Chapter 31
Elliot
The Olympic Marathon
By the morning of the marathon, everything felt stretched thin.
The village was buzzing with last chances and final shots at glory.
Chris had disappeared in the evening and hadn't returned. His bed hadn’t been slept in—something Elliot wasn’t surprised by, but which made his stomach feel like it was full of lead if he thought on it too long.
A sharp rap at the door interrupted his thoughts.
It was Jackson, with the cheekiest grin he’d possibly ever worn gracing his face.
“Absolutely not,” Elliot scolded as Jackson leered at him from the doorway. “You have to meet Anders in, like, twenty minutes.”
“You’ll have to help me stretch, then.” Jackson winked.
Elliot’s mouth was on his before they’d even managed to shut the door.
Jackson’s stubble rasped against his face as their kisses became frantic, burning out of control. Elliot pulled back, and Jackson tried to chase his mouth, but he held him firmly in place.
“You need to get ready.”
Jackson pouted.
“Jackson, I’ll be there cheering you on at the finish line with your family, but you still need to change and get down to meet Anders for warm-ups.”
Anders would lose his shit if Jackson was late today.
“We can walk down together,” Elliot suggested, and Jackson smiled at him like he’d offered him the world’s greatest gift. It made Elliot’s heart clench. He owed this man so much more than basic public acknowledgement.
Jackson nodded. “Can I get a kiss for the road?”
Elliot grinned and pulled him into his arms for another dizzying kiss.
“Well, that explains a fucking lot,” a clipped upper-class accent said from the doorway.
Elliot went to explain. His relationship with Hewitt was in an okay place after he’d taken the time to apologise, not only for years of coldness, but also for not standing up for him when he’d been maligned in the press earlier that year.
His chance at an explanation was cut short, though, as Darius held his hand up. “We can talk about this later,” he said. “Anders wants to see Owens.”
Elliot sat waiting in a small office on the other side of the Olympic Village that Darius had led him to before dragging Jackson off to warm up. They were hours away from the Olympic marathon, and he was meant to be meeting Beth and Jackson’s parents to watch the start. He was going to be late.
Everything in the room was grey. The mottled industrial carpet, the hard chairs, and the table that functioned as a makeshift desk made the room feel more like a police interrogation room than an office.
The door creaked as someone entered, and Elliot came face-to-face with a man he hadn’t spoken to properly in weeks.
His dad’s blue-grey eyes, almost a mirror of his own, looked exhausted in a world-weary way that made Elliot feel for the man, despite the bitter taste of betrayal that still lingered from a lifetime of half-truths.
Carl Owens approached slowly. “Son—” he started.
Elliot crossed his arms. “Why are you here? What’s going on?”
“I wanted to be here to support you.”
“In what capacity?”
He furrowed his brow. “What do you mean, Elliot?”
“I mean, are you here as my father or as my agent?”
His dad crossed the room with a sigh and leaned against the wall across from him in a pose so unlike his usual cold composure that it gave Elliot pause. “Can it be both?”
“What’s happened?”
Before his dad had a chance to respond, Anders entered with a large file tucked under his arm. “Good, you’re already here, Carl. Let’s get this squared away, and then you can get on damage control for Green.”
“Damage control?” Elliot asked, directing the question straight at his father, who nodded discreetly, confirming the worst of Elliot’s fears for the young runner.
“Green’s had an adverse analytical result,” he stated. “He’s been immediately disqualified and is facing a four-year ban if the findings hold up.”
Elliot sucked in a breath. He knew it was common.
Athletes were often tested close to the marathon.
With how marred the sport was with doping scandals, it wasn’t unusual to see.
It wasn’t that he hadn’t had his suspicions about Chris—his father had as well, of course—but to have it confirmed like this…
“So close to the wire, we’ll never be able to keep this quiet.” His father sighed.
Anders shrugged. “That’s the risk he took.”
Elliot didn’t understand it. The kid had had everything going for him, and he’d seemingly just thrown it away.
He didn’t have time to dwell, though, because Anders was looking at him now, and he understood.
He wasn’t here as Chris’s mentor or to speak with his father.
This was his role. He was the alternate, and it was time to step up.
It didn’t feel nearly as good as he’d thought it would.
“Are you ready, Owens?” Anders asked.
