“Bethy,” Jackson warned. “It’s not like that. It’s Owens’s phone. I didn’t have signal.”
“That homophobic dickhead? So, what, you're hanging out, and he’s lending you his phone now? Christ, you take the whole sportsman of the year thing too far sometimes. Do I need to remind you what he accused you of?”
Jackson winced, lowering his voice. “He’s not homophobic, Beth,” he whispered. “And he didn’t accuse me of doping, he…implied it.”
He saw Elliot flinch; it was obvious he’d heard.
“Good as,” she replied.
Jackson let out a deep sigh. “Look, I’m up a fucking mountain right now, and I wanted to check in. Is everything okay there?”
“All fine. Nothing new here, just me trying to convince a grown man to follow his doctor's instructions like he’s a bloody toddler,” she groused. “No, wait, that’s not fair to actual toddlers. Noah is much better at listening.”
Jackson laughed. “Miss you all. Give everyone my love?”
“Of course, Jacksy. And I guess thank the arsehole for lending you his phone. Least he could fucking do, the bloody—”
“Bye, Bethy,” Jackson interrupted.
Jackson ended the call and passed the phone back to Owens. There was a tight expression on his face, like he wasn’t sure if he should acknowledge what had been said.
“I am sorry about that. I should never have spoken to those reporters,” he whispered, not making eye contact with Jackson.
“It was two years ago. You’re right. I should move past it.” Jackson shrugged.
“No,” Owens replied. “I wouldn’t.”
“Lucky I’m not you, then.”
“Yeah,” Owens whispered. “Real lucky.”
“Look, maybe this can be, like, neutral ground for us, right?” Maybe his mum had been on to something. She had always been more…what was the term?Emotionally intelligentthan the rest of them.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, Switzerland, right?”
Owens arched a brow at him.
“We leave it in the past, everything from before. Start fresh, as teammates.” He held out his hand.
Birds chirped in the trees as silence fell between them. Owens nodded slowly, purposefully. “Okay, we can do that,” he replied, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. “Switzerland,” Owens whispered, almost as if he was testing the idea on his tongue. A spark of electricity shot through Jackson.
He followed Owens into the tent, sitting cross-legged on top of his sleeping bag as he faced the other man, who had stretched out on the thin camping mat. “Would you want to, if things were different, would you want to be out?”
“None of your business, Jennings,” Owens replied gruffly.
Jackson unfolded himself, stretching out to mirror Owens’s position. “You’ve kind of made it my business.”
Owens rolled over to face Jackson, his nose so close that Jackson could feel his soft breath ghosting over his face.
“How do you figure?”
“You call me your worst enemy, then turn around and spill your deepest secrets like we’re friends or something. I’m getting fucking whiplash here, Owens.”
“I don’t want to be your friend, Jennings.”
“Fine. Not friends, whatever. Could we at least stop the media character assassinations?” Jackson replied, his frustration at odds with the calm sounds of the forest around them. “You’ve been an absolute shit to me. And that fucking comment after Copenhagen nearly cost me my agent.”
