Chapter 21
Jackson
Announcements were out. His recovery period had passed in a haze of press, physio, and short trips to Leicester whenever he could swing it…and wallowing. There had been plenty of wallowing.
Training was starting up again, and Jackson knew he should have been thrilled to be working alongside his best friend.
Thrilled that his next big race would be on the Olympic stage.
Thrilled that he was finally earning the kind of money that allowed him to help out back home, despite his parents' reluctance to accept any of it.
But he wasn’t.
He was restless.
A text came through from Brea.
Brea
Have you seen this? You should thank him, my phone hasn't stopped since it went up.
She'd attached a link to a video published on the Runner's Life site.
When he clicked the link, a still image of Elliot smiling his practised smile at the reporter greeted him.
Jackson's heart stuttered. Elliot had been through so much lately, between the injury and losing out on the Olympics, and Jackson knew he hadn’t made things easier.
A part of him regretted how it had ended.
He’d overreacted to Elliot’s jealousy. In the moment, the reminder of what he’d been to Darius, how he’d been nothing but a casual secret for years, had hollowed him out.
He’d known he was standing on the precipice of something similar with Elliot—or worse, because the feelings he had for the man were about as far from casual as you could get.
In the image, Elliot looked as calm and press-ready as he always did.
It was nice, in a way, to see that not even the implosion of his greatest ambition could stop him from turning it on for the media.
Jackson clicked play on the video, and his heart hammered as Elliot's smooth voice came out of his phone. Jackson’s breath caught as he heard the tiny Elliot on the screen say his name.
“Jackson Jennings? God, of course I support his selection,” Elliot said in response to a question Jackson hadn’t caught.
“I know I’ve made some less than flattering comments about him in the past, but he’s a brilliant runner.
I was a jealous idiot,” he continued softly, “but that’s kind of my default setting.
” Elliot let out a self-deprecating laugh, and the interviewer laughed along with him.
Jackson swallowed around the lump in his throat.
“Jennings is dedicated and full of integrity. He’s the heart of the team, and I don’t think we’ve come close to seeing his best yet.
It would have been an honour to line up beside him in August, but that wasn’t in the cards for me this year.
My priority right now is my recovery and supporting the excellent team the Athletics Association have fielded in whatever capacity I can. ”
Jackson stared. The video looped, and he watched it again, taking in the resigned look in Elliot’s eyes and drinking in the sound of his voice.
He fucking missed him. Jackson realised with a start that this was what he’d asked for back in St Moritz.
A retraction. But it was more than that.
He’d never expected Owens to actually do it, and the way he had was so bloody classy.
His media training was out in full force, but there was a vulnerability there that made Jackson ache for him.
He wondered if he should reach out, but nothing felt adequate.
The video was perfect, but it didn’t change anything, did it?
Jackson still needed something Elliot had said he could never give.
Much to Jackson’s surprise, Darius had allowed himself to be dragged along to a club mid-week.
It was so far from his friend’s usual scene that he’d done a double-take when he’d agreed.
It had been two weeks since Elliot's video broke the internet, or the portion of it dedicated to elite running, anyway, and Jackson had been a mess the entire time. He needed to shake the tension out.
Jackson dragged Darius into his usual haunt, bypassing the queue as he got the nod from Alfie, one of the bouncers.
Alfie was an absolute mountain of a man who he’d met at a somatic sound bath retreat a couple of years before.
They’d stayed friends in much the same way Jackson stayed friends with everyone he met.
It had always come easily to him—relating to people, connecting.
Physically or emotionally, it didn’t matter.
He was a people person. He just wasn’t great at keeping them around for the long haul. Elliot had reminded him of that.
He shut that thought down. No more Owens tonight.
He’d managed to drag his best friend into a club—it was a night for miracles.
Not a night for thinking about a grumpy prick with shiny blonde hair and a marathon PR uncomfortably close to his own, who kissed him like he was trying to claim victory with his lips.
The family group chat pinged with a photo of his eldest sister Katie and her wife Amelie at their home in Berlin, their tabby cat perched on Amelie’s head, fast asleep.
A tiny spark of jealousy flared deep in Jackson’s stomach.
He wanted that for himself; someone to come home to.
For now, though, he had needs, and maybe tonight he could find someone to satisfy them.
Darius handed him a drink. A Negroni, Jackson’s drink of the moment.
He shifted through favourite cocktails at roughly the same speed he usually went through crushes—a new flavour every week or so.
That was probably why he felt so off; he should have moved on from Elliot by now, but he was stuck.
They settled onto some barstools and scanned the crowds.
Maybe tonight, Jackson could find someone to get his mind off everything.
Alfie would probably be available if he wanted to go there again, but the thought didn’t excite him at all.
He scanned the dance floor, his eyes snagging on a few potential candidates.
A tall, lithe woman with blue space buns in a top made of shimmering sequins, dancing out of time with the music held his attention for a moment before it shifted to a burly guy in a black tank top and skinny jeans who was eye-fucking him from a distance.
He was about to walk over, almost resigned to it, but then his eyes caught on a shock of white.
Abso-fucking-lutely not.
In the middle of the dance floor, eyes closed and arms above his head, swaying dreamily to the beat of whatever generic house track was playing, was Elliot Owens.
Something short-circuited in Jackson’s brain.
He’d never expected to see Elliot here. It made Jackson lose his grip on his empty drink, the ice clinking as the glass hit the bar. His heart fucking hurt watching him, watching other people watch him.
Worst of all? He looked hot as hell.
He wore a skintight white T-shirt that reflected the flashing lights as much as his sweat-drenched hair did, and artfully ripped black jeans that flashed enough skin to show the strong muscles underneath, earned from years of punishing track workouts. Jackson couldn’t look away.
Their eyes met for a moment, and time froze.
