shook his head, glancing at the surprisingly calm water. “Climate change.”
“Oh, it will still be freezing.” Alice laughed. “We will not stay long. But it is a fun challenge.”
Jackson found himself nodding along. Owens, however, was unsurprisingly not amused. “Have fun with your friends, Jennings,” he said as he turned to head to the gym entrance. “I’ll see you for training tomorrow.”
Jackson nodded, ignoring the judgemental tone and leaving Owens as he followed the group to the frigid lake.
Not wanting to be shown up, he stripped and ran straight in with no hesitation.
The water shocked his skin, bracing in a way that left him breathless for a moment, goose bumps racing down his arms. Despite the chill, it was survivable, made easier by the unusually warm March air and the weak spring sun warming his shoulders.
The group splashed each other and messed around in the lake for a few moments before clambering out onto the bank.
Someone threw him a towel, which he gratefully wrapped around himself as his skin prickled from the chill.
He redressed quickly, then stretched out on the grass, snow melting in patches around him, and stared up at the clear sky.
He couldn’t help but wonder where Owens was, and what he would have made of the scene.
He’d probably roll his eyes and accuse Jackson of putting his social life before training.
Jackson huffed in irritation, but the faint breeze tugging at his hair centred him, reminding him of the bracing cold he’d just survived.
He wasn’t completely aware of how much time had passed before Ilaria and her teammate Alice appeared next to him, playfully breaking his quiet relaxation and pressing themselves close in a way that felt like an offer Jackson couldn’t think of any reason to refuse.
He let them drag him closer to the others.
The sun was setting behind the peaks, painting the snow-dusted slopes and lake in shades of pink and orange.
Ice cold air drifted off the water, ruffling his damp hair.
Wine and snacks materialised from somewhere, and more people joined them.
Everything was happening in a sort of hazy slow motion to him, like he was in a film.