Chapter 24
Elliot
The actual members of the GB Olympic Marathon team had been away for three weeks, and Elliot had hated every moment. At least when Jackson had been in London, he'd been able to pine from a shorter distance. Quietly watching him run was better than not seeing him at all.
He knew it was all his fault; he’d driven him away at the worst possible time.
It wasn’t unexpected to see the barrage of photos on Jackson’s socials, a veritable parade of the hottest, most eligible athletes in Europe all together in the idyllic setting where he’d first fallen for Jackson Jennings, but it still hurt.
Every photo, every video took him back to that searing jealousy he'd felt when he’d seen Jackson with the two Italian women in the hotel lobby, now though, he knew in his bones that he’d lost him.
His phone buzzed with another call from his father that Elliot sent straight to voicemail.
He wasn’t sure what the revelation his father had shared meant for him, but he knew what he felt: betrayal.
The idea of Chris enjoying the lead-up to the Olympics unhindered by months of cheating stung, but it was nothing compared to the lie he’d been allowed to believe for so long.
The lie that had formed so much of his approach to life that he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to untangle himself from it.
He'd been fourteen when his father had suddenly dropped out of the Olympics and moved the family away from Nottingham, citing an ambiguous injury and abandoning his Loughborough training base and the sport entirely.
It had felt so obvious at the time that it was because of Elliot, because he'd known what few others did.
He'd felt the visceral shame when his father and the programme head caught him behind the stands, seen the embarrassment on his father's face when he realised who he was with. Now though, with new information, it didn’t feel nearly so cut and dry.
He didn’t want to think anymore. All Elliot wanted was some kind of distraction.
Anything to get his mind off the disaster of his life.
He flicked through socials absently until he stumbled on a picture that made his heart lurch into his throat.
Stefan, the triathlete they’d met in their last block, had posted a group shot, and Jackson was front and centre, Stefan’s arm slung around him, lips brushing his ear so intimately Elliot wanted to scream.
It was the fucking caption that did him in, though: This altitude block wouldn’t be the same without you.
Followed by a fucking fire emoji. Who did that, anyway?
Elliot saw red. He knew he had no claim on Jackson, but the impotent rage inside him disagreed. He hurled his phone across the room.
A week later, they were all back. Elliot could barely look at Jackson without his eyes starting to sting.
They were at the track for a group workout.
The Olympic Opening Ceremonies were barely a week away, though none of them would attend.
Rest was paramount at this stage, so they'd be staying in London until the final week of the Olympics, when the team would fly out.
Elliot wouldn't be joining them. Anders's concessions to him didn't seem to extend that far.
Watching them train was torture. It reminded him of everything he was missing out on. And not even just the Olympics.
Jackson jogged over. “Wait for me after?” he asked. “I…I want to talk to you about something.”
“Of course,” Elliot replied instantly. The hope blooming in his chest felt premature, but he couldn’t tamp it down.
“Might want to stop with the sad puppy look if you don’t want people knowing what’s going on there,” Anders said.
“What?” Elliot flushed. “I’m not—there’s not—”
“Right. Of course.”
Jackson tilted his head, as if he were studying Elliot. Straightening his posture, Elliot turned to Anders. “What do you need from me?”
“Check form, any last-minute opportunities for improvements. Any concerns.”
Elliot smiled. “I have plenty of critiques of Jennings's form,” he said. Then he looked at Jackson, worried he’d take the quip the wrong way.
Jackson grinned back, and Elliot’s heart rate kicked up a notch. Maybe he hadn’t completely ruined things.
“I’m sure you do,” Anders replied.
Jackson smiled again, and Elliot flushed.
“Jennings, stop flirting and get out there,” Anders barked.
“Sir, yes, sir,” Jackson replied with a mock salute, not denying the flirting accusation before he jogged back over to join Hewitt and Green. Elliot’s heart soared.
Elliot watched all three of them carefully, focused in a way he hadn't been in months. Hewitt’s form was obnoxiously good, precise and quick.
Chris was too stiff on his right side, his arm swings not matching up, and Jackson…
Jackson looked perfect. Well, other than his slightly too high heel flick and the tension in his left shoulder, but it somehow just looked charming.
Elliot was fucked.
The workout flew by. Elliot fell into a pattern of watching the athletes, peering over Anders’s shoulder at their stats and noting down his observations.
