“Don’t be such a sore loser, Owens.”
Elliot just flipped him off and went to shower. The obnoxious laugh that followed him told him he hadn’t been nearly rude enough.
The swim had been a decent workout, but Elliot couldn’t let that bloody failed training run lie. More than that, he needed to escape the oppressive silence of his hotel room before he did something stupid. His dad had left another voicemail about a campaign he was up for, one that explicitly preferred him over Jennings—three fucking guesses why that was.
As the sun peeked through the thinning clouds and reflected off the remaining snow patches along the trail, he laced up his trainers and stepped outside. A crisp March breeze mixed with the scent of pine, and the slightly damp earth squelched under his shoes as he set off for an easy run through the woods.
What Anders had seen earlier was stress. Elliot needed the Olympics, and Anders had to know that. If he made the team, everything would change. It would make it all worth it, the years of sacrifice. His own and his family’s. Because he’d have achieved it, that elusive dream that he’d cost his father so many years ago.
As he ran along the sun-dappled trail, Elliot let himself daydream about crossing that line. Thin patches of snow clung stubbornly to the sides of the path, and the air was still cold enough to make his lungs sting slightly with each breath. He wasn’t quite egotistical enough to imagine breaking the tape at the Olympics—not yet, anyway. He was young for a marathon runner, though, and just headstrong enough to keep pushing for it. The thing about these Olympic daydreams, which weren’t a new feature in his life, was that they didn’t focus on him alone anymore. He could see it so clearly: 2:05 flashing on the screen, a long-time goal he hadn’t yet cracked. And right there next to him, Jackson Jennings, grinning as he chased him all the way to the finish line.
His visualisation techniques were getting out of hand.
Six miles into what should have been an easy run, Elliot’s watch beeped. Zone four heart rate, though his pace was steady in what should have been zone two. That didn’t seem right. Maybe Anders wasn’t wrong, maybe he was coming down with something. A sudden gust of wind rustled the bare branches overhead, making him stumble slightly as he tapped his watch for more details. He felt a flicker in his left calf as his ankle rolled on a patch of icy trail. Recovering with a breath, he turned back toward the hotel, the cold air pricking at his cheeks and making the ache in his ankle feel sharper. Disappointed, but not overly worried, he picked his way carefully over the snow-mottled path.
The first person he saw as he walked into the lobby, forcing himself to keep his gait normal despite the growing ache in his ankle, was Jackson Jennings.
“You look like shit,” he said by way of greeting.
“Wow, thanks,” Elliot grunted back. He went to push past, desperate to get to his room and lie down for a minute, but Jennings grabbed his arm as he passed.
“Seriously, what’s wrong?”
“I’m fine, I just need to get off my feet for a bit,” Elliot replied, breaking free and walking towards the lift.
“Ok, let’s go, then.” Jennings swung an arm around his waist and walked with him.
“What are you doing?” Elliot whispered frantically.
Jennings didn’t look at him as he spoke. “You’re limping, and if I can see it, Anders will see it. Look, you helped me the other day, even if it was in the rudest way possible. Consider this me returning the favour. You’ll have to risk being seen being friendly with me for five minutes. Then you can go back to pretending we hate each other.”
“I do hate you,” Elliot replied.
“Sure you do, Princess,” Jennings murmured as they walked towards the lift.
Having his strong arms around him was sending mixed signals to Elliot’s brain. He couldn’t stop remembering how it had felt to be in a similar position in the pool, with Jennings’s naked skin touching his. That led him right down the rabbit hole, and before he could stop himself, he was picturing his muscular arse in that tiny swimming costume and the way he’d moved in that stupid video. So, when he’d called himPrincess, well, nobody could blame Elliot for faltering and leaning in, just for a moment.
Elliot sighed and yanked himself away, trying to recover at least some semblance of his balance, both physically and mentally. “Let’s not do this, Jennings. I get it, ok? You’re allowed to hate me.”
“I don’t fucking hate you, Owens. I just don’t bloody understand you.” Jennings loomed over him, looking ready to deliver some scathing insult, but he deflated. “I’m trying to help you. I thought we could try to be friends or something?” His voice was hesitant in a way that made Elliot’s eyes snap to him.
“I don’t want to be your friend, Jennings,” Elliot replied. For reasons he didn’t want to examine, the thought of beingfriendswith Jennings felt like a death sentence. Jennings was friends with everyone, but friends didn’t mean shit when the Olympics were on the line.
Elliot pushed himself off the wall to get as close to eye level as he could. “I’ve never wanted to be your friend. I just need you to keep out of my way and let me prove that I deserve the fucking Olympics.”
Jennings fisted a handful of his shirt, and tension crackled in the air like electricity between them. “Keep out of your way? You’re the one who keeps barging into my life. The one who set me back years with one fucking comment,” he whispered. “And now you’re everywhere I fucking turn. Why is that, Owens?”
A thrill ran down Elliot’s spine as Jennings loomed closer.
“What the bloody hell is this?” Anders's voice shattered the tension between them like a sledgehammer.
Jennings dropped his grip on Elliot and took a step back, glaring at him. Elliot stumbled slightly but managed to play it off as related to the shove, rather than the pain radiating in his ankle.
“I cannot believe I thought I was bringing two professionals here with me.” Disappointment bled through Anders’s voice as he stared them down. “Owens, I don’t know what you said, but keep your damn mouth shut. Jennings, no assaulting your teammates, even when they provoke you. If you two can’t get it together and behave like adults, you're both out. Unsportsmanlike behaviour will have the whole committee against you.”
Elliot and Jennings stared at each other. Elliot was certain the look of horror he saw on his rival's face was reflected on his own. In all the scenarios he played out in his head of ways things could go wrong for him, this hadn’t factored in.
Anders was still talking, but Elliot’s ears were ringing. He knew what was happening but felt powerless to stop it. He waslosing everything; it was about to be ripped away before he even got a chance to call himself an Olympian. He’d failed again.
