Chapter 18
Elliot
The final day in St. Moritz dawned brightly, but the cloud hanging over Elliot as he stretched in his bed overpowered the cheery April sunshine.
They were going back today.
Back to London.
Back to reality.
And with a few weeks of tapering ahead of him, Elliot wasn’t sure how he was going to distract himself from the precarious emotional situation he’d landed himself in without running.
Some of the friends they’d made during the trip were on the train with them, but Jackson and Elliot separated themselves from the group, staying in their own little world.
Their heads were bent together as they talked about nothing of consequence and scrolled through their phones, showing each other stupid videos and memes to pass the time.
“Holy fuck,” Jackson exclaimed suddenly, staring down at his phone.
Elliot lifted his head from Jackson’s shoulder, where it had been resting for the past half hour or so. “What happened?”
“I got…I got a brand deal,” Jackson replied.
Elliot smiled. “That’s great!” Though he noted the lack of emails in his own inbox.
“Ell, it’s…it’s huge. I’ve never seen sums like this before.”
Something clenched in Elliot’s heart. He was happy for Jackson—that was part of the draw of the Olympics anyway; the potential for big sponsorship deals—but he really fucking needed something like that to happen to him, and the silence from his dad’s office spoke volumes.
It felt like one more way Jackson’s life was perfect in all the ways his was lacking. He tried to choke down the feeling.
“What are you going to do with the cash?”
“Buy a fuck-off massive car, one of those SUVs you always see in American films,” Jackson replied. Mirth was shining in his eyes, though.
“Seriously?” Elliot asked. He was about seventy-five per cent sure Jackson was joking, but it was hard to be certain.
“Of course not.” Jackson bumped his shoulder. “This should cover Beth’s tuition for uni, which’ll be a massive weight off my parents and about the only way they’d ever let me help them.”
“They don’t like you helping out?” Elliot asked. It occurred to him that all he knew about his bo—about Jackson’s family, was that they loved him unconditionally, the way families were meant to.
“They hate it,” Jackson answered with fond exasperation. “You’d think they’d be more willing now Dad can’t work, but no.” He sighed.
There was an edge to his usually playful tone, though, and Elliot couldn’t help but pick at it. “Why can’t he work?”
Jackson faltered. “I… He’s not well.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry, I should have told you, but it’s hard to talk about. Only Anders and Darius know.”
For some reason, that pierced a hole in Elliot’s heart. He wanted to be the one Jackson came to. Not Eric Anders or Darius Hewitt. He wanted to be everything to Jackson Jennings.
And that was going to be a problem. Because this was meant to be casual, and Elliot knew he couldn’t ever give him more than that, no matter how much he wanted to.
Jackson continued. “My dad’s sick. It’s from his work, but they can’t prove it, so there’s not much compensation.
And he’s fine for now, but it could get worse.
That’s why I hate being away so much. I can’t help but think if I were closer to home, I could help out more, take some of the stress off my mum. ”
Elliot squeezed his hand. “That’s why you’re always checking your phone,” he mumbled, mostly to himself.
“Sorry. I don’t want to dump all my problems on you.” Jackson turned to look out the window.
“Hey,” Elliot replied, twisting a lock of Jackson’s vibrant hair in his fingers. “I’ve been dumping my problems on you for weeks now, forcing you to keep all my secrets. It’s only fair you get to do the same.”
“You haven’t forced me to do anything, Ell,” Jackson replied. “I—”
Whatever he was going to say was interrupted by the arrival of a rowdy group of athletes. They were loudly gossiping about some celebrity breakup, though Elliot didn’t catch who, nor did he particularly care.
The moment was broken, though.
He let his head fall back onto Jackson’s shoulder, enjoying the closeness while he could, and drifted off for the remainder of the train ride, soothed by the rhythm of Jackson’s breathing.
Jackson held Elliot's hand throughout the turbulent flight, but he still let out a deep exhale of relief when they touched down in London. As the flight disembarked, Elliot found out just who the big breakup news was about. And Jackson’s reaction to it felt like a fucking slap in the face after everything they’d shared, after the confession he’d genuinely thought had almost come.