Elliot nodded. He had to be.
“Your fit test was solid. I know you can handle this. Just don’t push it, okay? I don’t need to watch two careers implode today.”
Taking a steadying breath, Elliot replied, “I’ll go change and warm up.”
“I’ll get your fuel stations sorted. Do whatever you need to to get focused.” Anders rested his hand on his shoulder. “You’ll do great, kid. You’re ready for this.”
It was everything he wanted to hear, but it was coming from the wrong man. His father watched the exchange with sad eyes. “Elliot, can we talk?” he asked.
“Later,” Elliot replied, walking out of the room. As he exited, he heard Anders’s voice, barely louder than a whisper. “Give him space, Carl,” he said. “Give him space or you could lose him completely.”
Elliot didn’t turn, didn’t even glance back. Whatever his father wanted from him would need to wait. He had a race to run.
Elliot donned his Team GB kit, preparing for the race he’d never expected to be part of.
Staring at himself in the mirror just once and pinching himself hard to make sure it was all real.
Then he texted Beth as he made his way down to the designated warm-up area, where Hewitt and Jackson were doing strides.
Jackson spotted him almost as soon as he rounded the corner, stopping mid-warm-up and jogging over to his side.
“What’s going on? I thought you were meeting up with my parents?”
“Slight change of plan.” Elliot shrugged.
“Green’s out, I take it?” Hewitt asked, arriving beside them.
Elliot nodded. “Adverse finding last night.”
“Fuck,” Jackson whispered. “Has anyone heard from him?”
Elliot hadn’t thought of that. In the rollercoaster of emotions he’d been through over the past hour, he hadn’t even considered reaching out to Chris, and now his stomach rolled with guilt. “My father’s here. He’ll do what he can for him.”
He knew it was true. With what he knew now of his father’s history, he was confident the man would know how to keep this from being the end of the road for Chris.
Jackson was looking at him, eyes brimming with concern.
Elliot desperately wanted to kiss him, but the warm-up area was crawling with press and their competitors.
He settled for a smile and a tight nod that made Jackson smile back fondly.
Hewitt rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath.
Anders arrived, and they finished warming up, reviewing race plans as a group before being pulled into a huddle by Anders that was laughably similar to what you’d see in football, and certainly not something he’d ever seen marathon runners do.
Elliot briefly wondered what the other athletes around them must think.
“This team has had a rough go of it; I’m not going to sugarcoat things.
Some of that sits on my shoulders,” he admitted with a nod to Darius.
Elliot wasn’t sure what had changed between them, but Hewitt had clearly earned Anders’s respect over the past few months.
“Some things were preventable, and some were surprises, but we have made it through, and this race is the final hurdle. Everything you’ve done to get here, every sacrifice, every injury, every moment you’ve questioned whether you were doing the right thing.
All of that has brought you here. Now it’s time to make it count.
” Anders released them. “You’re all great runners, and you’ve got brilliant careers ahead of you still.
Go out there and show the world what Team GB is made of. ”
Jackson let out a whoop and flung his arms over Elliot’s and Hewitt’s shoulders. They nodded to Anders as they walked towards the start together, falling into easy conversation about the top contenders they’d be up against and their weaknesses.
It felt right. The three of them against the world. The familiar feeling of racing against Jackson Jennings started to fill Elliot, excitement thrumming in his blood. He leaned over and whispered in Jackson’s ear a little wager to see which of them would make it over the finish line first.
“Oh god, this is what it’s going to be like now, isn’t it?” Darius groused. “Please don’t make sex bets in front of me.”
Jackson elbowed his friend. “Don’t be such a prude. We aren’t the ones who defiled the elite tent in London.”
There was definitely a story there, but Elliot found he really didn’t need to know. “Nah, just the altitude tents in St. Moritz,” he interjected.
Darius made a gagging sound in the back of his throat as Jackson threw his head back in laughter.
The next thing Elliot knew, they were being let into the corral, and ninety men from all over the world were jockeying for position.
Jackson and Darius hugged—one of those awkward one-armed back-slapping ones.
Then Darius was heading to the front, taking his position among those with the fastest qualifying times, while Jackson and Elliot drifted into their preferred zones, Jackson right in the middle of the pack, and Elliot a bit ahead of him and off to the side.
The gun went off, and they ran.