Chapter 26
Elliot
The morning the team was meant to fly out, Elliot's phone buzzed before he’d finished making coffee.
It was the first night he’d spent alone since getting back together with Jackson, and he’d only suggested it because he truly believed his boyfriend needed to get some sleep before travelling for his Olympic debut.
He’d missed him like hell the whole night.
Dad
Be sharp. Don’t make this complicated.
No explanation, but Elliot could hazard a guess at what was happening. His dad had seemed to be giving him space the last week, and he’d only reach out now if it was big. His chest tightened. It had to be Chris. Another buzz—this time it was Anders’s name lighting up the screen.
Elliot swiped to answer. “Hey, Coach.”
“Morning,” Anders said, all brisk efficiency. “I need you in for a fitness assessment. Today. As soon as you can get here.”
There it was. No delay. No warning.
Elliot leaned against the counter, his pulse thudding in his taped-up ankle. “Is everything okay?”
A beat. Anders wasn’t good at lying, which meant the pause said everything. “Just get here.”
The line went dead.
Elliot stared at his reflection in the black surface of the kettle—jaw tight, eyes sharper than he felt.
Chris must have messed up. Missed a test?
Taken something stupid? God, the kid was just getting started, and now his whole life might’ve gone up in smoke.
Elliot scrubbed a hand over his face, guilt twisting with something colder, harder.
Because under the worry, under the pity, there was a pulse of brutal clarity.
They were calling him. He still had a shot.
He grabbed his jacket and headed for the door, determination knotting in his stomach. He texted Jackson, letting him know the, well, he hesitated to call it good news, but that they might be there together at the Olympics. Fuck, he didn't want to jinx it.
There was no one at the track yet when Elliot arrived.
He dropped his bag on the stands at the side and shook out his legs.
A light summer rain was falling, but he barely noticed himself getting wet as he ran through his pre-race ritual.
Nothing fancy—a walk around the track, a quick warm-up, leg swings, strides.
Anders walked up with an official from the Athletics Association holding a clipboard and a stopwatch as he was finishing up his stretches.
No news from Jackson. It was early, though, and they were flying out later today. Maybe Elliot would be flying out with them. Excitement pooled in his gut.
The official went through a briefing on how the trial would work. A ten-mile effort, primarily to test his fitness and ensure he was still within the expected pace for Olympic standards.
Elliot nodded along.
Anders put a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Feeling good, Owens?”
“Of course,” Elliot replied. He walked over to his starting position. He could hear Anders and the official chatting about him a few paces away. “It’s a formality,” Anders was saying. “He's been medically cleared, and if Jennings is out, we can’t afford not to send Owens.”
Jennings. Out? As in Jackson Jennings? His Jackson?
“Sorry, did you say Jennings is out?”
“Focus on your own run, Owens,” Anders replied.
Elliot straightened. “No, I…I need to know.”
Anders looked at him like he could see right through him, like for all their sneaking around, they hadn’t actually managed to keep a single thing hidden.
“He’s had a family emergency, had to travel back to the Midlands.
We don’t have much information at the moment, but he won't make the flight this afternoon.”
Fuck. Fuck. It had to be something with Jackson’s dad.
Elliot was such a fucking dick. Here he was about to get everything he wanted while Jackson was probably halfway home getting the worst news of his life.
Elliot felt like all the air had been sucked out of him.
Jackson had made his dad's illness sound like it was more of a long-term worry, not something that could go sideways at a moment's notice.
He paced, trying to control his breathing.
He'd finish this—his own dad would kill him if he didn't—but the Olympics was the least of his concerns now.
“Let’s get this over with, yeah?”
Anders gave him a strange look but signalled to the official. The woman clicked her stopwatch, and Elliot took off.
The first few laps felt wooden. His legs did what they always did, but his brain was elsewhere.
He wasn’t settling in; he was calculating train times to Leicester, remembering the way Jackson’s voice softened when he talked about his dad, replaying every stupid wish he'd had about being offered a spot on the team.
