Elliot leaned in, turning Jackson’s head to his and capturing his lips with his teeth. A sudden gust rattled the tent, but Jackson barely noticed. All he could focus on was the uncontrolled warmth radiating from Elliot. He pulled back, hesitating for a moment, and Jackson paused. A buzzing sound echoed in the quiet, and Elliot dragged himself away with a groan, the blue light of his phone illuminating the space once more as he checked his message. Whatever it was had him scrambling away from Jackson faster than he’d possibly ever seen him move.
“Is everything alright?” Jackson reached out, not quite touching Elliot’s shoulder, before letting his hand fall to the ground. “I didn’t mean to push.”
Owens was practically shaking, facing away from him as he replied. “You didn’t. I just can’t. Not with you.”
Of course, Jackson knew he wasn’t ever going to be anyone’s first choice. Still, it fucking hurt, after everything they’d shared. “Let’s get some sleep,” he replied.
He fell back on the thin mattress beneath him, pulling his sleeping bag up as high as he could and staring at the tent ceiling.
Chapter 11
Jackson
St Moritz, Switzerland, March 19th, 5 Months to the Olympics
The next morning was awkward as fuck. Of course it was, it was Elliot Owens, and he basically lived to make Jackson uncomfortable. Frost clung to the edges of the gondola platform, and the crisp alpine air bit at Jackson’s exposed wrists. Every exhale came out in visible clouds, every movement accompanied by the faint crunch of ice under their trainers.
They packed up in silence, and Elliot followed him to the gondola. They’d have another night up here, but Jackson needed to speak to the front desk about getting another tent. He couldn’t handle another night next to Owens, not now that he’d felt the weight of him, the warmth of his body in the thin tent, the way each sigh had vibrated through his chest like a shockwave, and tasted the peppermint and Darjeeling lingering on his lips. Even bundled up against the cold, the memory made the hairs on his arms prickle.
He wanted to ask what had happened. They’d gone from zero to a hundred and crashed back down just as fast. Whatever message Elliot had received, it had spooked him, or reminded him of who it was he’d been kissing, maybe.
“Have you two kissed and made up, then?” Anders’s voice cut through the crisp morning air like a whistle, snapping Jackson out of his thoughts. He glanced over at Elliot, who looked like he’d swallowed something particularly distasteful, which was, well, a bit offensive. A pink flush spread across his face and ears as he muttered a stammered apology, kicking at the frost-crusted dirt. Jackson couldn’t help noticing how the cold only seemed to highlight the tension in those wide, uncertain eyes. He found he hated that uncertainty, used as he was to seeing those eyes pierce through him with the ferocity of a January storm.
“Now you know I’d never kiss and tell, Coach,” Jackson replied with a wink. It was effective enough at diffusing the weird tension. Anders rolled his eyes as Elliot spluttered.
“Well, as long as you’re ready to work and show an inkling of professionalism.”
“Always,” Owens said, seeming to snap back into that focused persona he always loved to show the world. But Jackson reckoned he could still see the tension in his eyes. His gaze drifted to Owens’s ankle. In all the awkwardness of the morning, he hadn’t taped it, but there was no noticeable limp anymore; maybe he’d been worried about nothing.
They settled into their warm-up, and Jackson convinced himself it was his overactive imagination that made it feel like Owens’s eyes were lingering on him, or a spot of wishful thinking.
“Keep it easy today, both of you, then head to the gym for a strength session. We’ll have a heavier day tomorrow.”
Jackson nodded, but he could feel the adrenaline pumping through his blood as Owens jogged up next to him. He sped up a little bit—not enough to be noticeable, but enough to pull ahead.
Owens matched his pace.
“How’s your ankle?” he asked when they were on the opposite side of the track from Anders.
Elliot didn’t reply, he just kicked up the speed of his changeover.
Jackson laughed as he matched him.
Owens’s stride lengthened, crisp breaths steaming in the cold morning. Jackson felt his competitive streak flare and he lengthened his own steps, chasing him around the frost-tinged track. Their shoes kicked up tiny sprays of ice and snow, and for a moment, the world narrowed to the two of them, lungs burning, hearts pounding, the distant hum of the gondola and Anders’s vitals monitor fading behind the rhythm of their feet. As they completed the final lap of their ‘easy 10km,’ they were both running full tilt. Breath heaving as he came to a stop in front of Anders, Jackson shot Owens an easy grin that was returned for a moment before it turned into a glare.
Anders let out a heavy sigh before turning around and marching back to the hotel without a word to either of them.
The silence hung heavy between them for a moment until, much to Jackson’s surprise, Elliot broke it. “Does that mean the gym session’s cancelled?”
Jackson snorted. “I’d say that’s a safe assumption. I’ll meet you by the gondola after dinner.” He still needed to figure out the tent situation with the front desk.
Two hours later, with a new charge to his credit card that he’d prefer not to think about, Jackson lugged a new tent up to his room and crashed on the bed. He had a few hours to kill before dinner and meeting Owens for their second, and hopefully final, night of camping. He thought back to the way Owens had opened up, the press of his lips and the wild way he’d pouredhimself into that kiss. It didn’t matter, though. If the aftermath had been anything to go by, that would be the last taste of Elliot Owens Jackson would ever have. The thought upset him more than it should have.
Jackson
Hey, got a min?
Darius
