Chapter 17 #2
They walked close to each other as they made their way into the small town, hands brushing occasionally, hips bumping.
The ever-present patches of lingering snow glimmered along the edges of the cobbled streets, but the air was surprisingly mild, the sun catching Jackson’s cheekbones.
Every part of him wanted to reach out and take Elliot’s hand in his, but he held back.
It wasn’t a feeling he was accustomed to—the war between the strength of his own desire and the need to repress it.
It made him jittery, and apparently overly talkative.
“How’re you feeling?” he asked Elliot, glancing at his ankle as if that wasn’t an incredibly sensitive topic in itself.
Elliot shrugged. “Alright, actually.”
Jackson hummed in response, something in him telling him it was a lie.
“A lot of gossip about Hewitt flying around. Apparently the selection committee might be swayed after all,” Elliot said. There was something in his tone. Worry.
“I mean, it makes sense,” Jackson replied.
Elliot huffed. “Anders would hate it, though.”
“Like you said before, it isn’t all his choice,” Jackson argued. “And you know as well as I do that Darius is the best we’ve got.”
“I know he’s fast, but Anders wants a team, not a star,” Elliot replied.
Jackson may have been imagining it, but there was still something in his tone, something… Wait. Jackson smiled. “You’re jealous.”
“Of Hewitt? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You are, and I can’t quite figure out why. You’re in a better position for selection than he is,” Jackson said. “And if it’s the other thing…”
“It's not,” Elliot said quickly.
“’Cause we’re just mates, he and I. It was never anything more than that.” It didn’t even feel like a lie to Jackson anymore. Whatever he’d once thought he wanted was long gone, overwhelmed by the growing feelings he had for the man next to him.
Elliot grimaced. “Like we’re just mates?”
“Nah, you and I aren’t friends, Owens. Remember?”
Elliot looked at him. “Right. So long as you aren’t catching feelings.” He turned back to the path, his pace quickening.
The finality with which it was said smothered something bright in Jackson. “I can fuck you without falling in love with you, Owens,” he replied, less sure of it than he hoped he sounded.
“I know. Forget I said it.”
They walked in an uncomfortable silence to a small restaurant on the edge of the town.
They pushed the doors open and were immediately engulfed by the scent of melted cheese and roasted meat.
Sitting in a corner booth, Jackson pulled the menu up in front of his face, looking over it with incredible detail.
“This is nice.” Elliot’s voice broke the awkward silence that had descended between them. “Thanks for dragging me out.”
“Can’t survive on that meal plan alone,” Jackson said, bumping Elliot’s knee under the table. He grinned down at his menu when Elliot pressed into the touch instead of moving away.
“Jackson! Elliot!” A voice broke through the din of chatter in the restaurant.
Jackson sighed, disappointed by the interruption.
It was Alice, Ilaria, and their friends. They’d spent a decent amount of time with the group, swimming and exploring, but he noticed Elliot still glared as they approached.
“Can we join you?” Ilaria asked. “Or is this…”
“Of course you can,” Jackson said quickly, not wanting to push Elliot’s boundaries by suggesting this was anything intimate. If anything, Elliot’s glare intensified. “Grabbing a quick bite with my future teammate.”
The group joined them, pulling up chairs and dragging another table over.
“So how are you enjoying your first visit to St. Moritz?” asked Stefan. He was an Austrian triathlete who had arrived that morning on his own. He was young and early enough in his career to still be excited about everything and everyone. “It's beautiful, no?”
“Yes,” Jackson replied. “Really lovely.”
“And have you been further up the mountains? For camping?”
Jackson felt Elliot stiffen beside him as Stefan continued to engage, leaning in towards Jackson as he spoke.
“We’ve been,” Elliot replied. His voice was stilted, but much to Jackson’s surprise, his hand found its way onto Jackson’s thigh under the table. “It was an incredible experience.”
Jackson choked as Elliot traced small circles on his leg, but he managed to say, “Yeah, brilliant.”
Ilaria tilted her head to stare at him, like she knew something she shouldn’t. “Is it very different to how you train at home here?”
Jackson hummed. He tried to concentrate so he could give an accurate answer. “Our coach is here with us, so the training itself isn’t so different, but I’ve only been training with him for a couple of months, so it’s been a big adjustment anyway,” he replied honestly.
Elliot nodded along. “Anders is pretty much always like this. Very intense.”
Jackson laughed. “Understatement.”