Rain slicked the track and soaked through his singlet. He tried to shut everything out and let the rhythm take over. Breathe, lift, fall. The sound of his shoes against the wet surface was the only steady thing left in the world.
Anders shouted splits from the sidelines. They were good. Better than good. Seb would have told him to pull back, but he was desperate to get this done.
By halfway, he’d found a grim sort of focus, not on the numbers but on the need to finish.
The last laps hurt. His breathing came ragged, shoulders tightening against the drizzle.
He crossed the final line on pure reflex and slowed to a walk, chest heaving.
Anders checked his watch and gave him a rare, approving nod.
“That’s plenty. You’re fit,” he said. “Go home. Pack.”
Elliot managed a nod, but he wasn’t really listening. The official was still scribbling down numbers, Anders was already talking about data uploads and travel logistics. None of it mattered.
He grabbed his bag from the stands, his towel not making much of a difference on his soaked skin as he wiped his face. The rain had picked up, fine and cold, sliding down the back of his neck.
Jackson.
His phone rang, but it wasn't who he wanted it to be.
"Can I assume it's done?" his dad asked, impatience clear in his tone.
"It's done. I expect I'll hear about travel arrangements shortly.
" The weight of it was starting to settle on him.
This was everything he'd been working towards, his chance to prove himself on the world stage. It wasn’t about legacy anymore, it was a chance to step out of his father's shadow. But Jackson…
"Excellent. Don't disappoint us, Elliot."
"Never," Elliot replied. “That’s your job, isn’t it?”
“Elliot,” he said, resigned. “We are not doing this. Not today, of all days. You have an opportunity, one you are frankly lucky to have, and you’re dredging up ancient history?”
“It’s not ancient to me,” Elliot said. His pulse was still racing from the run, but this was a colder kind of adrenaline. “You let me believe it was because of me. Because of…what I am.” The word wouldn’t come out. It never had, except with Jackson. He swallowed. “I just want the truth.”
“You have the truth,” his father said, the words clipped, each one a door slamming shut.
“Christ, Elliot. Isn’t that enough? If you keep poking at this,” his father added, voice dropping to a level that made Elliot’s neck prickle, “you’ll undermine everything you’ve earned.
Don’t give the world reason to doubt you. Focus on the opportunity.”
The call ended, and Elliot stood there on the drenched track, rain sliding down his spine, his heartbeat thudding against his ribs.
He slung the bag over his shoulder and headed for the gate at a jog.
No cool-down. Straight to the station. Elliot leapt off the tube and took the stairs two at a time.
He ran down his street at nearly the same pace he’d run on the track, and pushed the door open.
He wanted to go straight to Jackson, but he didn’t know if he’d be welcome.
Jackson hadn't even told him. He knew why—half the gulf growing between Jackson and his family was Elliot’s fault.
He knew it was important to Jackson to be able to tell them about their relationship, but Elliot was still so afraid.
Afraid of their reaction. Afraid of what it would mean.
Afraid of his own feelings. He didn’t want to complicate things for Jackson, not when the situation was already hard enough.
His phone was ringing again. Still not Jackson. Anders.
“I need you to be at the airport at two, Owens.”
He breathed out. “Right.”
“I'll swap you in for Jennings.”
“But he could still make it, couldn’t he?” Elliot asked tentatively.
Anders huffed. “Of course. If he can get there before I need to finalise the roster. But, Elliot, you should take this chance. Jennings asked the committee to swap you in as alternate. Specifically requested it.”
“Of course he did.” Elliot released a breath.
Jackson doing this for him, even when he must have been spiralling and desperate to get home was enough to give him pause.
But he also knew deep in his bones that he couldn't do it, couldn't just step into Jackson's place like it didn't matter.
He wanted to be on that start line so bad it hurt, but he knew Jackson did too.
The idea of taking his place instead of being there with him and supporting him made Elliot feel sick.
Anders let out a heavy sigh. “Look, Owens. I’m not blind. You’ve got two options: you either get yourself to the airport, and I'll swap you in now and strike Jennings off. If the Athletics Association asks, that’s what I’ve advised you to do.”
