Jackson laughed. He’d needed this, the easy banter that came from years of living in each other’s pockets. They really were better off as friends. Darius would be there for him no matter what. Hell, he could probably tell him about the kiss with Owens and he wouldn’t even blink. He opened his mouth to do just that, then hesitated. Owens wasn’t out. And he’d kept Darius’s secret for so long, getting nothing in return. Jackson couldn’t betray his trust like that. He wasn’t about to become the villain in Owens’s story, and not just because that would guarantee without a doubt that he’d never get to kiss him again.
“Owens gearing up to take my rightful place beside you on the start line, then?”
Jackson cracked a smile, though inside he couldn’t help but let his mind wander to Elliot’s injury, a niggle of concern refusing to be ignored. “You know it. I figure it’ll be the three of us. The selection committee will come to their senses about you soon, and Anders’ll give in as long as it gets his lap dog there as well.”
Darius smiled. “God, I'd bet Owens’s father got him in with Anders early for this exact reason.”
Jackson’s heart stuttered. “Does he have that kind of pull?”
“I think so. I mean, the man was legendary. He was a big deal back in the day until he dropped out suddenly. Left Loughborough, moved to god knows where, taking Owens with him. Then, a while later, he sort of re-emerged, crossed over to the business side. The man knows everyone.”
“Fair enough,” Jackson muttered.
“Why do you ask?”
“Something Owens mentioned. Thought it’d be weird having a parent that involved in your career.”
Darius shuddered. “I don’t even want to imagine.”
“Yeah,” Jackson whispered.
He ribbed Darius a little more about his weird fake relationship before hanging up and falling back on the plushhotel bed, wishing he could sleep in there tonight instead of back out in the woods with Owens, who he couldn’t seem to stop thinking or talking about.
Chapter 12
Elliot
St Moritz, Switzerland, March 19th, 5 months to Olympics
Elliot’s calves and hamstrings were vibrating with pain after the easy run that had turned into an impromptu battle with Jennings. He’d overcompensated for his weak Achilles, and now every part of his body seemed to be screaming at him. He had a sports massage booked in, something they were meant to do every few days while they were here. He hoped flagging all the other aches to the masseur would mean they didn’t notice the genuine injury he was sporting.
When he arrived at the clinic, which was more like a spa than a sports centre, a woman he recognised was sitting in the waiting room. She smiled when she saw him.
“Elliot Owens, yes? Jackson’s friend?”
Elliot couldn’t help the grimace that crossed his face at being called Jennings’s friend. It took him right back to that kiss in the tent, the feeling of Jackson’s chapped lips and rough stubble against him that had awoken something desperate in him. He’d wanted so much more, but an untimely reminder from his father had stopped him cold. A story about Chris Green—a fluff piece that he was sure his father’s office had coordinated—all aboutthe up-and-coming prodigy, with his squeaky clean catholic school background and how exciting it was to see such a good role model in the running for the Olympics. It was meant to be motivational, but it had just reminded Elliot once more of how fragile the house of cards he’d built his life on was.
“Soon to be teammate, hopefully,” he replied as smoothly as he could. “Ilaria, right?” She was beautiful, with bouncy brown curls and olive skin; he could see why Jackson had been interested in her and her friend that first night, even if it made jealousy burn in his gut.
“Yes.” She smiled. “It sounds like you and I have a similar Olympic journey, then. It’s a nightmare, isn’t it? Watching friends with their selection confirmed already, not having to worry.”
Elliot nodded emphatically. “The worst.”
“When will you know?”
Elliot hummed. “Hopefully late April, maybe early May. They usually announce it after the London Marathon.”
“You’re lucky!” she exclaimed. “I will be waiting until July.”
“July?” That was rough, but the pressure on the London Marathon was something Elliot could have done without.
Almost as if she had read his mind, Ilaria continued. “Though, I suppose that puts a lot of pressure on your London race.” She arched a brow, and he nodded.
“It’s… Yes, it is a lot,” he replied, though the pressure of London didn't even scratch the surface of what was messing up his head.
“Mine is longer because there is a very stupid test that I must appeal against, and the process is long and unpleasant. But women’s sports are like this now.”
Elliot nodded. He wasn’t sure he could say he understood, but he didn’t want to press. Testing, of any kind, was a sensitive subject in the sports world.
