17. Chris
Chris
October, Cardiff
The months blurred. Before Chris had even fully registered it, Carl was ringing to congratulate him on year one of his ban coming to an end and needling him about visiting the office to create a proper comeback plan.
Nick had been home for nearly six weeks over the summer, and Chris had endured one awkward coffee with him and Sam, during which Nick had droned on about some girl named Becky and mentioned Chris’s doping seventeen times before he’d decided avoiding his brother was the only way forward.
There was nothing there to salvage. Sam was on the same page about the man who’d once been his childhood best friend.
For the rest of the visit, Chris spent hours out running to escape his brother.
When Nick had returned to America, Chris continued the pattern, slowly building his speed back up.
He’d been in relatively frequent communication with his old teammates, Elliot, Jackson, and even Hewitt. He’d even agreed to meet up with them when he was next in London for a training session, or as Jackson had put it, “To see how out of shape he’s got during his year-long holiday.”
He knew he should do it. Carl wanted him to come in, and he wanted to see the lads, but the thought of running into Isaiah in the office again gave him chills.
The secret file of saved photos in his phone remained his late-night guilty pleasure, and he wasn’t sure what he would do if he saw him in person.
Chris went through the familiar motions of tying his shoes by the back door for his long run. There was a light drizzle falling on the pavement outside, but not enough to deter him.
By the tenth mile, the drizzle had turned into a veritable downpour, and Chris’s favourite red windbreaker was sticking to his skin. As he approached the farm cafe he’d stopped at on that run so many months ago, he decided it was time to call this one and darted inside.
He smiled sheepishly at the woman behind the counter as he dripped all over the floor on his way to the table closest to the door. He dabbed a paper napkin against his neck, but water ran from his hair, replacing it immediately.
A hand towel was thrust in front of his face. “Try this.”
Chris wiped his face with the towel, grateful, then looked up. He was only half-surprised to see Alex. “Thanks. The rain snuck up on me.”
Alex grinned. “I figured, what with the drowned rat look.”
“Not what you go for?”
Alex looked him over, a spark of interest appearing, then fading away just as fast. He sighed. “If I were allowing myself to entertain those kinds of thoughts, I’d totally consider it.”
Chris cocked his head, studying the man before him. He looked good, but something about him seemed like he was barely holding it together. “Charlie?” he asked as gently as he could.
Alex blew a stray hair off his face. “Did a number on me, that one.” He pulled out a notepad, effectively dropping the subject. “What can I get you?”
“You work here?”
“Sorry, did you think I was just randomly carrying tea towels around a cafe looking for soaked men?”
Chris shrugged. “Kind of.”
Alex grinned. “It’s my parents’ place. Started back here after graduating. Work hasn’t exactly been abundant and, well, with how things fell apart with Charlie…”
Chris winced. “Sorry, for my part in that. I—”
“Oh god, no,” Alex exclaimed. “Fuck, if anything, I should be thanking you. I don’t think I’d seen how bad things had become between us until then.” He paused. “In fact, coffee’s on the house. Consider it a ‘thanks for opening my eyes’ gift. Sweet or bitter?”
“Sweet,” Chris replied. “Well, the coffee, at least.”
Alex hummed as though that meant something. “We do a great mocha. Real chocolate shavings and all.”
“Sounds perfect.”
Alex shimmied away, and Chris was left to his thoughts. He opened his group chat with the old Olympic team and typed out a message before he could question it, agreeing to train with them that weekend. No coaches, just group training.
Elliot replied right away, suggesting they snap a photo or two to put the rumours of a rift to bed.
It was a good idea. He should want that—a shot at saving face in the press.
“One mocha, extra whip.” Alex was in front of him again, placing the drink on the table, but instead of leaving, he pulled out the other chair and plopped himself gracelessly into it.
“I’m on break,” he announced. He took a sip from a steaming mug of hot chocolate that Chris hadn’t clocked initially and looked at Chris like he was searching for something.