Stefan smiled at Jackson. He recognised the look he was giving him; he knew he had a bit of a reputation, and obviously, this group all figured they had a shot. Elliot was clearly not amused as he paused the slow circles he’d been tracing to grip Jackson’s leg, hard.
“Will you be here much longer? You have the big race in London soon, isn’t it?
” Alice asked. She twirled her hair as she spoke.
It was clear the offer from a couple of weeks ago had not been rescinded, but Jackson wasn’t interested.
He wasn’t interested in any of them. The only thing he was interested in was the direction Elliot’s hand was travelling in.
“Yep, last big one before the Olympics. Got to impress,” Jackson replied easily.
Elliot scoffed. “Oh sure, so important when your place is already secure.” There was an edge in his voice, but his hand was still inching higher, kneading the muscles of Jackson’s thigh.
Jackson shrugged. “The Olympics aren’t the only thing that matters,” he replied, looking straight into Elliot’s stormy blue eyes as he said it.
Elliot pulled his hand away, and Jackson tried to subtly pull it back under the table. “Aren’t they?” he asked, but it didn’t seem like he was really asking Jackson anymore. “Must be nice,” Elliot said, gaze on his glass, “not to feel like one race could finish you.”
Jackson chuckled. “Come on, you’re too good for one race to finish you.”
Elliot pushed himself back from the table. “Fuck, Jennings, you don’t get it at all, do you?”
Jackson moved to follow Elliot, but Ilaria was faster.
She gripped his arm as he went to leave the table and whispered something that had the tension draining from his shoulders almost instantly.
The two of them stepped away, just a short distance from the table but far enough that Jackson couldn’t hear the words exchanged, despite his best efforts.
Jackson felt a weird mix of relief and jealousy. He wanted to be the one who could do that for Elliot, to be the one to help him see how much he deserved everything he’d worked for, how incredible he was.
It was a bad time to realise how completely fucked he was.
“You said it’s been different? With the new coach?
And maybe also training together?” Alice asked, breaking the tension, as Ilaria and Elliot returned to the table.
Elliot settled in next to Jackson again, and Jackson immediately took the opportunity to hook their ankles together under the table, trying to communicate an apology for whatever it was he’d done—he still wasn’t sure. Elliot didn’t pull away.
“So different,” he replied. “I’ve never had a coach so involved in every aspect of my life.
And the meal plans, I swear.” He eyed the dessert Stefan had ordered.
“I’d never get away with that, especially ’cause Owens here would totally rat me out.
” He smiled and tapped Elliot’s knee in reassurance as he said it.
“But that’s because he’s so committed to excellence.
I’ve never met an athlete with such an incredible level of dedication.
He truly lives and breathes the sport, and it comes through in everything he does.
You see it on the course as well, so bloody elegant. I’ve got a lot to learn from him.”
Two tiny pink dots appeared on Elliot’s cheeks as Jackson continued to talk him up to the group. He longed to kiss them.
“Yes, I saw video of you in the Berlin marathon,” Stefan said to Elliot. “Very nice form, strong finishing kick.”
“That bloody finishing kick is what always gets me in trouble.” Jackson laughed.
Elliot smiled at him. “You worried I’ll cash in on our bet?”
“Oh, that sounds interesting.” Ilaria laughed, leaning forward.
“This guy tried to cheat, and I still beat him,” Elliot said.
It was like the ice had broken, and Elliot relaxed, letting himself engage with the others.
Mostly he was regaling them with tales of times he’d bested Jackson, but even if it was at his expense, Jackson loved seeing it.
He sat back and smiled, watching his…rival?
His teammate? His fuck buddy? His Elliot—start to open up and enjoy himself.
Somehow, after dinner, the group ended up wandering around near one of the fancier hotels in town.
The outdoor pool caught Jackson’s eye immediately, its surface steaming in the crisp April air.
It reminded him distantly of the lake that first night in St. Moritz, but now his focus was entirely different.
Jackson headed straight for it. “Who’s coming in, then?”
Elliot stilled beside him. “I don’t think we’re allowed.”
Jackson shrugged as he pulled his jumper over his head. “Live a little, Owens.” Their eyes met and Jackson grinned at him, daring him not to back down.
Elliot met his gaze, and his fingers twitched forward, grasping at thin air. Then he shrugged, a soft laugh escaping his throat. “Why the fuck not,” he muttered.
Jackson smirked at him.
“We should really wait two hours after eating,” Stefan said.
Elliot snorted. “That’s an old wives' tale.”
“I’m going in, either way,” Jackson announced.