Chapter 32
Jackson
Four hours after the Olympic Marathon
Missing a medal had been a bit of a hit to his ego, but as he looked around the crowded tables in the fast-food joint they’d stumbled into, Jackson had never felt as happy as he did right then.
Bracketed between his parents and his boyfriend, whose hand he hadn’t dropped except for post-competition testing and health checks. His heart was full.
Darius had absconded with Jamie immediately after the medal ceremony, so Jackson had dragged the Duke and Darius’s sister, Selena, along with their party as well.
He was forever grateful to them for getting them all here.
Plus, there was something incredibly amusing about seeing Duke Archibald Hewitt eating a cheeseburger at a plastic table.
Jackson had just finished mowing his way through two chicken sandwiches and a portion of fries one-handed when they walked in: Journalists, with cameras, and a lot of them.
The duke let out a long-suffering sigh. “Apologies, they have a sixth sense for us sometimes.”
But it wasn’t the aristocrat among them that the journalists were looking for.
Almost as one, their eyes fixed on Elliot and Jackson, on their clasped hands and closeness.
Jackson bumped Elliot’s knee, attempting to reassure him, but he was nervous too.
This kind of attention wasn’t something he was used to.
Media coverage had always been controlled, arranged in advance so he could prepare, and social media was his to say what he wanted, portray what he wanted. This was overwhelming in the worst way.
He heard Elliot swallow hard next to him.
Anders rose as they approached. The group with their cameras bypassed the restaurant staff easily, who Jackson was certain weren’t paid enough to deal with this kind of thing.
The duke was at Anders's side in a flash. Jackson’s father had stood now as well, moving to their coach’s other side, the three of them creating a wall in front of the table.
“I’m going to ask you once to leave this establishment and leave our boys alone,” the duke said calmly.
“And where is your son, Lord Hewitt?” one of the reporters asked.
“I’d imagine he’ll be celebrating his medal with his partner,” the duke replied calmly. “I’m once again going to suggest you leave and allow these boys to do the same.” His voice was deeper now.
“Come on, this is the story of the Olympics,” a pushy tabloid journalist called out. "A brutal rivalry ending in a kiss at the finish line. It's almost better than the doping scandal."
“I believe the man asked you to leave,” an ice-cold voice came from the other side of the mob.
Elliot’s head snapped up from where he’d been staring at his plate, trying to be unobtrusive.
“Carl Owens. Just the man we wanted to see.” The journalist grinned as Elliot’s father pushed through. "You've got one athlete banned and another consorting with his opponent—any comments?"
“Out,” the duke growled. “Right now.” He signalled to his waiting bodyguards to remove the offending group.
“Damn,” Elliot whispered at his side.
Jackson nodded absently, watching as Selena left her seat next to Beth and rushed to her father’s side, whispering furiously to him.
Elliot’s father approached the table. “Can I join you?” he asked. The question was directed only at Elliot.
Jackson tightened his grip on his boyfriend’s hand as he watched him nod slowly.
"Congratulations, both of you," Mr. Owens said. "That was some race."
"Are you angry?" Elliot asked. "I caused a spectacle." His voice was small and wary.
Elliot's father sighed, running a hand through his blonde hair. “I’m sorry, Son. For everything. I thought I was protecting you, protecting us… I didn’t realise how much I was hurting you in the process.”
Elliot nodded, but didn’t make a sound. His face was an expressionless mask, but Jackson knew underneath he’d be reeling. He squeezed his hand again in reassurance and was more than a little relieved when Elliot squeezed back and straightened his back just a touch.
“So you aren’t? Upset that I’ve tarnished your legacy,” Elliot asked.
“No, that… I should never have made you feel like that was on you. It was on me, always. I…I don’t want to lose you. You’re my son first, not my client, and I’m sorry that hasn’t always been clear.”
Elliot bit his lip. Jackson watched the exchange, trying to project silent support to his partner.
“It hasn’t. Been clear, that is,” Elliot said.
