Elliot let out a brittle laugh. “Makes sense. We’re not together, right? And that’s what you want, isn’t it? Someone who will hold your hand when you walk down the street. Plus, you’d never have to worry about money again.” He forced a shrug that felt more stiff than casual.
“I can’t do this with you right now.” Jackson sighed.
The way he refused to fight stoked Elliot's ire. It was confirmation that no matter what Jackson said, this had been nothing to him—nothing worth fighting for, at least. Somewhere deep down he knew he was being irrational, but the anger felt better than the cloying sadness that was inching its way up his throat.
“Was this all to get back at me?” Elliot asked. “To mess with me for all those things I said?”
Jackson reeled back, shock written across his face. “Of course not. But if you really think that little of me, then it’s best we close the door now. Camp was fun. See you at training,” he said with a finality that hung heavy in the air as Elliot watched him walk down the road and into one of the terraces.
With him gone, the anger collapsed in on itself, leaving only the hollow, burning pain and the cold, sick realisation that he’d just ruined the best thing that had ever happened to him. Hecouldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. There was nothing he could do or say to stop Jackson from walking away.
It was how it needed to be, regardless.
Tapering was always rough, even when things were going well. But between his injury, which he was starting to get a bit nervous about, and having lost whatever he’d been on the verge of with Jackson, Elliot felt safe to say it was the worst taper he’d ever been through.
Not being able to train was grating on him. He was icing his ankle every night and popping ibuprofen to keep the pain at bay, but it wasn’t helping much, and there was no one he could talk to about it. Anders would pull him from the marathon at the first hint of an injury, Elliot had no friends to speak of, Jackson wasn’t talking to him, and his parents…well, they wouldn’t want to hear about yet another weakness.
He could feel his dreams, his redemption, crumbling in his hands. The Olympics had been in reach, but now he didn’t think he’d ever get there.
It had only been two days since he’d left the paradise of St. Moritz, but he already wished he could turn back time and sit with Jackson on the bank of the lake, looking out at the snow-capped peaks where everything felt possible.
His cup of tea had long gone cold when his phone buzzed. Chris Green, the runner on his dad’s roster who was making his professional marathon debut at London this year. Elliot liked the kid, had always seen him as kind of a mentee, but now he was also one of his biggest competitors for those final two spots on the Olympic team.
Elliot had promised they would meet up before their shakeout run, and he was already late. He threw on a hoodie and joggers,making damn sure the bandaging around his ankle was well covered in case they ran into Anders. The man practically lived at the track; it was ridiculous.
He raced out the door to the bus and reached the track in record time. Chris was there waiting when he arrived. Sitting on one of the hard metal stands and staring down at his phone. He looked up as Elliot approached.
“Shit, you look rough, mate.”
Elliot glared back at him. “Yeah.”
“You sure you’re up for this?” Chris asked again.
Elliot scoffed. “I’m the one who should be asking you that.”
“I mean, you look kind of down.”
“I’ll live,” Elliot replied. “How about you?”
Chris shrugged. “Been alright. A bit stressed. This race is a big deal.”
Nodding, Elliot sat on the stands to change his shoes. “You’ll be fine. The atmosphere’s insane; your nerves’ll disappear on the day.”
“Sure.” Chris didn’t seem convinced. “Need to make sure I’m ready. That I’ve taken every advantage I can.”
There was something in his tone that gave Elliot pause, but he shook it off. Elliot nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean. The pressure is ramping up—for both of us.”
Chris nodded emphatically. “Exactly.”
There wasn’t time for any more conversation. They got moving, the familiar track under his feet making Elliot feel more settled than he had since returning to London. His ankle held up and he let himself relax into the run, feeling like he could breathe for the first time in days.
After an easy 5k, they called it and started a cool-down. He was mid-stretch when he heard a loud laugh from behind him. There was only one person it could be, and if Jennings was here, he could only assume it was with Anders. Elliot quicklylooked down to check that the tape job on his ankle didn’t look excessive. He found he was way more nervous about seeing Jackson than he was about Anders discovering his little injury, though.
Jackson and Anders looked deep in conversation when they arrived, Anders with a fatherly hand on Jackson’s shoulder. A flare of jealousy shot through Elliot, and he wasn’t sure which of them it was directed at.
Anders nodded to them as they left, but Jackson didn’t even glance their way. It felt like he'd gone back in time to the years when Jackson Jennings had avoided him, like St. Moritz had been an elaborate fantasy he'd dreamed up in his head. Elliot watched Jackson nod to his coach and set off around the track. He looked strong, effortless. Like a true Olympian. Elliot couldn’t help but stare. Watching Jackson run, Elliot was acutely aware of how fucking stupid he’d been. The man was a force of nature, and he wanted him so much it physically hurt.
He’d fucked everything up, though, and it didn’t even matter, because he’d never deserved Jackson to start with.