“So, you know the tragic tale of my love life,” he said.
“How about you? Whatever happened to the person you were ‘talking to’?”
Chris groaned. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
“Of course I do. I was a bit romance-starved in my own relationship.” Alex shrugged. “Literally every story sounded more appealing, and anonymous online love, that’s chef’s kiss.”
“It wasn’t love,” Chris mumbled into his mocha.
Alex studied him. “Then why do you look so devastated?”
“I…” Chris didn’t know how to answer that.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to press. That was one of the things Charlie always used to give me shit about. Maybe he was right about some things…”
“No! No, it’s… The person, the guy I was talking to…he hates me now.” He sighed. Maybe he should talk about it. Alex didn’t give a fuck about the running world, so what was the worst that could come of it? “Do you really want to know? It’s a long story.”
“Longer than my break, long?”
“Probably.”
Alex grinned. “Mum,” he shouted, “I’m taking my lunch early.”
An answering shout came from the kitchen, and Alex relaxed into his chair. “Tell me everything,” he said, fixing his gaze on Chris.
And Chris did. Well, with caveats. He kept names out of things, but he couldn’t quite help himself when he started waxing lyrical about Isaiah’s soft pastel hair, piercing blue eyes, and the swirling tattoo he longed to trace with his fingertips.
Alex’s eyes widened. “Wait, are you talking about Isaiah Owens?”
Chris’s blood ran cold. “You…know Isaiah?” he asked.
“Mate, who doesn’t? He’s hot as fuck, and his channel is fire.
” Alex took a sip of his drink, licking the cream off his lip.
“That man has kept me alive through this breakup, seriously. He’s like a god of sex, and his little life insights are so good.
Made me realise I needed to work on myself, you know?
Not give away my power in a relationship again. ”
“He’s—you watch his channel?” Chris asked. “You know his name?”
“Oh yeah, it was a big thing a couple of months back. The unmasking moment. I think he’s doing a PhD on sex work and said it felt false to hide behind a mask when his research is about agency. I don’t know, there were big words, but then he got his dick out and I kind of lost track.”
Chris snorted, but his mind was reeling. Isaiah had gone public. He was doing a PhD. That was…it was good.
“Omigod, your face. You really are smitten.” Alex laughed. “Honestly, I get it now. I can’t believe you had that one-on-one. I’d have died.”
“Yeah.” Chris stared at the rain still falling outside, creating puddles of mud in the fields.
“Doesn’t seem the type to hate anyone, if I’m honest.”
“I guess I’m the lucky exception. I don’t blame him. He disliked me from the start—at least, the real me. And then when I found out… Well, I imagine it felt like a violation.”
Alex shrugged. “I still think you should shoot your shot. You don’t want to live your life wondering what if, right? You’re hot, and you’re obviously in love with him.” He paused, taking a sip of his drink. “But then, I’d imagine a lot of people are these days.”
“I’m not in love with him,” Chris said faintly.
“Of course not.” Alex rolled his eyes.
Eventually, Alex went back to work, called by his parents to prepare for the lunch rush.
Chris finished the dregs of his mocha that had long gone cold, and left the table.
With a wave, he ventured back into the rain, which had barely lightened, and ran home, trying to ignore the seed Alex had planted in his head.
Chris’s phone buzzed on Friday afternoon.
He glanced down at Elliot’s name and groaned.
He’d spent the last three days replaying his cafe encounter with Alex, trying and failing to ignore the sliver of a question about Isaiah, about how he felt about him.
The fucking worst thing he could do now was see the very people who connected the two of them.
Elliot
You still up for London this weekend? We’ll take it easy on you. Jackson and I have some wedding stuff to sort, so can’t be too wrecked.
Chris hesitated. He hadn’t run with anyone outside his solo sessions in months, and the thought of trying to keep up with his old teammates made his chest tighten. He typed back.
Chris
Yeah, I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss your roast of my holiday body.
Elliot
Ha! You’ve got it coming. Meet at the track at 10?
