Elliot wanted more. Lust coursed through him stronger than ever before. It didn’t even matter anymore that this was his biggest rival, the man who had taken the spot he’d been so sure was his, who had bested him over and over. He turned to the side, propping the phone up against the back of the nightstand, and fumbled for the lube he’d placed there. He turned up the volume, imagining the soft grunts Jennings made as he lowered himself into a stretch were something else entirely. He chased his orgasm, his strokes rough and frantic, needing it now more than he’d ever needed anything. The video looped again, and on-screen Jennings huffed out a little sigh. Elliot groaned and rolled onto his back as he came, his release coating his hand and pooling in the slight hollow of his abdomen.
The video continued to play as he felt around for something to clean himself up. Sacrificing his tracksuit bottoms in the end. The film he’d forgotten about had come to an end, and the screen had turned dark. The post-orgasm haze was just smoothing the edges of the anxiety he felt over giving in to his urges. A flash of disgust at himself tried to bubble up inside, but he pushed it down. He rolled over and made his way to the en suite, where he stared at himself in the mirror for a beat as he tried to convince himself that it was fine, he’d just needed a release. It wasn't any different this time. It didn’t mean anything. He returned to the bed, buried himself underthe duvet, grabbed his phone, and set an alarm for his morning workout before falling into a restless sleep.
Chapter 9
Elliot
St Moritz, Switzerland, March 18th, 5 Months to the Olympics
Elliot was shaking with nerves as he walked out to the outdoor track, a crisp March breeze off the frozen lake tugging at his jacket. Snow clung stubbornly to the edges of the track, and the low morning sun glinted off the surrounding peaks, making the scene almost painfully beautiful. The conversation with his father had been bad enough, but adding what he’d done the night before, who he’d been thinking about to that, it all ramped up his anxieties.
He needed to get Jackson Jennings out of his damn head.
Today had to be about the Olympics, about showing Anders he had what it took to represent Great Britain on the world stage, and showing his father that he was worthy of the sacrifices he’d made for him.
Jennings caught up to him as he exited the lobby and shoved a croissant in his face. “You missed breakfast.”
He had skipped breakfast, nerves churning his stomach. He liked working with Anders and he had a lot of respect for him, but the thought of disappointing him sent him into a spiral, too aware of how much influence he could have on the selectioncommittee. They listened to him, to his opinions, in a way that gave him more sway than any one person should have.
He could feel Jennings’s curious gaze on him as they walked.
“What?” Elliot asked, possibly more sharply than intended.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re thinking it, though.”
Jennings jolted like he wanted to reach out and touch Elliot’s arm, but held himself back. “Just you seem a bit on edge, is all.”
“I’m fine,” Elliot replied, well aware of how unconvincing that was.
The walk to the centre of the track where Anders stood waiting took less than two minutes, the cold air brushing against his face and making his heart beat faster, and did nothing to calm Elliot’s nerves.
“Ready to work like real Olympians?” Anders asked as they came to stand in front of him. Elliot was hyperconscious of Jennings’s every move beside him. Normally, he’d have managed some sort of snarky remark about the other man being late or his lack of commitment by now, but after what he’d done last night, he didn’t know how to act.
Jennings broke through the tension like the bull in a China shop he always was. “I am the height of professionalism at all times, Coach,” he said with a grin. “Now, what have you got for me today?”
Anders tossed a small bag of gummy worms at him with an eye-roll. Elliot wasn’t entirely sure when or how the ritual had begun, but Anders seemed to have a new type of sweet for Jennings at the start of each day that he’d ostensibly use as fuel on his runs. It was yet another little thing that reminded Elliot he was an outsider. Whether Anders referred to them both as Olympians or not, he hadn’t been selected yet. Nothing was guaranteed.
“Be careful, there’s plenty of athletes back in the UK who would be thrilled to be in your places,” Anders said offhandedly before he launched into the plan for the morning’s workout. The comment stung, perhaps more than it should have. He knew there were a couple of runners who could be called up if the selection committee decided to go a different way. Green, as his father had suggested, and Hewitt, who everyone knew was the best in the country, were the most obvious possibilities.
Elliot tried to shake that thought off and focus on the workout. Anders would cycle beside them as they looped through the town, then over the gentler, cleared trails, and finished back on the track. Elliot knew he’d be monitoring their heart rates and pace closely. This close to race day, there was no room for overcooking. Even a minor injury at this stage could devastate their chances on the day.
As they ran, the March wind bit at Elliot’s cheeks and made his breath mist in little clouds. He looked over at Jennings. He looked relaxed, loose, and completely at ease as he ran, as always. Elliot, on the other hand, could not settle into a rhythm. The crisp mountain air felt almost electric, heightening every spike of anxiety. Anders had dredged up the worst of his fears with one simple comment. He had to be perfect; there was no margin for error.
“Ease up, Owens,” Anders shouted from the sideline, frowning down at the monitor that would show him all their data. “Don’t force it.”
Elliot made a conscious effort to drop his pace, but the tightening in his chest made him wonder if it had had any impact at all on his heart rate.
Less than ten minutes later, Anders was calling him out again. “Owens, I want you to call it. This isn’t looking right.”
“I’m fine,” Elliot grunted. He didn’t feel it, but there was no way he was stopping. He didn’t want to be a disappointmenthere, he was certain that would be the first step towards the end of his running career. The nail in the coffin of his Olympic bid.
“Owens, your numbers are spiking like crazy. You need to stop,” Anders said firmly. “Cool down, hit the pool, and get a short run in later if you’re feeling up to it.”
He knew there was no use in arguing, but he couldn’t help himself. “It’s only stress. I can finish the run.”
“Elliot,” Anders sighed. “The best thing you can do for yourself is to stop now and make sure you’re in the best possible health for London.”