Darius Hewitt was single again. And now he was out of the closet, nothing was stopping Jackson from going back to his long-time arrangement with the man, even making it something more. Cold dread ran through Elliot’s body as Jackson confirmed all of his fears.
“Fuck,” he said as he hauled his bag onto his shoulder. “I’ve got to go see Darius.”
Right, of course. It made sense. Because what could Elliot possibly offer? He was a downgrade in every respect. Not as fast, not as famous, not as wealthy, and since Darius had made a big show of coming out for his now ex…not as open about who he was.
Clearly oblivious to Elliot’s internal spiralling, Jackson bumped his shoulder. “Share a taxi?” he asked.
Because he was a hopeless idiot, Elliot nodded. He sat in silence as Jackson frantically texted from the seat next to him.
It felt like the end.
Like he’d lost something he’d never quite allowed himself to have.
“See you at training tomorrow?” Jackson said, leaning in as the taxi came to a stop near a run-down terrace in Edgware.
“Whatever, Jennings,” Elliot replied, trying to keep the hurt from showing on his face.
“Are you mad at me?” Jackson asked, grabbing Elliot’s hand “Is it the brand deal? ’Cause I’m sure you’ll get something soon, Ell. As soon as they announce you for the team.”
As soon as they announced him, right. Because it wasn’t enough to ditch him like this, Jennings had to rub his success in his face in the process. “I’m fine. Camp’s over, right? We had fun. So run along back to Hewitt,” Elliot ground out.
“This is about Darius? I’m going to make sure he’s alright, but then—”
“Oh my god, Jackson. Stop. Why are you telling me? I don’t want to hear about what you want to do with Hewitt.”
“Owens, you seem really angry right now, and I don’t know what I’ve done wrong.”
“You’re ditching me to go see Hewitt because he’s available again,” Elliot gritted out. “I thought this was… I don’t fucking know, Jennings, but I obviously thought this meant more than you did.”
Jackson glared. “You’re the one who didn’t want this to mean anything, the one who runs the other way whenever I so much as hint at it being more. But I don’t know what you’re bloody accusing me of now.”
Elliot flushed. “No, I…I get it, okay? I know I was asking too much, and it was just a camp hookup. Of course you’d choose him. He’ll probably get the Olympic call-up, and he’ll get you. Fuck my life, seriously.”
Jackson followed Elliot out of the taxi, waving the driver off. “I care about you, Owens, despite bloody everything,” he stated. “This was never just a camp hookup to me, and I think you know that.”
He heard Jackson's words, but they slid right off of him.
He wouldn't let them hit. Couldn't. The reminder of Hewitt, of the Olympics and everything that surrounded them had brought him back down to earth, off the cloud he'd been living on at camp.
Jackson should be with someone like Hewitt.
Elliot was never going to be able to be what he needed.
“Then why are you going to him?”
“My friend is hurting, and I think I can talk him into getting the love of his life back.”
Something ugly twisted in Elliot's chest. As much as Elliot wanted to cling to the idea that he meant something to Jackson, that this was more than just a temporary thing, he refused to set himself up for that kind of pain and humiliation.
“Oh, sure,” Elliot replied. “So, it's not to get back together with him, then. To comfort him? Help him out?”
“What the fuck?” Jackson replied. “No! Why would you think that?”
Elliot let out a brittle laugh. “Makes sense. We’re not together, right? And that’s what you want, isn’t it? Someone who will hold your hand when you walk down the street. Plus, you’d never have to worry about money again.” He forced a shrug that felt more stiff than casual.
“I can’t do this with you right now.” Jackson sighed.
The way he refused to fight stoked Elliot's ire.
It was confirmation that no matter what Jackson said, this had been nothing to him—nothing worth fighting for, at least. Somewhere deep down he knew he was being irrational, but the anger felt better than the cloying sadness that was inching its way up his throat.
“Was this all to get back at me?” Elliot asked. “To mess with me for all those things I said?”
Jackson reeled back, shock written across his face.
“Of course not. But if you really think that little of me, then it’s best we close the door now.