“Or?” Elliot asked.
“Or you do the other thing.”
Elliot knew in his bones what he wanted to do. The Olympics meant fuck all to him in comparison to Jackson Jennings. Jackson was everything. Elliot fucking loved him.
Yeah, loved.
Sometime between the tent in St. Moritz and that stupid fitness test, Elliot had fallen hopelessly in love with Jackson Jennings.
But if he did just show up? What would he tell Jackson’s family? That they were teammates? Elliot didn’t know if he could stomach making Jackson lie about their relationship to their faces, but he also didn’t know if he could stand not being there for him.
“Owens, I can buy you a few days, then I need to confirm a runner,” Anders said before ending the call.
Elliot stood, pacing his room for a moment before making a decision and throwing a bundle of clothes into a backpack. There were so many ways this could go wrong. He contemplated them all as he walked, but before he knew it, he was at the train station.
Deciding to be a fucking grown-up about things, he texted Jackson while he walked to the ticket machine.
Elliot
Anders told me about your dad. Are you ok?
Jackson
Not really. I just arrived, will know more soon
Elliot
Why didn’t you tell me?
Jackson
Figured you'd find out when they handed you my spot
When are you flying out?
Elliot knew he should ask Jackson before he jumped on a train, even if he was feeling strangely impulsive and had already started navigating through the screens of the ticket machine as they texted.
Elliot
I'm not.
His phone started ringing almost immediately.
“What do you mean you’re not?” Jackson’s face filled the screen.
“Is it your ankle? I thought you were cleared?” He looked tired and sad but so fucking beautiful.
Elliot’s heart ached; he hated to see him hurting.
He needed to be there for him, to be there with him.
He needed Jackson Jennings like he needed air.
Elliot chuckled nervously. “I’m not taking your spot, Jennings.”
“Don't be ridiculous, Ell. You have to.”
Drawing a deep breath, Elliot replied, “I'm not. I think I'm thinking more clearly than I have in years. It's you and me, Jennings. Either I’m on the start line next to you, or I'm not on it at all.”
"Elliot—"
"No, listen. I've thought it through, right? And I was wondering if it would be ok formetocomeoutandstaywithyou?” The words ran together as the nerves hit him full force.
“Sorry, say it again?” Jackson scrunched his nose. Christ, he was adorable.
He forced the words out clearly. “Could I come out and stay with you for a bit?”
Jackson was gaping at him.
“I don’t have to, it was just a thought. That I’d like to, you know, support you how you’ve supported me…”
Jackson was squinting at the screen now, as though he had no idea what Elliot was saying. “Elliot, that’s…”
“Romantic?”
Jackson sighed. “I was going to say stupid.”
“Why? I thought we said we'd try. Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“What? No!” Jackson exclaimed. “Why would you think that?”
“Because you thought I'd choose the Olympics over you? Because you're going through something and I’m making it all about me? Because you don’t want to have to keep lying to your family? Honestly, Jackson, I can give you about a hundred reasons if you aren’t sure.”
Jackson sighed. “Owens, you'd better get on that train because I think we need to have a proper conversation.”
“But you're not breaking up with me?”
“No!” Jackson shouted.
“Are you sure? Because I’m pretty sure ‘we need to talk’ is what people say when they're breaking up with someone.”
“I’m not breaking up with you, Elliot. I fucking love you.”
Elliot froze. His eyes widened.
“Shit, sorry. I—Elliot, get on your damn train and I’ll pick you up at the station.”
Jackson ended the call.
Fortunately, his feet responded to Jackson’s orders, and he jogged down the platform onto the train, jumping on just before they shut the doors. Once he’d settled in his seat, he opened their text thread.
Elliot
Me too.
Jackson
Tell me in person when you get here, wanker.
Elliot
RUDE.
All he got back was a winking emoji because his boyfriend was a juvenile idiot. A juvenile idiot whom he loved very, very much. Who was smiling again, at least a little bit, because of him. And who he was going to make sure got everything he wanted.