“Jax.” Darius waved a hand in front of his face. “Earth to Jackson.”
Jackson snapped himself back into the real world. It was like everything sped up around him, and he realised Darius was waving his empty glass in his face. “Your round.”
“Yeah, of course,” Jackson replied.
He ordered them another round and settled back in, and when he turned back to the dance floor, Elliot had disappeared.
Darius had begged off after two drinks, heading home with the excuse that he had an early workout. Jackson was certain he was leaving to see his boyfriend, though, now that they were back together, and official.
Jackson should go too; he actually did have an early workout, since it wasn’t as though their schedules differed dramatically.
But he couldn’t leave yet. Not before he saw whether Elliot was still there, if he ever had been.
It felt like some sort of split from reality.
Like his brain had conjured him up because Elliot Owens was all Jackson bloody thought about these days.
Jackson crossed the dance floor, trying to maintain his usual joviality by bopping along and chatting with some of the people he recognised. All the while, though, he was scanning the crowd with sharp eyes for even a hint of that shockingly blonde hair. Nothing.
Giving in and calling it a night. He stopped by the toilets before leaving; it was a long way home from here.
He was washing his hands, staring into the dirty mirror in front of the sink, when a tall, muscular man pushed the door open, pulling someone along behind him.
Jackson’s breath caught in his throat, and his eyes prickled. Elliot.
The two of them stood frozen, staring at each other as the bigger man tried to keep pulling Elliot along. Jackson felt shock collide with something else he couldn’t quite name that rang hollow deep inside him.
“Really, Owens?” he sighed.
Their eyes met briefly in the mirror before Elliot looked down and swallowed.
“Hey. We doing this or not?” the meathead interrupted.
“Not,” Jackson and Elliot snapped in unison.
Elliot waited until the other guy stomped out, muttering under his breath, before he looked up at Jackson from under those pale eyelashes. His pupils were blown wide, whether from drink or nerves, Jackson couldn’t tell.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Jackson said, voice tight.
Elliot gave a small, humourless laugh. “It’s not exactly my usual. I just needed…”
“Yeah.” Jackson had seen enough; he didn’t need it spelled out for him. "What are you doing, Ell? You're better than this."
"I'm not," Elliot replied. "But it's nice to know you still believe that."
“Saw your interview.”
“Oh. Was it okay, or…?”
Jackson sighed. “Yeah, Ell. It was nice. Classy. My agent loved it. It ripped my fucking heart open—god what do you expect me to say here?”
Elliot shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. “You look good.”
“Don’t,” Jackson warned. “Don’t do that.”
Elliot flinched, something flickering across his face. “Right. Yeah. Sorry.”
Jackson turned toward the mirror again, trying to focus on the cracked edge of the glass instead of the man behind him. But then Elliot murmured, “You planning to hate me forever, then? Even now?”
Jackson spun. “I don’t hate you.”
“That makes one of us.”
“Then maybe you should do something about it,” Jackson replied, eyes sharpening as he closed in on Elliot, bracketing him against the wall with his arms. Elliot’s armour was down, he was vulnerable in a way he so rarely was, and Jackson couldn’t help but prod at it.
He wanted to pull him apart and understand what was really hiding underneath, to push him to the edge and make him reveal everything.
Elliot shoved him back, teeth gritted. “You don’t understand, Jackson. My life isn't my own. I’ve got nothing now, everything’s falling apart, and all I do is make mistake after mistake.”
“Oh, trust me, I know what that’s like.”
The next moment was messy. Elliot caught his wrist, Jackson spun on his heel, and somehow their mouths crashed together.
It wasn’t romantic. It was bruising, desperate, teeth clashing, hands pulling at each other as they fought for dominance, crashing against the tile wall.
Every emotion Jackson had pushed down over the past month came back in full force, and he wanted to let himself be consumed by Elliot Owens.
When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing hard.
Elliot leaned his forehead against Jackson’s, and he could feel the dampness of the tear tracks on his cheeks.
The sounds of the club thudded faintly through the walls.
After a long silence, they slid down to the filthy bathroom floor and sat side by side.
“Anders wants me to help him coach the team. I’m… I can’t train right now, but I think he’s trying to keep me close. Like a fucked-up consolation prize.”
Jackson let out a long breath. “It’ll be hard, won’t it? Being there?”
Jackson had his own suspicions about why Anders wanted Elliot close.
Most of them were about Chris, and he’d been mulling them over since his conversation with his mum.
He wanted to ask if Elliot would be ready if he needed to step in, but mostly, he wanted to know if they could try again.
If they had anything left to give each other.
Elliot nodded, staring at the floor between his knees. “I keep thinking if I hadn’t screwed things up with you, maybe I wouldn’t have fallen apart. Maybe I’d have been smarter about it, told Anders, pulled out of London, and then maybe….”
Jackson looked over. “Don’t do that to yourself.” He hated the thought that walking away from Elliot had hurt him this much. “I overreacted… I—”
“No. I shouldn’t have doubted you. I wish I’d never hurt you,” Elliot murmured. “I wish we could go back to the way things were.” His voice cracked on the last word.
Jackson swallowed hard. He wanted to go back too, but he knew one thing for sure now; wanting wasn't enough, and he was too exhausted to pretend it was. “I can’t do casual with you again, Elliot. The way I feel, it’s not casual. I can’t.”
Elliot let out a broken laugh. “Then I guess we’re screwed, because casual’s all I’ve got to give.”
They sat there, the silence between them punctuated by the heavy bass from the club. After a moment, Elliot sniffed, then smiled faintly. “You know, this isn’t the usual way I end up with tears in my eyes in a club bathroom.”
Jackson snorted despite himself. “You’re disgusting.”
“Yeah,” Elliot said softly, “but you still kissed me.”