Camp was fun. See you at training,” he said with a finality that hung heavy in the air as Elliot watched him walk down the road and into one of the terraces.
With him gone, the anger collapsed in on itself, leaving only the hollow, burning pain and the cold, sick realisation that he’d just ruined the best thing that had ever happened to him. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. There was nothing he could do or say to stop Jackson from walking away.
It was how it needed to be, regardless.
Tapering was always rough, even when things were going well. But between his injury, which he was starting to get a bit nervous about, and having lost whatever he’d been on the verge of with Jackson, Elliot felt safe to say it was the worst taper he’d ever been through.
Not being able to train was grating on him.
He was icing his ankle every night and popping ibuprofen to keep the pain at bay, but it wasn’t helping much, and there was no one he could talk to about it.
Anders would pull him from the marathon at the first hint of an injury, Elliot had no friends to speak of, Jackson wasn’t talking to him, and his parents…
well, they wouldn’t want to hear about yet another weakness.
He could feel his dreams, his redemption, crumbling in his hands. The Olympics had been in reach, but now he didn’t think he’d ever get there.
It had only been two days since he’d left the paradise of St. Moritz, but he already wished he could turn back time and sit with Jackson on the bank of the lake, looking out at the snow-capped peaks where everything felt possible.
His cup of tea had long gone cold when his phone buzzed.
Chris Green, the runner on his dad’s roster who was making his professional marathon debut at London this year.
Elliot liked the kid, had always seen him as kind of a mentee, but now he was also one of his biggest competitors for those final two spots on the Olympic team.
Elliot had promised they would meet up before their shakeout run, and he was already late. He threw on a hoodie and joggers, making damn sure the bandaging around his ankle was well covered in case they ran into Anders. The man practically lived at the track; it was ridiculous.
He raced out the door to the bus and reached the track in record time. Chris was there waiting when he arrived. Sitting on one of the hard metal stands and staring down at his phone. He looked up as Elliot approached.
“Shit, you look rough, mate.”
Elliot glared back at him. “Yeah.”
“You sure you’re up for this?” Chris asked again.
Elliot scoffed. “I’m the one who should be asking you that.”
“I mean, you look kind of down.”
“I’ll live,” Elliot replied. “How about you?”
Chris shrugged. “Been alright. A bit stressed. This race is a big deal.”
Nodding, Elliot sat on the stands to change his shoes. “You’ll be fine. The atmosphere’s insane; your nerves’ll disappear on the day.”
“Sure.” Chris didn’t seem convinced. “Need to make sure I’m ready. That I’ve taken every advantage I can.”
There was something in his tone that gave Elliot pause, but he shook it off. Elliot nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean. The pressure is ramping up—for both of us.”
Chris nodded emphatically. “Exactly.”
There wasn’t time for any more conversation. They got moving, the familiar track under his feet making Elliot feel more settled than he had since returning to London. His ankle held up and he let himself relax into the run, feeling like he could breathe for the first time in days.
After an easy 5k, they called it and started a cool-down.
He was mid-stretch when he heard a loud laugh from behind him.
There was only one person it could be, and if Jennings was here, he could only assume it was with Anders.
Elliot quickly looked down to check that the tape job on his ankle didn’t look excessive.
He found he was way more nervous about seeing Jackson than he was about Anders discovering his little injury, though.
Jackson and Anders looked deep in conversation when they arrived, Anders with a fatherly hand on Jackson’s shoulder. A flare of jealousy shot through Elliot, and he wasn’t sure which of them it was directed at.
Anders nodded to them as they left, but Jackson didn’t even glance their way.
It felt like he'd gone back in time to the years when Jackson Jennings had avoided him, like St. Moritz had been an elaborate fantasy he'd dreamed up in his head. Elliot watched Jackson nod to his coach and set off around the track. He looked strong, effortless. Like a true Olympian. Elliot couldn’t help but stare. Watching Jackson run, Elliot was acutely aware of how fucking stupid he’d been.
The man was a force of nature, and he wanted him so much it physically hurt.
He’d fucked everything up, though, and it didn’t even matter, because he’d never deserved Jackson to start with.