Chris
Make it 11. Trains, you know?
Saturday morning was grey and drizzly, the wind cutting through the city streets. Chris arrived to see Elliot stretching on the grass, Jackson openly admiring the view as he leaned against the stands, and Darius already circling the track.
“The prodigal son returns,” Jackson said as Chris approached. “Hope your year off didn’t leave permanent damage.”
Chris groaned. “Be gentle with me,” he joked, easily falling back into the camaraderie he’d always felt with Jennings. He was just easy to like. “I’ve been training, but…”
“Don’t stress,” Elliot said as they started jogging. “We’re keeping it easy, promise.”
The first mile was a brutal reminder that “easy” was relative.
Chris’s lungs burned sooner than expected.
After that, every lap was a lesson in humility.
He watched Elliot glide effortlessly ahead with the same sharpness and quiet competitiveness he’d always admired.
He moved with a subtle confidence Chris couldn’t summon today.
He wondered if he’d ever be able to again, if he was nothing without the drugs. And if that was true, then—
Chris clenched his fists. The shame slammed into him. He shouldn’t even be thinking it. He swallowed the thought and focused on the next step, the next breath.
By mile three, the conversation, that he struggled to contribute to between laboured breaths, had turned to Jackson and Elliot’s wedding plans.
“Darius’s dad’s letting us use their estate for it,” Jackson said, eyes sparkling.
“Big gardens, fountains, roses, a lake. It’s going to be dreamy as fuck. ”
“Such a romantic, my fiancé,” Elliot snarked, though it came out quite fond to Chris’s ears. “And this is the man who initially wanted a rainbow aisle runner to race down and a tape to break at the altar.”
“Well, Isaiah told me no, and I listen to his aesthetic advice.”
“I told you no four times before I had to send in the big guns, you mean,” Elliot countered.
Chris froze mid-stride. “Isaiah? Your cousin, right?” he managed to choke out. The attempt at nonchalance utterly unbelievable.
“Oh lord, Dad mentioned you two had some weird tension when he was working your case.” Elliot rolled his eyes like it was nothing. “He’s kind of a dick sometimes, but he comes by it honestly.”
“It runs in the family,” Jackson quipped.
Darius lapped them all while they chatted.
Chris gave up and slowed to a light jog.
“He still at Oxford?” he asked, despite knowing there was nowhere else he could possibly be.
“Yep,” Elliot replied, sounding so proud it made Chris’s heart swell. “Killing it on his DPhil. Doing something with sex work research, and he’s got a cam show too. Makes for awkward family dinners sometimes, but honestly, he’s thriving.”
Chris pretended to be surprised, laughing a little too hard.
Elliot had always been a bit sharp, and hearing him talk about Isaiah with pride like this made something warm bubble up inside him, but it also made him want.
Isaiah was like a spectre he couldn’t shake; everywhere he turned, he was reminded of him and of what he’d lost.
They picked up the pace again at Darius’s urging on his second time lapping the group.
By mile five, Chris had found a rhythm, though he was far from his peak. His lungs still burned, his legs still protested, but the camaraderie carried him forward. They looped back around, drenched in sweat but buzzing.
“We should do this more,” Jackson said, brushing mud off his shoes.
Darius nodded. “It’s harder to get together now that we’re spread out all over the country. This was nice.”
“And you’ll be coming to the wedding, right?” Elliot added, tossing Chris a small envelope.
Chris blinked. “Wait…you’re—?”
“December,” Elliot said. “Full-on winter wedding romance. No rainbow aisle, though.”
Chris stared at the card in his hand, warmth and nervous energy coiling in his stomach.
“This is the part where you say ‘yes, of course,’” Jackson prompted.
“Er, yeah. I’ll be there,” Chris said. It wasn’t as if his calendar would be full.
“Great.” Jackson grinned, slinging an arm around his shoulders as they walked towards the gate. “Now let me tell you about the stag do plans.”