Carl Owens, titan of the athletics world, looked like he was about to break. Jackson couldn’t have looked away now, even if he’d wanted to. “I'm so proud of you. I'm always so proud of you. I’d like for us to try to start over, if that’s ok?”
Clearing his throat. Elliot nodded again. “We can do that,” he said looking his father straight in the eyes. “But you’re fired.”
His father baulked. “Elliot!”
More confident now, Elliot smiled. “I want us to work on our relationship, I do. But we can’t do that if you're my agent. I’d rather have you just be my dad.”
It could have been a sweet scene. Jackson felt a bit like he was watching one of those Christmas films where the family finally come together, except it was hot as balls outside, his muscles were still spasming, and the moment was thoroughly ruined when Chris Green walked in.
A few intrepid journalists followed him.
Not even the threat of the Hewitts’ bodyguards was enough to deter them from the potential drama unfolding.
Mr. Owens rose, heading off his client before he reached the table.
Chris’s face was splotchy and tear-streaked.
His hands shook, and his hair was a dishevelled mess, as though he’d been pulling it.
Jackson would never understand what had driven him to risk his future the way he had, but his heart broke for him anyway.
Looking at him now, he seemed even younger than his twenty years.
He wanted to bundle him up and hide him from the world—that is, until he opened his stupid mouth.
“No.” Chris raised his voice, shoving Mr. Owens backwards. “You did this.” He was almost shouting now. “You’re meant to represent me. I trusted you, did everything you said, but I got pulled for your son to run. Pretty fucking massive coincidence.”
Elliot rose from the table, but Anders was closer. He bundled Chris away, the man struggling for a moment before slumping into Anders’s hold as though all the fight had fallen out of him.
Jackson watched as Elliot led his father to their table. He shuffled down to make room for Mr. Owens on the hard plastic bench next to his son.
“I didn’t tell him to—” Mr Owens started.
“I know, Dad,” Elliot replied. “I know.”
“Your mother wants me to retire,” he said. Jackson had the distinct feeling that he was intruding on a private conversation, but Elliot picked his hand up again, tracing hearts on his palm as he spoke quietly with his father.
“Do you want that?”
“Well, I have just lost my two best clients,” he replied.
Elliot let out a startled laugh, then he sobered. “Do you think she’ll have watched?” he asked. Jackson didn’t know much about Elliot’s mother, but the hope in his voice was almost as heartbreaking as the tight frown that graced his father’s face as he prepared his measured response.
“It’s hard for her. To watch you run. She worries that you’ll end up like me.”
“But it’s the Olympics.”
“It is.” Carl straightened, checking the menu as though the emotion was too much and he needed a moment to recalibrate. “We’ll have dinner when you get back. The four of us,” he said, nodding to Jackson.
Jackson nodded back, then he turned to Elliot. “Are you alright?” he whispered in his ear.
Elliot leaned his head on Jackson’s shoulder and nodded. “I think I will be,” he said. “Everyone knows about us now, whatever comes next doesn’t matter. I can finally give you the kind of relationship you want.”
“Ell, the only kind of relationship I want is one with you.”
Elliot smiled. “That’s good, ’cause you’re stuck with me now. I can never go back to the way things were before you. You’ve ruined me forever. Ever since you kissed me in that stupid fucking tent in the middle of the forest.”
Jackson smiled. “We were, like, a ten-minute walk from the gondola.” He laughed and kissed Elliot deeply, pushing every bit of love and care he could muster into the press of their lips. “I love you, Elliot Owens.”
“I love you too, Jackson Jennings.” Elliot smiled and leaned his head on Jackson’s shoulder as their family and friends returned to their meals.
When everything had quieted and the others had made their way back to their respective hotels, Jackson held Elliot’s hand as they walked to the Olympic Village, keeping contact with each other even as they passed members of the press.
They hobbled slightly as their recovering muscles protested every step, but they still managed to match each other, stride for stride.