Elliot gave a small, humourless laugh. “It’s not exactly my usual. I just needed…”
“Yeah.” Jackson had seen enough; he didn’t need it spelled out for him. "What are you doing, Ell? You're better than this."
"I'm not," Elliot replied. "But it's nice to know you still believe that."
“Saw your interview.”
“Oh. Was it okay, or…?”
Jackson sighed. “Yeah, Ell. It was nice. Classy. My agent loved it. It ripped my fucking heart open—god what do you expect me to say here?”
Elliot shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. “You look good.”
“Don’t,” Jackson warned. “Don’t do that.”
Elliot flinched, something flickering across his face. “Right. Yeah. Sorry.”
Jackson turned toward the mirror again, trying to focus on the cracked edge of the glass instead of the man behind him. But then Elliot murmured, “You planning to hate me forever, then? Even now?”
Jackson spun. “I don’t hate you.”
“That makes one of us.”
“Then maybe you should do something about it,” Jackson replied, eyes sharpening as he closed in on Elliot, bracketing him against the wall with his arms. Elliot’s armour was down, he was vulnerable in a way he so rarely was, and Jackson couldn’t help but prod at it. He wanted to pull him apart and understand what was really hiding underneath, to push him to the edge and make him reveal everything.
Elliot shoved him back, teeth gritted. “You don’t understand, Jackson. My life isn't my own. I’ve got nothing now, everything’s falling apart, and all I do is make mistake after mistake.”
“Oh, trust me, I know what that’s like.”
The next moment was messy. Elliot caught his wrist, Jackson spun on his heel, and somehow their mouths crashed together. It wasn’t romantic. It was bruising, desperate, teeth clashing, hands pulling at each other as they fought for dominance, crashing against the tile wall. Every emotion Jackson had pushed down over the past month came back in full force, and he wanted to let himself be consumed by Elliot Owens. When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing hard. Elliot leaned his forehead against Jackson’s, and he could feel the dampness of the tear tracks on his cheeks. The sounds of the club thudded faintly through the walls.
After a long silence, they slid down to the filthy bathroom floor and sat side by side.
“Anders wants me to help him coach the team. I’m… I can’t train right now, but I think he’s trying to keep me close. Like a fucked-up consolation prize.”
Jackson let out a long breath. “It’ll be hard, won’t it? Being there?”
Jackson had his own suspicions about why Anders wanted Elliot close. Most of them were about Chris, and he’d been mulling them over since his conversation with his mum. He wanted to ask if Elliot would be ready if he needed to step in, but mostly, he wanted to know if they could try again. If they had anything left to give each other.
Elliot nodded, staring at the floor between his knees. “I keep thinking if I hadn’t screwed things up with you, maybe I wouldn’t have fallen apart. Maybe I’d have been smarter about it, told Anders, pulled out of London, and then maybe….”
Jackson looked over. “Don’t do that to yourself.” He hated the thought that walking away from Elliot had hurt him this much. “I overreacted… I—”
“No. I shouldn’t have doubted you. I wish I’d never hurt you,” Elliot murmured. “I wish we could go back to the way things were.” His voice cracked on the last word.
Jackson swallowed hard. He wanted to go back too, but he knew one thing for sure now; wanting wasn't enough, and he was too exhausted to pretend it was. “I can’t do casual with you again, Elliot. The way I feel, it’s not casual. I can’t.”
Elliot let out a broken laugh. “Then I guess we’re screwed, because casual’s all I’ve got to give.”
They sat there, the silence between them punctuated by the heavy bass from the club. After a moment, Elliot sniffed, then smiled faintly. “You know, this isn’t the usual way I end up with tears in my eyes in a club bathroom.”
Jackson snorted despite himself. “You’re disgusting.”
“Yeah,” Elliot said softly, “but you still kissed me.”
Chapter 22
Elliot
