Elliot hadn’t been late for training in his life, had never missed a banned substances test, never let his personal life intrude on the work, and had the most consistent finish times of any athlete in Britain. But apparently, the selection committee was easily swayed by pretty-boy media darlings with a Cinderella story and an admittedly strong PB, despite arguably inconsistent performance.
The fucker was everything Elliot wasn’t: effortlessly cool, universally adored, and so damn successful without even trying. It all fucking pissed him off. But what pissed him off more than any of that was that despite everything that annoyed him about JacksonfuckingJennings, while he acted like Elliot didn’t exist, Elliot couldn’t keep his eyes off him.
With Anders distracted, Elliot took the opportunity to slink out. He didn’t want to stick around and watch more people congratulate Jennings on the Olympic spot he hardly deserved. That might not have been entirely fair—Elliot had no reason to doubt that Jennings would have made the team. But to take the first-round selection spot?Fuck.
Sitting at the dining table in his parents’ house, Elliot dutifully ate the overcooked salmon in front of him as his parents discussed the new addition the neighbours were building. He was zoning in and out of the conversation, mind still stuck on how Jennings had usurped his rightful place as first-round pick.
“Elliot, I’ve had some interest from PRO Sports electrolyte tablets for their next campaign,” his dad said. “If you make a strong showing at London and ensure that Olympic call-up, they’ll sign.”
“Great,” Elliot mumbled.
“Shame that Jennings boy took the first spot. But everyone knows that was just politics. Though, of course, if you’d been faster in Berlin, they wouldn’t have been able to deny you.”
“No business at the table, Carl,” his mother said lightly. “I’m sure Elliot is working very hard.”
It should have felt kind, like a reprieve. But she couldn’t look at him when she said it. She never could. Elliot swallowed hard. The already unappetising meal felt like lead in his stomach. He let his fork fall from his hand, clattering against the plate. He couldn’t handle this, not today. Not with the week he’d had. He pushed his chair back. “I…I have to go. I have early training,” he said.
“Of course, focus on your training, Son. Altitude camp is the perfect chance to impress. Stay steady and show them you’re exactly what the team needs.”
“I will, Dad. You don’t need to worry,” Elliot mumbled, walking out of the house on shaky limbs.
Chapter 5
Jackson
Leicester, February, 5.5 months to the Summer Olympics
“The fucking Olympian!” Beth squealed in Jackson’s ear as she jumped on him at the train station. His little sister certainly knew how to cause a scene. Her ginger hair was peeking out from under a blue cap that flew off her head as Jackson spun her around, his duffel dropped unceremoniously on the ground.
“Always knew someday I’d be recognised as the most talented sibling in this family,” he said with a laugh.
“Please, you’ll be eating your words when I get into the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts.”
“Oh, is RADA your top choice now? Last month it was Central,” he teased. “And Mum thinksI’mindecisive.”
Beth was the most like Jackson of all his sisters. She was a bundle of energy, constantly bouncing from one interest to the next. But where Jackson had excelled in athletics, Beth was a performer. She had been going through the gruelling process of drama school auditions, and though Jackson loved to rib her about it, his little sister was a marvel on-stage. He was going todo whatever it took to make sure she could go to the school of her dreams.
“Honestly, it’s whichever I hear back from. I’m…I’m not sure if I’ll get in,” she replied. "Or if I can afford to go, if I do." The hint of insecurity in her voice was so unlike her, it was heartbreaking.
“You’ll have your pick of the lot, I’m sure.” He meant it. No matter how much he teased, he knew Beth would succeed, and she’d deserve it too, far more than he deserved the opportunity he’d been handed. Jackson tried to push the bubbling insecurity from his mind. He was here to reconnect with his family before leaving for altitude camp, but doubts about his selection raged anyway. Especially because he couldn’t even speak to his best friend about it—not when Darius was the one who should have made the team, and Jackson had benefited from the ridiculous political manoeuvring instead.
Everyone knew Darius was meant to be the first runner selected. But Coach Anders’s long-standing grudge against the Hewitts had spiralled into a media frenzy, dragging Darius into headlines that painted him as homophobic. The selection committee had decided the controversy was reason enough to keep him off the team.
It would have been heartening, in a way, if any of it had been true.
Jackson was all too familiar with the feeling he was sure Darius was going through—seeing lies printed about you and being unable to retaliate. It hurt. The past year had been an all-out grind since his own disastrous run-in with the press. He had to be constantly on: friendly, sportsmanlike, perfect. His blood had been drawn for random screenings more times than he could count.
Optics.The word haunted him.
He needed to stop dwelling; the decision had been made. Trying to put it from his mind, he jogged over to where Beth’shat had landed down the platform, grabbed it, and pulled it down over his own hair, which earned an indignant squawk from her. Then, he picked up his bag and followed her to their dad’s beat-up old car parked outside the station.
It was a short drive to their parents' house on the outskirts of Leicester. Still the same small semi-detached Jackson had grown up in, not far from the local track where he’d first fallen in love with running. As a queer ginger lad growing up on a council estate, being faster than his tormentors had been his initial inspiration, but running had quickly become far more than that to him.
Jackson climbed out of the car, stretching his long limbs after being cramped in the small space. He hoisted his bag out of the boot and followed Beth to the door. The first to greet him was his little nephew, Noah. Jackson had to drop his bag in the entrance to manage the bundle of toddler demanding ‘uppies.’ His older sister, Anna, watched from the kitchen doorway with a soft smile on her face.
“Noah, let Uncle Jackson come into the house first,” she said.
Noah snuggled into Jackson’s shoulder. “I told my mummy your favourite dino is a Velociraptor, Uncle Jacksy.”
