“No shit. ‘What about showers?’” he laughed, mimicking Elliot’s perfectly reasonable question. “You kill me, Owens.”
Chapter 10
Jackson
St. Moritz, Switzerland, March 18th, 5 months to the Olympics
Jackson was quickly realising there was more to Elliot Owens than he’d seen. Part of Jackson had wanted to open up, too, to tell Owens about his sisters and his father’s illness, but the weight of what Owens had shared deserved its own space. He’d never voice it, obvious as it was that he regretted what he’d shared, but that sentence was stuck in Jackson’s head, ‘I don’t get to be like you,’ and he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever said it out loud before. It didn’t excuse what he’d said about Jackson in the past, but it kind of helped him release some of his lingering anger anyway.
In any case, for the next hour or so, Jackson didn’t have time to dwell on his or Owens’s problems. He had a camp to set up. Because the other thing he’d learned was that Owens really didn’t do camping. Sure, he’d admitted that he’d never been, but it wasn’t just that he didn’t have any experience at it; he was straight-up useless in the woods.
Jackson sat on a frozen log, absently feeding the last tent pole through its sleeve, his attention flicking between his hands and the dark screen of his phone as he checked again whether Bethhad messaged. Nearby, Owens seemed to be treating the simple act of laying out his tent like a surgical procedure. Jackson snorted softly and kept pushing the pole, tugging hard on the fabric as the progress stalled. There was a sudden, sharp tearing sound, so harsh it seemed to echo through the gentle hum of the woods
Certain it was something gone wrong with Owens’s tent, yet another demonstration of his lack of wilderness competence, Jackson looked over only to find an expression of horror staring back at him. Jackson followed his wide-eyed gaze to see that his own tent had snagged on a low, jagged branch behind him. Where the fabric had been pulled tight by the advancing pole, a long rip had split the side wall, the nylon stretched and ruined in a single careless second.
Shit. His first horrified thought was the price tag. That gear wasn’t cheap. But a louder, more pressing panic surged: he needed shelter tonight. The stars were beautiful, yes, but the alpine chill didn’t care for idealism. For now, he needed shelter, and his brain, ever the optimist when panic hit, latched on to the idea of a hammock. String it between two trees, throw a sleeping bag over it, pretend he was some rugged adventurer under the stars… Sure, it was an improv solution, but better than the chill nibbling at his calves. The thought made him smirk briefly, even as his fingers numbed from handling the cold nylon.
“Is it salvageable?” Owens’s voice interrupted Jackson’s elaborate hammock construction plans.
“Not as a tent,” he replied, looking over the damage. “But if there’s some rope in the bags, I think I can fashion a hammock from it.”
“And sleep outside?”
The look on Owens’s face was enough to make Jackson laugh out loud again. “Yes, outside, deep in the wilderness. That we are, a twenty-minute stroll from the gondola.”
“Jennings, I don’t think that’s a good idea. It’s bloody cold out, and who knows what kind of wild animals are around here at night?” Elliot glanced around at the darkening pines, shadows pooling beneath the low moon. “Bears, wolves…or, like…mountain men.”
Jackson’s grin widened. “It’s Switzerland, I think I’ll survive.” He tugged his jacket tighter against the alpine chill, ignoring how the wind bit at his neck.
A sort of painted expression crossed over Owens’s face, like he was having a particularly intense internal debate. His own tent was nearly up, only needing the stakes to be hammered into the ground. It was slightly embarrassing that someone as inexperienced with the outdoors as Owens had managed to best him at setting up camp, but alas.
“We could share,” he mumbled.
Jackson smiled. “That was genuinely hard for you to offer, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, actually. These tents are tiny as fuck, and you probably snore. Now help me secure this, or I’ll rescind the offer and leave you to your terrible hammock plan.”
Jackson let out a long sigh and moved to help Owens put the finishing touches on his tent.
The temperature had dropped rapidly as night set in, and Jackson was grateful to have the illusion of shelter from the elements that the tent gave them. He pulled out his phone, waving it around to try to pick up some signal.
“Can’t survive a night without your adoring public?” Owens asked.
Jackson snorted. “Hardly. I’m expecting a call from my sister. Don’t want to miss it.”
Owens pulled out his own phone, the blue light casting an ethereal glow over his pale skin and hair.
“I’ve got signal, if you want to borrow…”
“Really?” Jackson asked. “You don’t mind?”
“Maybe don’t rack up hours of roaming charges, but yeah, you can make a quick call.”
He handed Jackson the phone, then turned around, busying himself with his pack as Jackson dialled Beth.
“Hey,” he whispered. “Just checking in.”
“And whose number is this, then? Special friend?” she asked, a suggestive hint in her tone.