Chris’s heart rate was too high again, and Anders kept frowning at the data and tapping on his tablet, but he didn’t call him over.
He kept them going, though, long past the point when Elliot had expected the repetitive workout to end.
Finally, Anders brought it to a close, taking them through a short cool-down before jogging off, tablet in hand, muttering to himself. Hewitt and Green left shortly after, waving to him as they went.
Elliot sat on the stands, tidying up his notes for a minute before Jackson plonked himself down next to him on the hard metal and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Oh.” Elliot exhaled sharply as he turned.
Jackson was breathing hard still, sweating, and so close that Elliot could almost hear his heartbeat. A cloud opened above them, and cold rain ran began to fall, but Elliot didn’t even look for shelter. All of his focus was on the beautiful man in front of him and how he ached to touch him.
“You wanted to talk?” Elliot asked.
Jackson nodded, still catching his breath. “Yeah. About Chris.”
“Oh.” Elliot breathed out. That wasn’t what he’d expected…or hoped for. “What about him?”
Jackson wiped a hand across his forehead. “You saw those splits, right? He shouldn’t be able to hold that pace.”
Elliot frowned. Despite himself, the instinct to protect Chris the way his father had wanted, persisted. “He’s young. First big season.”
“Maybe,” Jackson said. “Or maybe something’s off. My mum said the same thing a while back, how crazy it was that he ran that debut time. It’s been bugging me since.”
Elliot sighed and turned away, staring at the empty track. “Don’t start that.” No matter what his personal feelings were on the matter, he'd never let himself be the source of that kind of rumour again.
“What?”
“The whispering. You don’t know anything, and if you’re wrong, you’ll ruin his career before it’s even started.”
Jackson hesitated. “If I’m right, though…”
“Then it’s worse.” Elliot cut in, sharper than he meant. “Leave it to Anders or the Athletics Association. It’s not for us to police.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to keep his voice even.
“You know something,” Jackson said, eyes narrowing.
“Please, leave it. You think he’d really take the risk? One test and he’d be finished. Sponsors gone, name trashed. One mistake can follow you forever.”
Jackson studied him. “You sound like you know how that feels.”
Elliot didn’t answer, just kept his gaze fixed on the track. The rain picked up. The silence stretched. “Everyone’s hiding something, right? We don’t know what he’s got going on.”
Jackson shook his head. “Still, if he’s cheating, you should have that spot. You earned it.”
“That’s not how I want to earn it,” Elliot said.
His voice was low, tired. “I made my own mistakes, and not just about the Olympics.” He sighed, looking straight into Jackson’s eyes and willing him to understand.
“But I don’t want Chris to be a casualty of this industry.
The pressure’s getting to him, sure, and maybe he did try to get an edge somehow.
He wouldn’t be the first. Desperation does funny things to people. ”
Jackson frowned. “He’s got plenty of funding.”
Elliot gave a small, humourless laugh. “Money’s not the only kind of desperation.”
Jackson turned toward him, brow furrowed. “Is this still about Chris?”
Elliot swallowed and shook his head, droplets flying from his hair and landing in the small puddles that had formed in the uneven divots of the metal stands.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “All I seem to be able to do is hurt you. I do that a lot—push people away when things get real. It’s because I’ve carried a lot of the weight from my father’s career and…
” Fuck he was rambling. “My therapist says I need to learn how to accept good things in my life.”
“Sounds like a good therapist,” Jackson replied.
Elliot snorted out a laugh. “Sometimes. But I’m serious, Jackson. I know I haven’t been fair to you.”
Jackson looked at him quizzically. “So, am I a good thing, then?”
“You were the best thing, Jennings,” Elliot replied, looking straight into his eyes. “And I know I fucked up. I got scared. I don’t do this, I don’t do emotions and mess, and I don’t sit in the rain confessing my feelings, hoping someone likes me back, but here we bloody well are.”
“You like me?” Jackson asked.
“I more than like you, and I think you fucking know that.”
“But, casual? You said—”
Elliot grimaced. “I know what I said. I don’t know if I can give you what you want, Jackson. But…maybe we could try?”
The tension pulled tight between them. Elliot felt as though he could feel every molecule of air prickling against his skin. His whole body was tuned to Jackson, waiting on a signal to come through.